Good Samaritan

I'm the kind of nice gal who is happy to help tourists with directions, even though I kind of loathe tourists. If I see people struggling with a map, I'll even approach them and offer assistance! I don't often need to, though, as they somehow find me very approachable. Supposedly I am too intimidating for hot studs to talk to me, but this rule does not seem to apply to tourists who find my mean grill welcoming.

This happens a lot, as I work in Soho. A lot of people are looking for...Soho. We're in it, I'll say. Many want to buy those knock off bags or watches on Canal. Easy enough, follow that pungent odor. At the very least, they're always looking for something uniquely New York, whether it be a store, a street, a neighborhood, a subway. But this morning on my way to work, when my grill is at it's meanest since I'm tired and usually running 3-5 minutes behind, some ladies from the UK asked for assistance in finding...Old Navy. Old fucking Navy? Are you kidding me? They had the name and address written on the map. I wanted to give them the wrong directions so they wouldn't go there, get awful things, and go back home and misrepresent New York. But I told them where. Oh, I told them. Woe. Woe to the tourist ladies who are currently shopping for hideously plain/freakishly patterned/sweatshop made clothing.