Dear Mayor Bloomderp, My whole life I’ve dreamt of visiting New York City. Literally, my mom birthed me while listening to the song “New York, New York,” and I popped out belting the chorus. I know, my first words were early and melodic. Last weekend, after 12 years of restless waiting, I finally got to witness its “magnificence” on a field trip with my Free the Squirrels Club, and frankly, I was incredibly disappointed by your city. All of the tales I heard were about as tall as the Empire State Building. The fake legends of New York began to crumble like a big apple pie the day after we arrived. First of all, please explain to me why it’s called “Times Square” if the area is obviously a triangle. My group and I were already disappointed by this, but we tried to overlook that detail (which was pretty hard, considering all the New York Giants). The next morning, we were determined to begin our campaign against squirrel oppression, which was why we came to your city with such high expectations. That’s when we began to realize your city’s most heinous lies. After circling the “park” for hours, we had to leave, because we couldn’t find a single parking spot in Central Park! Unbelievable! In the end, we were forced to take the subway there, which, for your information, sells no subs and is far from fresh. This disappointment was the first of many. Later that day, my club mates and I wasted hours searching for the biggest lie of all: the illusive New York Big Apple. For years I’d been dreaming of a Sumo wrestler-sized Granny Smith, welcoming me with open leaves. Desperate to find this majestic fruit, I wandered around Times Square asking countless locals for directions to this fabled apple. Eventually, after attracting many disdainful stares and dodging several maps flung at my face, I realized that this fruit was yet another giant fib from the city that never tells the truth. I had to make do with apples the same size as the ones at home. How do I like them apples you ask? Not at all. Even though my expectations for New York had dropped faster than the ball on New Year’s Eve (which doesn’t even drop that fast, so I’m being nice here), I had made a commitment to help the wildlife and was determined to save as many animals as possible (excluding the hot dogs). With this goal in mind, I headed off the next day to Barney’s to protect the dwindling population of the well-loved Dinosaurus purpellus. These dinosaurs had been close to extinction, due to their lack of sex in the city. However, I soon realized that the true danger was their habitat, destroyed by a rare species of posh New York wasps, and these wasps sting. As you read this letter Mayor Bloomderp, please keep in mind my true and utter disappointment. This might be a broadway to view your city, but I think it’s New York’s Times to change. I came to your city excited, and now I find myself with paper cuts from maps and a huge headache as I try to remember exactly what went down at Dylan’s Candy Bar last night. Xoxo, G.G. McGee ’16
