Tuesday, October 10, 2006

It's Noon and I'm Exhausted

Let's just be geographically intolerant for a minute. Today I'm posting from New York City. A couple of hours were spent getting in here today and I've just concluded my business in twenty minutes so I get to do the whole thing over again. When the next Beige Book announces worker productivity has fallen in the last quarter, you can blame me.

Not only that but I got lucky on the ride in. I did NOT have to share a space with the chronic Weight Watcher's dropout. You know, the guy or gal that not only takes up every living inch of their allotted seat on the bus, train, plane or cargo hold but is so fat as to literally pour flesh into your assigned row like dripping candle wax. There's an airline that charges lardos for two seats if indeed they take up such space. That upsets the chunkers, most of whom attribute their size to genetic conditions that they have no control over like the inherent and insipid tastiness of Snickers. Too bad. If you don't like paying double, how's about I sit with you but fly for free. Hey, for a couple of hours, I'll even put up with you, basket ass.

Not today though. The lass I am parked next to is curdling milk with her breath. Holy crap, one firm exhalation and the tint film is melting off the windows. I'm begging someone to leave the lavatory door open in that a urinal puck is like Chanel to me at this juncture.

New York City amazes me in that nobody seems to have noticed that someone let the patients out of the neurological ward and they seem to be everywhere. Boosters of the place will point out the "vibrancy and energy that cascades over you at every street corner!" I'll tell you that its like walking through a strobe light with ADD, hepped up on a couple of pots of Starbucks! This place is an asylum and folks, if you're familiar with these pages, you now know it takes a lot to addle this brain.

It's lunchtime right now and I am hiding in a visiting office which means I am at a conference table with New York office workers passing by going "who's the out of towner?" to which a compadre will say "How do you know he's not from here?" to which the original inmate will answer "He's got at least one un-tatooed or pierced appendage."

They will then nod knowingly and proceed down the street to the famous Lexington Avenue Ptomaine Deli where buckets of food by-products are poured in troughs for their hands-free consumption. Just $14.95 plus tax for this gourmand buffet delight.

I, on the other hand, will continue to hide until about two p.m. when even in New York, lunch is finally over and the herd; fed, caffeined and nicotined, will have been goaded wild-eyed sociopathic taxi drivers back into cubicles that would give Apollo astronauts claustrophobia.

New Yorkers are a funny bunch. For starters, most of them are from Iowa. The natives live in Queens where you don't have to sell your plasma once a week to afford a Manhattan rent on a shoebox. They all ask you the same questions to which I have the same answers: "Do you get into the city much?" A-About twice a month which is four times too often. and "What's your favorite part of New York?" A-The bus home.

I don't have a lot of friends here. Can't figure why.

Bunny on.


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