Pizza and crack

Well, Trish and I had a rather saucy Saturday night out this weekend. Even though we did catch a new Broadway play, Impressionism, the real excitement happened after the show let out.

Because we had to drive into the city from NJ that afternoon, we didn’t have a chance to grab anything to eat. So after the play, we stop at John’s Pizzeria in the theatre district. It’s one of my fave “no slice” spots in the city, but every time I’ve tried to take Trish, the line has been crah-zazy long. But not last night, at 10:30 pm on a Saturday night, we are able to walk right in with no wait. As far as the food, excellent as usual - best crust in the city - and that’s coming from someone who leaves the bones in the box.

Anyway, the host seats us in direct view of the restroom door. As we wait for our waitress, I decide to use it. Locked. OK, so it’s occupied. We wait ten minutes. No waitress and still no sign of life from the bathroom. First thought, “Hmmm, maybe I need a key?” Second thought, “Man, does our waitress suck.” Finally, a busboy wanders by and tries the bathroom door. Of course, it’s locked and he starts walking away past our table. Trying to be all helpful and sh*t, I tell him that it’s been locked for a while thinking he’ll offer a key or something. All he says is, “Oh” and walks away. We don’t see him again. Finally, our lazy waitress arrives and takes our order. Then - surprise - the door to the men’s room swings open and a server walks out. Trish gives me a “what-the-f*ck?” look. No joke, he was in there for like, 15 minutes. OK, fine, I’ve been known to take a leisurely sit-down, but I usually reserve my marathon sessions for the privacy of my own apartment and preferably with a stack of magazines, not at work. What-ev’s, I toss it up to some funky stomach virus and move on. A few minutes later another server heads to the restroom. 10 minutes pass and he’s still in there. OK, that’s just too much of a coincidence. When he finally finishes whatever it is he’s doing in there, he jauntily rushes by our table. There is no way his extreme joy, bordering on jittery excitement, could be simple relief from a satisfying dump. As soon as he’s past earshot, Trish leans over and says, “There’s totally a drug stash in that bathroom and all the servers are shooting up in there.” Of course! Come on, a line of workers spending 10-15 minutes at a time in the bathroom, one after the other? What else could it possibly be?

Trish and I immediately put our sting operation into effect. First off, we wait until the end of our meal so that we’re long gone before anyone notices we’ve made off with their crack. Lazy waitress puts down the check and I hand her my credit card. I nonchalantly head to the restroom to search for the illicit goods. Once inside, I finger the space between the mirror and the wall, reach behind and thoroughly search behind the sink and reach inside the paper towel dispenser. Nothing. Hmmm, what would Chuck do? Check the toilet! I carefully lift the toilet cover off the tank as not to bang the porcelain. I look inside - and nothing. I lift the cover over my head and inspect the inside, careful not to let anything nasty drip on me. Hmm, nothing there either. It’s got to be behind the toilet. I crouch down to take a look, but the corner of the toilet tank is covered in brown splash stains. Unfortunately, a bag full of crack, even at street value, is not worth getting my fingers and forearm smeared with sh*t. Those busboys know how to protect their stash. Foiled! I head out and break the news to Trish who doesn’t understand why I wouldn’t stick my hand in poop. Oh well, tonight we’ll just have to get high on life!

But that’s not the end of the evening’s excitement. Because the hell of weekend subway construction is in full swing, Trish and I had a nice long wait at Queensborough Plaza for our transfer. It was around midnight, so we knew we’d have a long wait ahead. If you don’t know the stop, it’s on a raised platform above the street. Since it’s only one stop from the city, the area is literally springing up with new condos, many of which face the subway platform directly. Bored from our wait, we spy one apartment, lights fully ablaze with no curtains and no blinds. Two middle-aged couples are having coffee and conversing in the living room and a younger girl, maybe 17 or 18 is hanging out in her adjoining bedroom. It’s all pretty boring, nothing out of the ordinary --- until the girl starts undressing! Yes, facing the window directly across from a subway platform loaded with bored (not for long) passengers, the girl starts stripping down. It wasn’t like she was putting on a show or anything. It was obvious she was just changing into her PJ’s. But if we had no trouble seeing her every feature - and I mean EVERY feature - how could she not notice fifty people staring at her from a brightly lit subway platform? Buy some curtains people!