Couples Pastime

“I’m running a marathon tomorrow, so I’m not having any carbs,” the woman at the next table intones while her server stands impassively, waiting. “Are there any carbs in Chicken Parmesan?”

Katie’s eyes widen in the manner familiar to all married couples, the universal sign for, “Holy shit are you hearing this?” which, indeed, I am.

“Not that I don’t trust you,” she continues as we pause to eavesdrop, “but ‘Siri, are there carbs in Chicken Parmesan?’”

Budget Facelift

 The woman sitting across from me on the subway continues her ritual: placing her fists on the line of her jaw and pushing her knuckles up to her cheekbones, then rapidly repeating that same gesture over and over. With her eyes closed in concentration, and the repetitive nature of her movements, she comes to resemble nothing so much as a hamster in its ablutions, caught in some kind of feedback loop. As I watch, she goes from mildly amusing, to creepy, and finally to boring, as all weirdos in New York who choose to practice their weirdness in public must eventually do.

Just when I think she’s never going to stop, she stops, and begins rubbing from her hairline down to the space between her eyebrows, and all of the sudden she’s interesting again.

Frenchies Have No Sense Of Humor About Themselves

 The grey-felt furred Frenchie, eyes huge and solemn, watches me with his head cocked at an extreme angle from across the department floor, while his owner stabs furiously at his phone with his index finger.

The dog’s ears are far too big for his head - bats envy these ears, elephants nod their enormous skulls in admiration at the sheer audacity of these proportions.

I cock my head in imitation, for no reason except that it’s fun, expecting perhaps that this will cause my new friend to cock his head further in response, but instead this seems to transfix him. His eyes widen slightly, his head frozen at it’s curious angle, but when I grow bored with our game and start to walk away, he positions himself between me and his owner, all fifteen inches tall of him bristling at the sheer effrontery of me having possibly mocked him.

Boxing

The cat jumps up on the bed where Katie lies and stalks over to the crescent of her body. She throws herself down into the crook of Katie’s body and begins to purr.

I turn on the boxing match where Netflix is trying to reinvent HBO. It’s fine.

Fine, I’ll Be Nice

The couple and their enormous suitcases finally manage to shove their way onto the subway car, despite the conductor repeatedly closing the doors on them. I and the entire car watched them struggle and did nothing, and then, when they’re aboard, there’s no place for them to sit together.

A woman sitting next to me gets up and moves to another part of the car, leaving a seat. I see what she’s up to, and after a bear, I reluctantly get up and clear a spot for the tourist couple to sit. 

Moe Line Drama

The normally orderly line to get into the co-op seems particularly disheveled today, with group of people milling about the entrance in clumps and going in whenever they want to.

“Bit chaotic today, isn’t it?” I ask the guy behind me. He smiles noncommittally.

“Well, I’m going to uphold civilization,” I reassure him, and he laughs.

Like Bubba from Forest Gump, but Playlists

“I had a playlist for Halloween, but people like to go straight for the Thanksgiving music as soon as Halloween is over,” the driver for my Lyft says as I scan the QR code he’s helpfully provided to direct me to his Spotify profile. “I started doing it because I would put on other people’s playlists when I started ridesharing, and some of the lyrics weren’t family-friendly, so then I just started making my own playlists, and people said they like them, so I’ve got a classic list, and an R&B list, and pop list, and they’re all Thanksgiving songs.”

As I’m getting out of the car he’s still talking. “So if you like them, tell your friends, tell your enemies, tell everybody and give me a follow.”