Dirty Area
Abby Bogomolny

July 1st, 2005 was payday for the City of New York in the Borough of Brooklyn, and a momentous dawn of a new fiscal year. I was shopping for a shower curtain on 13th Avenue when I noticed the Sanitation Officers giving out tickets. In fact, one shopowner was reading the riot act to a Sanitation Policewoman, calmly writing on a 5 X 7 silver clipboard. She was dressed in a spanky new uniform. One block away lurked a white Environmental Control Board Patrol car, and sure enough, another altercation on the sidewalk—this time a middle-aged woman in a flowered housedress arguing with another Sanitation Policewoman. "You think I follow everyone throw their paper on street all, and say ‘pick it up’? How I watch every kid go by? Why you give me ticket?"

While I heard this, it didn’t register that I should rush home and check my sidewalk. Taking a day off from packing up my mother’s apartment had left me feeling blissfully immune to the powers of the city. No such thing. When I returned to Cortelyou Road, I didn’t notice it at first. Mom’s vacuum cleaner and remaining casserole dishes were crying to be hauled from the back basement. Since her death in January, I had not been back to the apartment. All repairs and such had been left in the hands of our tenants, Darlene and Jose. Now they could relax ‘cause I was in town.

Taped to the glass of the door inside the vestibule was a pink ticket. Maximum fine: $300. Details of Violation: "At T/P/O I did observe at gate area (5) bread pieces, (2) bottles, (3) candy wrappers visible from the street. Gained access to building. Rang bell, no answer." Mail-in Penalty: $100. Section/Rule: 16118(2) Dirty Area.

Not only did I receive this ticket, but the city had increased the penalty for multiple offenses at the same address. Fines increase no matter how many years have passed since the last offense. As it turned out, our last ticket for "dirty area" had occurred the day my mother was transferred from Maimonides Hospital to the Metropolitan Geriatric Nursing Home in November 2002. The summons then was only $50. Being that we were now repeat offenders, guilty of harboring a "dirty area," the mail-in ticket rose to $100. If it were to occur another time, be it 2 or 10 years, the mail-in fine would be $250.

Now, I could have been mad at Justina in Apt 5, who threw little breadcrumbs down to feed the birds. All of us tell her over and over again not to do that. We were all tired of the pigeon poop on the sidewalk. I could have also been mad at the woman who runs the laundry next door. She also threw bread on our sidewalk even though we’ve told her "throw it on your side." Ever since Jose hurled her stack of Pakistani newspapers at her door, found in our recycling trashcan, she’s been snippy to us; maybe that’s why she throws the bread this way. Who knows? Of course, heasked her stop throwing the bread, and told her, "Everyone in our building is Puerto Rican; we don't read Urdu." After that, we called a truce. Now, I could have also been mad at the Department of Sanitation, but everyone in Brooklyn is doing such a good job of that, I was not going to bother. The city has removed the public garbage cans from our corners; it does not fix our potholes, and it has posted Blue "Coastal Evacuation Route" signs along Ocean Parkway all leading to a non-existent Evacuation Center in Prospect Park, which I suspect may one day be a huge refugee camp.

I hope I’m wrong. Be it hurricanes, 9/11 or 13-alarm fires. I have discovered that despite petty disputes over recycling cans, everyone in our neighborhood has survival covered. They’re watching over the block and taking care of each other: Person-to-person life support. That’s the way it has always been: multigenerational families, speaking a multitude of languages, among them the retired, the shut ins, wayward kids, and just good working people, trying to get to their jobs and manage their lives in a city with a Byzantine orthodoxy unrivaled anywhere. I love you New York; I hate you New York. The MTA (Metropolitan Transit Authority) just announced the beginning of random searches on the subways will begin this week. I can’t even imagine what this may mean. How will it be possible to get to work on time? How can random searches help? Someone can refuse to be searched and just walk over to another subway entrance, hoping that the officer will skip over him. Such spurious flurries of efficiency are nothing other than collective punishment of working people. I suspect that there are other ways to apprehend real monsters, but that would take genuine intelligence. So now we will endure subway searches and ridiculous tickets because we are being told that there are far worse things to be worried about in New York. Shame on the them.