An Evening in New York

I.

I stopped by the barber on the way home tonight; I've been going to the same guy on Christopher Street in the West Village for about 10 years now. He's Ecuadorean and speaks English, but sometimes he and I have no idea what we're talking about. Tonight I think we reached a singular impasse.

David: So, what's new with you?

Me: (proudly) I got kittens!

David: (somberly, seriously) Oh, no, I'm sorry. Did you have to take a test?

Me: (puzzled) Ummm...no...

David: No? You didn't have to go to the hospital?

Me: (wondering what the FUCK he thinks I said) Nnnnnooo....I got them from a rescue service, for my birthday.

David: Oh, okay, well...you take care of yourself. Let me know how you're doing, okay?

II.

There are two kinds of trains on the A line. One has molded plastic individual orange and yellow seats; the other is more of a long, corrugated tin can with benches along each wall. On the way home from the barber (after stopping at the clearance rack at Banana Republic on 8th Avenue because I wanted new pants) I was on one of the tin cans.

The tin cans have better air conditioning, but because it's just a bench instead of individual seats, people tend to hog the space. Case in point: I got on at 14th Street and had to stand as there were no seats, but one of the guys seated in front of me, at the end of a row by the door, got off at 34th Street. The guy who had been sitting next to him moved over toward the end, but only halfway, leaving not enough room for a person on either side of him. Hot and tired and slightly irritated (it was a great day at work, oof), I just decided to sit between him and the next guy, which meant I sort of landed on him, but as soon as he moved his selfish ass over (literally), there was plenty of room.

Dick.

III.

Then I had to stop at the grocery store on my way home. (Click here and here for Andy's earlier adventures at this store.) They were out of flushable cat litter. This is one of the things I truly, deeply hate about grocery shopping in New York: if you want something specific, you have to be prepared to accept that you can't find it in this city where supposedly you can find anything, 24 hours a day. Reduced Fat Wheat Thins? Out. Low-Fat Emmentaler? Out. Flushable cat litter? Out. My breakfast drink of choice? Out. California Pizza Kitchen-brand BBQ chicken pizza? Out. Buitoni Sweet Italian Sausage Tortelloni? Out. This store was once out of Diet Coke.

Let's not even talk about the produce. If you're looking for the bin where onions cleaved by the harvesting machine go to rot and sprout, try the Associated on Fort Washington.

Since I only got two of the things on my list (ice and tonic water), I could go through the express lane, 10 items or less.

The woman at the register was arguing with the clerk, claiming an item she was buying was on sale, but the register was scanning it at full price. The clerk called the manager over.

Clerk: Jose, she say this on sale.

Woman: I'm sure I saw it in the circular in the newspaper.

Jose: I don't know. Maybe.

Woman: Well, don't you have the circular here?

Jose: Yeah, in the office. (A pause. The woman looks at him like, "Well...?" and he goes away and comes back with it.) Yeah, it's on sale.

Woman: (triumphantly) See?

The next woman, in front of me, has 12 items. I am irritated and consider saying something, because the sign CLEARLY says "10 items or less," but decide it's just not worth it. Karma, I say to myself. Those who are first will be last. So the clerk rings up all 12 items. $28.12.

Woman: Oh, I only have $25. Let's see...let's take off that yogurt.

Register: $27.23.

Woman: Oh. Umm, well, I guess I don't need the cereal.

Register: $23.28.

Woman: Oh, now I can afford the yogurt, let's put that back on.

Me: (aside) I hate her sooo much, it, it the, it, flame, flames, FLAMES on the side of my face, breathing, breathle...heaving breaths, heaving....