I'm sorry to say it, but it must be said: My love affair with Flushing is over. It's too bad, really, because I've always been crazy about Flushing. Actually, I love everything about New York City. I was born and raised in New York, and Flushing to me has always embodied the best of what this city is: bustling street life, punctuated by the cacophony of the No. 7 line that signals all roads lead to Main St.
Give us a sign that all are welcome
After dinner, a friend and I strolled up 37th Ave. as we peeked into store windows, I realized that I couldn't identify any of the businesses. Travel agent? Real estate? Dentist? Card store? One shop seemed to sell housewares, but every sign in the front window was written in Korean. Or was it Chinese?
By putting their signs only in their native language, the merchants are saying to me that they don't want my business. They don't want to entertain the idea that someone who doesn't speak their language would spend money to purchase their merchandise or use their services.
So, I've decided to give them what they want. I'm spending my money where it's welcome.
It's too bad, really, because I do love Flushing.