NYU Rules

The island of Manhattan is deceptively small and yet very territorial. I’m an NYU girl—above 14th, and you’re killing me.

Or I was. Now I have a swish job in Midtown and wear a suit every day.

So, imagine my surprise when my hot new boyfriend suggested we see a gig in Gramercy Park in the twenties.

“Wait—you want to catch a band in one of the most affluent areas in town?” How completely not edgy.

“Yeah,” Rob said matter-of-factly as if I was an idiot for asking. “It’s The Specials, for crying out loud.”

The who what now? “Mmmmhmmm.”

“Great—see you at 7:45 at the Gramercy Theatre.”

Google and YouTube were my friends that day. I learned a bit about Ska and The Specials in particular. Listened to some of their songs—SO not to my taste, but hey, I knew the headlines now.

That evening after agonizing over outfit choices to get the ska look right, I arrived at The Gramercy under the art deco street lamp.

Rob eyed me up and down. “You look like No Doubt era Gwen Stefani.”

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment. The Specials are more mod-influenced,” he sighed. “More like this,” he said, gesturing to his own pork pie hat and subtly checked vest. It’ll have to do, though. No time to go back and change.” Rob held out his gym-honed arm. “Shall we?”

I struggled not to roll my eyes as we linked arms. The pretension was oozing off him like grease from bacon. All this for a fifty-year-old band—what the hell?

Sweat-stained forty-something guys filled the bar area, nodding along to the music with the kind of confidence that bespoke discovering the next big thing.

My twenty-three-year-old boyfriend assumed the pose along with the rest.

As the horns blared and the singer wailed, I watched the dad bods awkwardly bop along to the ska/punk/mod wannabe reggae band.

Rob grinned, “Isn’t this incredible? Such a unique sound.”

Ummm… reggae would like a word. At least it doesn’t completely suck. Heck, rocksteady is better.

“Yeah…it’s great,” I deadpanned.

“I’m so glad you think so. They play again next week in Hoboken. I got us tickets.”

Hoboken, not on your life! This was bad enough. Life would be so easy if Rob lived by NYU rules.

“You know what? I’m done. We’re done,” I said, walking out the door. Some principles just weren’t worth compromising on.

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WC: 403

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