Ann had never been to the Carnegie Deli. I haven’t been since college. I expected the quality to be awful (the Ben Ash across the street is the worst restaurant on Earth) but, I must say, despite the absurd prices, it ain’t bad. And, to be fair, it isn’t *that* expensive when you consider that you are eating in one of New York’s most famous restaurants. Ann and I split a hot pastrami sandwich, one potato knish, she had a chocolate egg cream and I had a Cel-Ray. With tip (and including the fascist $3 “sharing fee”) — $35 bucks. The food was filling, the people next to us were chatty and entertaining (we were there fairly late. . .I wouldn’t want to be there when things are in full swing) and we had enough time to giggle at the photos on the wall. (In a nutshell: Jews, local news anchors, Clinton.)
It was shortly thereafter that the problems hit.
Like Hiroshima, Ann was hit first. And like Nagasaki, I came second, with equal devastation. Searing, awful gas pains. Comical gas pains. And, like, on the way home! There we are on the N train, hunched over in agony. . .and racing as best we could to get back to the apartment, leaning on parking meters every few blocks just to catch our breath. Like a gentleman I allowed the lovely Ms. Farrell first dibs on our W.C. I nearly passed out from sphincter pressure while waiting.
I can’t say I’m in a rush to return to the Carnegie.
(Besides, everyone knows that Sarge’s is the best deli in New York. Followed by Cafe Edison, Ben’s, Artie’s, Bloom’s or even Katz’.)
You should have just started blasting at will on the train. The other day, I was at the Associated supermarket by the Ditmars train station. You know how awful that place is at check-out — always slow, no matter what. Well, just as I was waiting to get in line, that glorious announcement was made: customers with less than 10 items can check out on 11, i.e., the manager’s cash register against the far wall.
I bolted over there, only to be cut off at the last second by some “recently moved here from somewhere else, paying over $1K a month to do so, and it really shows” harpy with a cart with at least 15 items. Woman at the register told her she’d have to leave. She didn’t. Just obliviously loaded up her items and stared the register woman, who simply sighed and started checking her out. After done, this woman produces a sheet of coupons, none clipped, and points out the items which she has just purchased, made the register woman tear them out one by one.
The people behind me were going out of their minds. Heard at least one mumbled “fucking bitch.” This woman was oblivious. She picked her items and glared back at all of us. I just gave her my “blow me” stare. What could I do? Punch her in the face? Would love to, but I’d be spending the night in the Tombs.
But, worst of all, as she left, she farted. Loudly. And, boy, did it stink. She must have had human flesh for lunch. This thing was just so over the top … I can only hope a bunch of kids attack her on the street real soon. So, in my opinion, let the four winds blow if you find yourself in that situation again. I only wish I could have had both of you in the grocery line to respond to her anally.
So, was this a Manhattan Yup-hipster type? Or a frazzled, dazed older broad with frizzy hair and yellowing copies of the NY Times coming out of her NYPL bag?
There was a woman at where I work who got in a disagreement with one of the bus drivers. This very large and unappealing woman ended the conversation by bending over and ripping one in his face. She was rightly fired. Still: hilarious.