The Face is Peculiar, But I Remember the Name

One of the things about living in a big city is that you walk around with a certain assumption that you are usually anonymous as you make your way through the city streets. The few occasions when I see someone I know randomly on the street are truly remarkable. I think I am probably a fairly average looking white guy on the street and therefore mostly forgettable. Forgettable that is, unless I happen to be walking the eskimo dog that likes to eat garbage. People remember him.

On Sunday night I was walking down 50th Street with my dog and some tourists came up to talk to me. They told me that they too had an eskimo dog, and oh by the way, could I recommend a pizza place in the neighborhood. I recommended Southside 49 a little place down the block that had recently opened. They said "Merry Christmas" and went on their way.

This morning I watching the dog carefully as we walked down 49th street. As if I don't have enough problems trying to keep him from eating chicken bones and pizza crusts off the street, now I have to keep him from eating the dirty snow that is piled up all over the city. I've also discovered that the ice melt stuff people throw on the sidewalk burns his little eskimo paws and he has zero threshhold for pain. While trying to keep an eye on the dog, my headed jerked up when I heard someone say, "hey, thanks for the recommendation on the pizza. It was delicious." My tourists had returned. So much for anonymity. I'm officially the guy in the neighborhood with the fluffy white dog.