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Only in New York experiences from my wonderful week off from blogging, work, thinking, email:
I took Benny, my four month old Labradoodle puppy, to the vet on the Upper East Side, home of the the vapid and the nattily dressed. There was a woman with a horrible little bow-in-its-hair, polish-on-its-toes, frou frou white dog. It was sitting in a stroller like this one. I knew it wasn’t for a human baby because it had little paw prints printed on the wheels. “Is something wrong with your dog’s legs?” I asked. “Can’t it walk?” The woman answered, “Oh, he can walk, but he prefers not to.”
Hey Waiter! There’s a Dead Guy on the Floor!
The scene: Mansion Diner, York Ave and 86th St, Christmas week. A 400 pound man comes in. He’s just taken a stress test at a doctor’s office. He orders a club sandwich. He keels over dead.
The manager and staff move him to the floor, call 911, and try to resuscitate him. During the entire 10 minutes that it took for the EMS to arrive, people on either side of the aisle were asking “Hey! Can I get some more coffee over here?” and “Does this come with cole slaw?”