Too Fat For Hoboken - 200
Hal Wastes His Wages!
August 24, 2006

It’s no secret I’ve put on a few pounds over the years. I’m not what one would generally consider to be an obese man, but let’s just say I’m a tad bit huskier now than in my college days. I had always considered it to be relatively harmless, but in recent weeks I’ve begun to wonder, am I too fat for Hoboken?
It’s nowhere near the point where I need the NJ Transit bus to kneel so that I can gain access, and I can still fit in the men’s room at Louise & Jerry’s (329 Washington St.—airplane restrooms are cavernous compared to the claustrophobic can in that joint). But what else could explain the recent difficulty I’ve been having negotiating the streets of our Mile Square? It seems wherever I go I’m in someone’s way, impeding their progress as they scurry to do whatever it is they’re doing. And no doubt their mission is more important than mine, since they haven’t the time to waste saying “excuse me” or “pardon me.” Nor can they deviate from their path, since apparently my portly mass is so much that it requires the passerby to physically bump into me. And since I’m obviously the one at fault for being so grossly elephantine, the act never warrants acknowledgement, let alone apology.
It’s almost as if I’m a sort of planetoid, and as I orbit around town, the meteors of metropolitan life seem to be drawn into my gravitational pull. Baby carriages, screeching children, the homeless, delinquent teens, deliverymen, bad drivers, flailing yuppies—they’re coming at me from all angles. And to be honest, it’s starting to take a physical toll. I tend to get backaches after working at the bar because I spend a lot of time maneuvering around my coworkers, thereby contorting myself into awkward positions in an effort to get around in a cramped space. But now a simple trip to the grocery leaves me feeling like I just worked a double. Inside the store, on Washington Street, on the side streets—everywhere is a struggle. It’s gotten to the point where I now use alley of Court Street as my main thoroughfare—sure it’s generally coated with a fine slick of stale beer, fish guts and hobo urine, but at least it’s wide enough for a leviathan like me to freely migrate about town.
Though I’m pretty sure it’s not just me. You may recall a few weeks back when a manatee was reportedly spotted in the Hudson River. I’d be willing to bet it was just some other fat guy who was knocked into the water off Pier A by a jogger who was “in the zone” while rockin’ Rhianna on his iPod. I guess I should get back on my Special K diet (Special K for breakfast, Special K for lunch and a “sensible” dinner) and start losing weight before that same fate befalls me.
Or is it possible the current cumbersomeness has nothing to do with my addition of excess adipose? Is the issue not so much that I’m getting too big, but rather Hoboken is now getting too small? Quite simply, the city is gaining residents and losing the space to put them. Not to mention an overwhelming majority of the people moving in are upwardly mobile young, urban professionals. You pack a town full of people who are living the “me first,” “time is money” lifestyle, and toes are gonna get stepped on. But apparently it’s the social norm to be a narcissistic, pushy jackass—I guess if you put yuppie scum with yuppie scum and you end up getting yuppier, scummier yuppie scum. And don’t misinterpret me as some whiny, starving-artist-have-not lashing out at the establishment. I enjoy Belgian beer, imported cheese and dinner at Café Elysian (1001 Washington St.) as much as the next guy, I just try not to be that $!@% who knocks someone over as I walk to the restaurant.
Nevertheless, I will do my part. I promise to shed some pounds in an effort to take up less space in our Cubic Mile. Besides, it would be nice to be able to turn around in my cramped apartment without knocking a piece of furniture with my ever-expanding arse. If the rest of Hoboken could do its part and make common courtesy, well, more common, perhaps we can avoid turning everyday on Washington Street into Herald Square on Christmas Eve.
In the meantime, if you see some gargantuan blob barreling down Court Street like the boulder in Raiders of the Lost Ark, it might behoove you to stay out of my way—there’s no telling what I might hit.
 

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