So I'll write the whole I've-moved-and-am-now-mostly-sane post at some point, sharing the wonders of my new neighborhood and glossing over the time spent on the edge of an anxiety attack. But for now, I've got some righteous indignation to write out.
When I first started working, I was in a building on Park and 26th. To my delight, my coworkers introduced me to Lamazou, an amazing cheese shop on 3rd Ave by 27th. Thus was born a beautiful lunchtime friendship that has endured for over five and a half years, despite my no longer working in quite the same neighborhood, despite the weather, despite my periodic abandonment of other lunch regulars due to boredom.
To illustrate the degree of my devotion to this place:
-- Aziz, the charming proprietor, has met every member of my immediate family except my brother, who does not live close and seldom ventures into the city. Plus almost all of my friends.
-- I have a song I sing in my head when I go. It's to the tune of "Bus Stop":
Cheese shop, nice day [or wet day, depends on the weather], Aziz's there, I say
"Please, one-half Milaaaaano"
Turkey, lettuce, vinaigrette, s'lami
And that provoloooone
All these years I have enjoyed it
Wind and rain and shine
I'm so glad that my employment
Helped make this sandwich mine
No other sandwich makes my stomach quite so glad
Sometimes I'm shocked
To know just how much I care
The ciabatta's soft and crunchy, the ingredients are fresh
Oh no other lunch is ever so delish
You get the idea. It's an awesome place, with awesome food, and--I cannot overstate this--awesome people. Not just Aziz, but his wife, Nancy, their daughters, and the guys they have working in the shop--two for the whole time I've been there, another for just the last couple of years. They are all incredibly friendly, learn your face, what you like, and greet you with a smile. If you're a regular, Aziz will occasionally throw some free soup in your bag (free AWESOME soup), or if you forget your wallet one day, will simply insist that you pay him the next time rather than either leave your purchase or call with a credit card upon returning to your desk.
In a city of Duane Reade pharmacists who can't get a precription right, taxi drivers who will kick you out for going to Brooklyn, and department store clerks who view customers as a problem, this shop is an oasis of warmth, light, great cheese, and all that is right with the world.
So you can imagine my outrage today when, while paying for my oh so delectable sandwich, I espied a construction crew outside prepping to pour concrete over the walk, effectively trapping everyone in the shop inside. One of the counter guys, a particularly friendly young man, went outside to intervene, asking them to wait two minutes so that he could finish ringing everyone up. After some bitching, the man he was speaking with agreed. Fifteen seconds later, the sons of bitches started pouring the concrete anyway.
Naturally, the Lamazou employee was upset by this. He opened the door, and--in a voice loud enough to be heard over the equipment, but not so loud as to be abusive--asked what they were doing, and said they only had to wait two minutes.
A different guy on the crew starts arguing with him, saying, "Am I yelling at you? DON'T YELL AT ME!"
First off:
1. Yes, you were yelling at him.
2. He wasn't yelling at you, unless talking in a foreign accent automatically constitutes yelling.
Construction guy proceeds to yell at Lamazou guy some more, even though he's the one who fucked up, and he only did it to be an asshole, and we all know it. Instead of saying, "Look, I'm sorry, we had to, but it'll be ready and the ramp will be back in two minutes", he kept arguing.
Then he crossed the goddamn line.
He said to the Lamazou guy--who did not yell, did not swear, and was, after all, looking after his customers:
"Go inside, slice some salami, have fun."
I can't do justice to how rude the tone was, on top of how rude the content was. I only wish I'd thought to get the contact info off of the truck so I could tell his boss what a shit-for-brains he was. Instead, I must settle for this:
Dear Asshole,
You arrogant, offensive son of a whore, who even I can tell is doing a shitty job on that sidewalk, you are lucky I did not leap over the wet concrete to seize your equipment and beat you about the head with it. You were in the presence of one of the best things in this city, a place where everyone does good work that makes people happy, and you denigrated the work and the people who do it. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.
And the horse you rode in on.
Get fucked,
Adair