Can't Everyone Just Leave Me Alone?

I finally took some pictures of my neighborhood. That's Vincent Square...

One of the things I knew I'd like about living in big cities is the relative anonymity it affords. Unlike most people, I don't mind feeling like I'm only one of millions of people trekking through a city each day. I actually prefer being left alone with only my iPod and judgmental thoughts by my side. It may be because this couldn't be more different from how I grew up, where it's more common than not to run into friends, family, or friends' family around town. I'm convinced my parents get most of their social interaction at the grocery store (always keeping me abreast of my high school friends' happenings - 8 years later). The last time I made a call (from London) to a local flower store in my hometown, the woman immediately recognized my name and chatted me up about her daughter, who I graduated with. Like most of my friends from home, she's a homeowner, married, and well on her way to having a minivan family. Crazies. I prefer being left to assume that most of the kids from my graduating class are unemployed and depressed as punishment for their suburban living. Just kidding. Sort of.

What I'm realizing about anonymous city life, however, is that it quickly becomes, well, nonymous? By my third year in New York, I'd frequently see my landlord and roommate's family on my weekend coffee and bagel jaunts, cross paths with co-workers during my runs in Central Park, and find myself running into nearly everyone else I knew during my subway commute. I'll have to admit that, at first, I felt a bit like New York had breached its "beat down" contract with me. You know, the one where it promises to deliver weather only in extremes, subway trains only at the most inconvenient times (with long stoppages while in between stops), and down-to-earth girls only when you're too drunk to play nice for them. Ok, maybe that last one is an addendum to my own personal contract. After countless run-ins, I reluctantly bought in to my new neighborhood feel. It added a personal facet to a city so notoriously impersonal, and kept me honest. Trust me, it's pretty embarrassing running into your friend's parents at Food Emporium when you're buying only a 12-pack and Doritos. For dinner. On a Wednesday.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that London wasted no time in ruining my idyllic anonymous existence. With it's peaceful neighborhoods, disdain for high rises, and transient global population, it's simply far less surly when it comes to newbies. That said, this week was the first where it became blatantly clear that I had lost all hope of not being recognized. I'm now considered a regular at my local (and quite possibly the city's only) Mexican restaurant. They know my order and tolerate my remedial Spanish (I've yet to visit with my drunk Spanish, which trumps the sober version hands down), and better give me free guacamole next time or I'm removing them from this post. I've also got 2 new girlfriends at my local Starbucks. Or, well, one of my 5 local Starbucks...es. They get my coffee ready for me when I come through the door and always ask me what I'm listening to on my headphones. I've thought about responding with something sort of lewd and suggestive (like "Sexual Healing", or better yet, "Ain't No Fun") but they're not really my type. One has hypercolor red hair, and the other is cross-eyed (Again!). I hate when that one works the register. Man. Eye contact. Let me tell you.

I'll be moving back to New York in a few months, and may find myself in a new neighborhood with a fresh anonymity grace period. Within a few weeks though, I'm sure I'll wind up high-fiving the newspaper stand guy or running into friends from college. And with that, all hopes of anonymity will once again be doomed.