Signs of a Recession

I've been up on Long Island for about a week now, visiting and job hunting (yea, go figure on the latter), and several things have hit me. The first: I knew that I missed the north, but I didn't realize just how much of my identity can now be called "northern." Little things from delis, coffee shops, the style of clothes I wear, the large amounts of dark colors in my wardrobe, shoes, to just being very comfortable in the skin and soles of an urbanite and northerner. I do realize LI is the burbs, but going into the city reminded me of more than the island did/does.

As for this recession . . . well, my first two days here I drove to some of my old favorite and "unfavorite" spots. I wheeled my car to Montauk, rolled down the windows, smelled the LI shore, put my feet in the sand, and rubbed my toes along the rocks. I closed my eyes as I walked along the boat docks in Montauk and remembered many a summer's day spent taking in the view and character of this tiny little spot. Yet, as I drove through The Hamptons to The Point I couldn't help but notice that traffic was thinner this August. For anyone who hasn't lived here for the past nine years this detail doesn't make sense. But in all reality, in summers past a day visitor needed to pack a lunch, snack, and dinner with a few pit stops too because traffic would keep you waiting for hours and hours. This year . . . I didn't even run out of water. Wow. On a side note, I should tell you that one of my favorite writer's is vacationing out there this week. Yea, I should go stalk Jen Lancaster, but I doubt she would find that as funny as I would. I refrain from complete jackassery.

But, as I winded through these little enclaves of northern wealth, hospitality, and cultural allure I couldn't help but notice the number of restaurants, shops, and bars closed. These were not just closed for the day, but they were closed for good. Weeds overran their storefronts, and boards had begun decaying on many. The effects of a long winter and abandonment abounded. While many of the boutiques and cafes were still open on the main streets, these places now without a proprietor sobered me; The Hamptons have always been known for their pockets of wealth, and clear and present signs of economic decay reinforced what I have known for awhile now. No one is safe, and no one is clear of the current economic turn.

More tinkering around the island showed me overgrown fields and medians, construction sites clearly abandoned months ago, chain stores like Marshals and Auto Max (or some such name) with their doors permanently closed to the public. Yet, I find it ironic that tiny little shops like "Fatty Belt Buckles" in Rocky Point or "Lamp Shades" in Setauket are still open and doing seemingly okay. Though in the midst of this driving, I did go into the Stony Brook Marshals as I had a birthday gift card from Tanfer to spend. Here, I was a little taken aback by the amount of shoppers, and the most of them pawed through the abundant clearance racks like I did. At times we moaned about the amount of damaged merchandise we kept finding, and at other times we ewwwed at sleeveless shirts with an overgrowth of ruffles in prints from plaids to leopard. Ok, that last part was mostly me, but other shoppers we far more vocal than I about the damaged goods. Throughout all of this, I overheard several woman say they were at Marshals so they could buy back to school clothes this year. Many of them noted to having not been a Marshals regular before, and just so you know I stood in line to buy my six items for an hour and a half. Yes, I know. That is too long for almost anything, but the other Marshals I had gone into had the same dilemma with lines. So, I stuck it out . . . and I really liked the stuff Tanfer "got for me."

The streets of Port Jeff are normally bursting at the seams with summer tourists, but this year the lack of tourists is no different than other areas of the economy. Now, the tourists only appear in pockets throughout the street, and the in years past the hotel waiters at Danford's constantly bounced in and out of traffic with towels, sheets, and room service. This year I haven't seen one. That, right there, is a marker of times gone by.

Yes, these things clearly show a down turned economy. Yet, while I was re-observing LI recession-esque things occurred in my own life. A friend's boyfriend made two statements about my not having a sense of humor or adventure in the semi-public forum of Facebook. In all fairness, both comments were part of his status message so the only one of my friends to see it was his girlfriend. Also, on the first message of my having no sense of humor he wrote a comment saying that there was a spelling error because he was having problems figuring out his new phone. The spelling error was my name. He misspelled it on the second one too. A handful of days later I am still hurt over him posting that about me publicly, more so because it is not true. The irony here is that I am talking about it on my blog, but the difference is I am not using names. I told my girlfriend I wouldn't bother her anymore. Her boyfriend has made some low blow comments to me in the past, and I never fought back because it is not my place to fight with her boyfriend. Also, I know that if I say anything about him she will drop me as a friend.

After I sent her a message telling her I wouldn't bother her anymore, she wrote back saying she was sorry and that she would still be my friend if I ever wanted her to be. A part of me thinks that all of this made for an easy way to wash hands of me. I break, but I go on. Cheesy, I know.

Then crap happened last night, but it isn't worth mentioning. It was what it was. I guess you can say I got a part apology today, but the markers are still there and the damage is done. I'll go on, just like I always do.

Now, how do those last two have anything to do with recessions? Much like the economy has taken a downward cycle and gone down the crapper, my emotions have too.
The difference between me and economy is I can stop the carnage sooner. That's ending a recession for ya.