Friday, September 14, 2007
A NUGGET OF KINDNESS
I made my way into work very early this morning, not having slept much and having nothing better to do. On my daily path from the Grand Central shuutle train to the design gulag I usually stop to pick up breakfast at a tony little eatery that makes phenomenal scrambled eggs, exceptional bacon and sausage, toast as it was truly meant to be done, exquisite iced teas, and many other things that make breakfast my favorite meal of the day, not only a much-needed source of start the day fuel and the one fleeting moment of the day where all can be civilized and I can relax with whatever I happen to be reading at the time.
The place in question is run by a charming manager — with stunning freckled cleavage that never fails to hypnotize me — and is staffed by an assortment of immigrants and, most notably, a pair of identical twin sisters who look like pretty female versions of Wesley Snipes. They're all really nice, and whenever I buy anything from them I always leave a two dollar tip as a way of appreciating the overall high standards of the place.
This morning, after a really crappy and depressing previous night, I stopped in for my usual breakfast eats and realized I had no cash on me. When it came time to pay I handed one of the Wesley Girls my credit card, and in front of a long line of non-regulars the Wesley without the glasses looked at me and said, "Forget about it. It's the weekend," and gingerly pushed the card back t me. She then flashed a dazzling, toothy smile, handed me my bag of goodies, and sent me on my way. I thanked her and headed out onto the street, amidst the milling drones, and felt warmed by that small act of sweetness. And the shit was delicious, too!
Oh, and for those who read my previous post, I watched about half of the schlock "classic" ATTACK OF THE 50 FOOT WOMAN (1958) with audio commentary by B-movie bad girl icon Yvette Vickers; it lulled me to sleep, and I dreamt about the gigantic, bikini-clad Allison Hayes rampaging about the dreamscape and threatening to spill her ample bosom out of that crudely-fashioned top. Not a bad dream when you consider that she looked like a 1950's gene-splicing of Traci Lords and Mariska Hargitay.
But more on that in my next post...