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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. I have to admit thought that this was a night that
I was happy all of the weather reports were wrong.
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.
Links:
House of Brews
Johnny Rockets
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