It was a farewell celebration for one former Hachette co-worker and birthday wishes for two others. Lisa happily invited herself along since she does not open her school on Friday evenings. I was glad she called because, to be honest, neither of us would have come out if the other stayed home. So we were helping each other big time because we both really needed to get out.
After sitting forever on the bus, stuck in a sludge of evening traffic, we arrived in NYC loopy from the mild carbon-monoxide poisoning. We made our way to The House of Brews (302 W. 51st. St, NYC) in what was a beautiful night of weather which I take full credit for since I chose to carry an umbrella. The ideal way to ward off rain is to falsely anticipate it I guess.
As we walked up Ninth avenue (an easier walk at this hour than fighting the commuter tide on Eighth), we notice some pimp wannabe in a thick fur coat. When we passed him, Lisa muttered, “Whose your daddy?” We laugh but I’m like, “Um please don’t get my ass kicked tonight.”
I thought we were going to be too early, but when we got to the bar there were quite a few Hachette folks already there. This is generally a fun crowd and one thing that I miss about my former job. Lisa and I had a couple of orders of sliders which are not aptly named in my opinion. Sliders are an insulting slang for White Castle hamburgers and the intestinal after effect they inspire. The similarities here end with the size and shape. These so-called sliders are way too good to be associated with the real thing.
After a while, we realized that those tiny bites of food were just a tease and now we wanted real food. Well, Lisa wanted McDonald’s, I wanted pizza but I was ok with anything. We decided to eat in Hoboken and hopped on the bus. When we got to the stop near McDonald’s, there was Johnny Rockets. I asked if we could go there instead and we did.
Typical to the Johnny Rockets experience, we enjoyed the burgers, onion rings, fries, Mr. Pibb and a milkshake. Of course there was the wait staff ‘performing’ to Aretha’s ‘Respect’ and the nickel jukeboxes in each booth. I was disappointed that they had removed the Frank Sinatra songs since my last visit some time ago. After all, this is Hoboken … Sinatra’s birthplace. Sacrilege!
Now it was like some magical clock was ticking away at our stamina. As we took that last bite of our food, we slumped in our seats and hit that beer and beef induced wall hard. All of a sudden our laughing and talking was replaced by zombie-like stares at the left over french fries. It as time to go.
To make ourselves feel better about this crash, we opted against taking the bus and walked the twelve or so blocks to Lisa’s car. Even my arthritic legs were glad we did that because I just don’t get enough exercise any more. Along the way Lisa spotted these two guys and muttered, “Oh look at the cute gay couple on a date.” I told her that they must have heard her because one of the guys muttered back, “Fuck you.”
Then she laughed and said, “Well these other two guys over there are definitely gay because their holding hands.” I tried to explain that they were not gay. They were aliens and had to hold hands to share in the transfer of nourishing proteins. It’s the only way they can stay alive and she should not make fun.
Her car was only two blocks from my apartment so she drove away and I walked home. For some reason a terrible headache was building so I took some Tylenol, drank a lot of water and tried to fall asleep. I did … eventually.
See Also:
House of Brews
Johnny Rockets
