Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Overheard in the Drugstore

I was standing in the drugstore when a family came in and walked past me. The young teen-aged boy stopped in front of the candy aisle.

Mom: "Toby get away from that candy. That's not healthy; you know that."
Dejected Kid: "Alright Mom."
Dad (to Mom): "You want anything?"
Mom: "Yes. Get me two Mountain Dew's."

This is why the rest of the world mocks us.

Saturday, January 9, 2010

"Not Like the Old Days"

One of the things I missed about home when I moved down south was the New York diner. Authentic diners are run by gruff Greek people and are usually open all night long. They have huge menus and always give you a good portion.

Interestingly, I have a typical New York diner, The Olympic, right around the block from my house. Buddy and I pass it every day on our walks, but until this morning I had never eaten there. Not particularly intrigued by what I saw in the refrigerator this morning, I decided to check it out.

It was filled with people at lunchtime. I got a seat at the counter and a (presumably) Greek man with a heavy accent took my order. I ordered eggs and hash and once we got past a slight language barrier, hash brown potatoes too. My food came amazingly fast and I settled in to enjoy a hot meal and read the Daily News.

A few minutes later an elderly man came in and sat at the counter next to me. He was clearly a regular -- the counterman recognized him right away.

"You want soup?" he asked.
"What do you have today?"
"We got the clam chowder, chicken noodle and beef barley."
"No bean soup?" the old man asked with downcast eyes.
"No," said the counterman.
"OK, I'll have the chicken noodle."

The old man's hands shook as he settled in at the counter. He never took off his coat. Now that I think about it, I wonder if he did that because he was cold sitting by the door, or because he needed help taking off his coat. Almost immediately, I noticed he began to mutter to himself.

In a barely audible voice, he looked towards the counterman who was down at the kitchen window. "Can I get that to-go?" he whispered. He couldn't get anyone's attention.

I decided I should help, but just as I decided to jump in, a bowl of soup arrived. "He wanted that to go, I think," I said. The server looked at the old man, and in a resigned tone, he waved his hand and said sadly, "oh, don't worry about it." He took his soup and struggled to open his little cellophane-wrapped saltines.

"It's not like the old days. It's hard to get anything decent anymore. Not like the old days."

I smiled and nodded.

He dug his spoon through his soup, examining all the bits of pasta in his bowl: "Chicken noodle alright." he said.

"All noodles and no chicken?" I asked. He just grunted at me.

I went back to finishing up my lunch and then noticed that he couldn't open the crackers. I leaned over and helped him open up all his cracker packets.

He didn't waste anytime getting through his soup. As he asked for his check, I asked him, "Good soup here?"

He shrugged. "That's the problem. You just can't get anything decent anymore. Not like the old days." I nodded. He gathered up his things and paused before he got up to leave. "Thanks for your help," he said to me.

"Don't mention it," I said. I watched him wander back out onto Eighth Avenue.

I wonder if I'll be eating soup at the counter at the Olympic in 40 years. I wonder if I'm living in my good old days.

Friday, January 8, 2010

A Last Look at NYC Dressed Up for Christmas

I sent a friend from Atlanta a text as I was escaping midtown Manhattan on New Year's Eve. "You're leaving Times Square on NYE?!" she asked. "Hell, yes," I replied.

New York is wonderful at holiday time. This year we even had a big snow storm to set the mood. But just in the same way native Las Vegans probably steer clear of casinos, I try to stay away from Times Square and Rockefeller Center at Christmas Time. Sidewalks choked with tourists are just not my idea of fun.

Now the tourists have largely cleared out, so I felt it was safe to walk crosstown on my block. It's funny to think that I live 4 crosstown blocks from the Christmas tree and I never saw it until last night. Here's a few of the cool Christmasy things I saw last night a short walk from my apartment:

Rockefeller Center's Christmas Tree

Skating at Rockefeller Center



Holiday window at Bergdorf's



Ginormous ornaments on Sixth Avenue

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Anger Management Anyone?

One thing I never thought I'd do is get into a morning exercise routine. I am not a morning person and I need more than a little time to get rolling every day. Since I really don't know when I'm getting out of work each day, however, working out before work is my only real option.

The gym is quite serene in the morning compared to the frantic scene in there at night. This morning the quiet was broken by a certified raving lunatic. New Yorkers are sometimes portrayed in popular culture as brash, loud and profane, but few could quite meet the stereotype like the disgruntled customer who was shouting at the top of his lungs at the customer service desk. Apparently, he was disturbed by the lack of attention his request to cancel his membership was receiving, so he became comically hysterical:

"This gym will not cancel my membership. They've got my credit card and they're not giving it up."
"My friends have had to go through this f&%*ing s#@t and I'm not going to stand for it."
"This is a f&%*ing homosexual gym anyway. Hey buddy, why don't you go suck your boyfriend!"
"I was on the phone for two f&%*ing hours yesterday and got nowhere and you people are not going to ignore me anymore!"

There was a lot more swearing, a stroll through the gym where he made some more homophobic remarks and even some urgent pleas to prospective customers: "do not sign up for this gym! They won't let you f&%*ing quit!" I am sure his voice was heard in every corner of the gym. This scene ended as you could have guessed, with a very young and slightly exasperated member of New York's finest escorting the man out of the building.

I think gyms receive a staggering amount of consumer complaints every year, so I do have some sympathy for that guy. Plus, I have, believe it or not, been driven to out-of-control rants at customer service people in the past. Minus the hateful language of course. The thing that always occurs to me after I've calmed down is that an emotional outburst with that much ferocity usually has more behind it than the matter at hand. During a more civil part of the discussion (with the police officer present) I heard the word "ex-wife" several times. I think this guy may have been angry about a little more than canceling his gym membership.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Dogs Don't Hold Grudges

Tonight I was coming back from our nightly walk and the dog and I ran into a neighbor in the stairway of my building. He was holding up a very large Christmas tree on the landing. My dog seemed a bit confused about why the tree was in the house. The man holding the tree reached down, patted the him, and said, "hello, Buddy." (Earlier this morning, I yelled "Stop" -- and nothing else -- at the dog when he began to eat some trash off the street and one of the high school kids on the corner of 49th and 8th said, "Don't eat garbage, Buddy!" We're becoming known around these parts.) The greeting in the stairwell was a nice moment of familiarity with a neighbor, and contrasted greatly with one of my first meetings back in the spring when I moved in.

There is a woman who comes every morning to one of the apartments downstairs and leaves her two children with a relative or a friend. The first time I met them, I decided I would break out all the charm and I said to the mother regarding the little girl, "and who do we have here?" "That's Sophie," she said and instructed the little girl to say hi. Instead of greeting me, with all the vigor a three year old kid can muster, she wound up and spit at me. "SOPHIA!" the mother shouted.

We've seen each other many times since the spitting incident, however, and she's remained civil. This evening Sophie asked if she could pet the dog on the stoop when we were coming in from a walk. I said, "of course," and Sophie took a step towards Buddy and when they were nose-to-nose, he licked her all over her face. She squealed with delight. There's loyalty for you -- imagine how friendly Buddy would have been if she'd kicked me in the ankle after spitting at me.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

The Clothes Make the Man

A few years ago while I was living in Atlanta, I experienced an intervention. A female friend of mine and I were walking by Old Navy and she unexpectedly took me inside, brought me to the bluejeans, selected a few and pointed me to the dressing room. Apparently, my jeans were out of style and didn't fit right. Since I was a graduate student, bluejeans were all I ever wore and apparently I looked like a homeless person from the 1980s or something. Since that time, I've been a little sensitive about the whole issue. I still don't pay much attention to what I'm wearing, but at least I try not to look like I'm wearing someone else's pants.

Yesterday, I bit the bullet and went on my every-three-years pilgrimage to buy some jeans at Macy's. (I went to the Macy's by the way, at 34th Street and Broadway.) They were having a denim sale. It was pandemonium on floor "1 1/2". Before I could even get my bearings, a very assertive saleswoman shouted "what size are you looking for sir?" at me. I pointed to a pair in my size at the top of the nearest pile and that seemed to satisfy her. I was left standing staring at a sea of denim. What the heck is relaxed-fix skinny boot cut, anyway? Did we have all these variations when I was a kid? Do I need colorful stitching and buttons on my back pocket? I selected a few pairs and then got on the line for the fitting room. This is something I learned at my intervention. You should try pants on before you buy them. The assertive lady buzzed by and told us to stand closer to the wall. She instructed a young woman from Europe somewhere that she could not go into the changing room and she could not stand in line with her man. She then told me to watch my head as she hurled a pair of pants onto a shelf over my head.

I went into the changing room and slipped on a pair of pants, only to discover there was no zipper, but instead, six buttons. Why would big clunky buttons ever be preferable to a zipper, I wondered? I buttoned 5 of the 6 buttons looked in the mirror, and decided I looked like a middle-aged dad trying to wear his son's pants. Plus, the price tag said $60. Unless I got a free backrub with those pants, I wasn't paying $60. I returned the three pairs I had tried on to the shelf, went and found the jeans I always get -- with zippers. I couldn't face the long line for the changing room, so I made my purchase and walked out of the store. You can teach an old dog new tricks, but you can't make him go into the fitting room twice.