I expected the adverts. Times Square is a billboard turned into an attraction, a subtle trick to make you seek out the flashing signs telling you what you want, what you need. What I didn’t expect was Chicago.
Multiple ads plastered to the inside of dingy bus stops proclaimed that Chicago had been voted the best big city for 8 years running! That for 9 of the past 10 years, it was CHICAGO that the people had decided was the place to be. It’s a funny thing to advertise at all. Usually, if you’re the best, you don’t pay signs to let people know. You trust that they’ll sort of just figure out it.
It’s doubly funnier to pay for these advertisements in the city who’s motto is “We’re better than Chicago”. Chicago, you’re known as the second city, despite these days being the third largest in the country. Why are you advertising to the people in first place?
I suppose it makes sense, from a game theory point of view. Every point you steal from the guy in front of you hits him twice as hard: he’s down one, you’re up one. That’s a two point swing. Or, you can take the T-Mobile approach, buying up the one beneath you, still passing below the behemoth above. So sure, I get it.
It’s not just tourism (or quality, or whatever point they’re trying to make with these advertisements). New York is rapidly trying to eat Chicago’s lunch, arguing that Illinois doesn’t have a monopoly on corruption. Oh, your governor tried to sell a senate seat? Let’s see how many mayors we can disavow before electing them time and time again.
Surely if they weren’t trying to make a point, the people of New York would elect a mayor with morals, at least by accident. There’s eight million people in the city, they can’t all be blubbery-eyed money grabbers.
I saw Spider-Man in New York. I was walking through Times Square at night, the kind of activity that marked me as a tourist, one of those people who don’t belong. It’s not the kind of thing a local would do. Not one with sense.
If you didn’t know better, you’d think the Square was a circus sponsored by Disney. It was flooded with Stitches and Spiders-Man, Mickeys, and pop-up TikTok stands where you could record yourself from 360 degrees dancing in a wind tunnel, or striking three consecutive poses. A spectacle.
I saw two Spider-Mans and a Spider-Punk. Someone walked by, took a picture with them. I didn’t see what happened after.
Why don’t you get a picture with them, my wife suggested. It seemed like a fine idea at the time. I pulled a $5 bill from my wallet and signaled to one of them. Suddenly six appeared and flocked by me. Oh no, I thought. Now I’m in it. My wife tried to take the picture, but a passing Elmo plucked the camera from her hands.
The Spider-Man close to me kept surreptitiously flashing the back of his banner that said TIPS $20. I didn’t bother explaining that he seemed confused on how tips work. I offered him my $5, and he shook his head, tapping the sign.
Then, as the kids say, I screwed up. I went back to my wife and opened my wallet. A flash of green set these creatures into a wild frenzy, the likes of which I’d never seen. Oh, he’s got money, the psychic cry rang out. And how they swarmed. Each one holding out a hand, a thousand seagulls clawing over a single fry. I passed out
a $20, I handed over the $5. Another who had snuck into frame, one I didn’t even care for stuck out his greasy, cloth-covered paw, eager for his payment. Another $20 came out, and two reached for it at once. It ripped solidly in half. One shook his head. another, he silently demanded. A fresh one. I shook my head, pushing the two halves back. It’ll spend the same. Some tape will do. He shook his head and another, less-discerning Spidey swept it up. I closed my wallet, took a step back, but Elmo followed.
This was, mind you, before he’d been laid off. He still had his cushy government job on the Street. I took the picture, he silently pleaded. You owe me.
I gave him a $5 and ran away, $70 poorer.
The Spider-Man I know? He prevented this kind of thing.
