Thursday, March 16, 2006

Cheese and its implications


I hope everyone is aware that one can purchase BOURSIN, the amazingly delectable cheese pictured here, for a mere $1.50 at the East Village Cheese Shop on 3rd Ave and 9th St!!! I myself wasn't aware of it until I saw the Boursin at Jill's house, and upon inquiry was informed of the bargain.

So, shortly thereafter, after a boozy brunch, Chris and I head over to the EVCS. We pick up the Boursin, and I gleefully rattle it gently in its box and admire it like the francophile I am. We go to the register, where we are behind only one person. Looks good, right? Well. It turns out that we are behind possibly the most unreasonable, rudest, most obnoxious, terrible man that's ever existed, possibly rivaled by Jerry Gaul, the @$$hole depicted on the blog linked to your right of this post: "Oh, rich people are so silly!"

This man wanted the following item: 2 pounds of coffee beans. 1/4 of that mixture should be one type (let's call it Arabian), and 1 3/4 of the mixture should be another kind (let's call it French). However, the people at the cheese store:
a) only have 1 pound bags
b) barely speak English
c) are not the brightest bulbs in the bunch.

Now, I know that it's frustrating not to get what you want. And the girl behind the counter JUST COULD NOT GRASP WHAT THIS MAN WANTED. This man, from the get go, treated the salesgirl as though she was a piece of garbage speckled with dirt and refuse. He spoke to her as though she was a hard of hearing 4 year old. This story is really funny in its lack of story, as what ensued was LITERALLY (I kid you not) 10 minutes of him telling her what he wanted in a nasal drone, repeating over and over and over, so that all I could hear really was, "ONE POUND FRENCH QUARTER ARABIAN POUND 3 POUND ARABIAN FRENCH ARABIAN FRENCH 3/4 POUND" over and over. Meanwhile, about 25 people in the cheese shop had joined the line, and everyone was getting into a panic. Irritation was frothing from the lips of the queue-ers, their eyes shooting venom at this man. It should be noted that the salesgirl was incompetent. But there comes a point where the man, for his own self respect and the respect of those around him, should have given up his quest for this precise coffee arrangement. But oh wait, rich stuffy grown ups must ALWAYS get what they want! Then, the man turns to me (as I'm next) and says conspiratorially, "I'll get it eventually, haha," implying that the salesgirl is the only one at fault.

I turn my back on him without a word.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Egad!


It’s been so long! Well I’m back, with an anecdote.

Last night, I returned to my abode circa 11pm, pleasantly refreshed after a lovely stroll through the East Village from the 1st Ave L train. I go and chat with Athena briefly, until we are interrupted by the mewling and shrieking of Mr. Rupert. He wanted to be fed. “OK, baby,” I said soothingly, picking him up and meandering over to the kitchen. “You’re ready for dinner, huh? Awww.” We snuggle and I put him down on the floor, where he circles my feet imploringly. I open the cabinet below the sink to get out his food box . . . where I see . . .

GASP!

The most gigantic cockroach I have ever seen in all of my life. The worst part about it was the sheer girth of its legs; they were not at all spindly. They had heft, muscle. Of course, I scream. How often does one scream, like really scream?! Not that often. I have to admit, it was exhilarating. I run back to Athena’s room, where I involuntarily tear at my hair (though not exactly tear it out), scratch at my skin, and speak in tongues. (example: “OH MY! No. NO! I saw a! No!!!!!!!! I can’t, I can’t say it. I saw a. No! God!”) Athena begged me to tell her what I saw. Eventually I managed to spit out the word cockroach, probably something like, “It was a . . . I can’t say it. A c… I can’t say it! I saw it ! It was huge. Nooooooooooooooo. COCKROACH!” We both begin surreptitiously looking around, every splotch on the wood floors becoming suspect, every speck of dust on the wall a cockroach larvae.

But egad, what’s this? That splotch IS a cockroach! It’s on its back, multitude of legs splayed! Rupert, apparently had killed one and brought it to Athena as a present!

Disgusting. I tried to be brave, but ended up forcing Athena to remove Rupert’s food box from under the sink and to shake said box to make sure the suddenly ominous looking hole from whence one pours the food will not spew cockroaches. Then I attempt to go about my life, ending up frozen in place in the living room, crouched down in lunge position. How or at what I planned to lunge, I don’t know.

In the bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror and tell myself that no roach is going to climb into my mouth and lay its eggs there while I’m sleeping. Nor will one eat my eyeball in one massive gulp. Rupert looks at me inquisitively. I stare at him fiercely, and say, “Rupert, you must kill them ALL. I will love you more if you do so. It is your sacred quest and duty!” (I’d just watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail.)

Then I decide it’s necessary to get Rupert fired up for a night of slaughter, so I get the lemon-shaped toy and we play until he has that ears-back, wild-eyed look. Of course, when I try to send him on his mission to kill the roaches, he doesn’t understand. Thus, so far the only real problems I’ve had on account of the roaches are deep and painful Rupert-bites on my shoulder, hand, and forearms.