Yesterday I was scrolling TikTok and came across Nick Viola. TBD on whether his last name is Wallah but that’s besides the point. If Nick’s bio follows the traditional TikTok hierarchy, his name is Oklahoma, his location is Oilfield Trash, and his interests are Boomer Sooner. 3 for 3 in my book.
Grab your fried okra because you can hear his wisdom for free below, but for those too lazy to move your thumbs, I’ve got you. Nick says, “Good morning, here’s your daily reminder that people suck and you’re going to get pissed off today. Don’t cuss nobody out, don’t fist fight, and don’t go to jail. You got this bitch.”
Interesting timing for the day I had.
Kontent Kim (my mom) made me walk to a bakery with her for a Cronut. A donut and a croissant. The bakery was far from the office, and it’s hot outside.
Now, I get that New Yorkers think it’s cool to act like they’re the only person alive in the most populated city in the US, but I didn’t get one normal look the whole afternoon. Even Rudy, the office doorman who is friendly by Oklahoma standards acted weird when we walked back in the office. It’s not like I had an Empire State Building T-shirt on?
I figured today just wasn’t my day. Until I walked into the bathroom and realized it was me all along. The mirror showed my amazingly symmetrical boob sweat I’ve been sporting all morning.
Turns out sometimes people aren’t assholes, you’ve just got boob sweat.
As for Nick’s proverbial message, in life you have to adjust. Like when I was typing this blog post in the hotel lobby and airdropped the boob sweat photo to John (below), instead of my computer. John declined it.
Always be a John.
Adjusting. It’s required in all aspects of life. Whether moving from Idaho to Montana or moving from anywhere in the galaxy to NYC. I chose galaxy because it seems that all forms of life, known and unknown, seem to congregate in the 5 boroughs. If you arrived internationally and don’t speak English, you have to deal with a language barrier and New Yorkers. If you came from Death Valley, you have to deal with the summer heat and New Yorkers. If you entered orbit extra terrestrially, go to Times Square. If you’re from Seattle, book a one-way flight back.
If Nick has everything he could ever want in a boat, a fishing pole, and a stocked pond, we don’t need a Corona to find our beach. We need something harder. My current beach is finding a place to live in this city that isn’t a hotel. And since I think there’s a lot to learn from the Nicks of this world, if I ever find the people who keep leasing apartments 15 minutes after they come on the market, I’ll just smile and wring out my boob sweat. And hope they get sent to jail. Where they end up in a fist fight.
I got this bitch. And so do you.