Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Celebries in the DR?

Julianna Margulies was spotted with a foxy gentleman carrying Trojan Magnum condoms in Duane Reade recently.

Click here to read more on that saucy minx's DR purchases, if not to learn more about her mating rituals.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

When Reactions Go Wrong: The Story of My Life

I have classic customer service moments almost daily where I am so flustered by the experience that I don't think of a good comeback until I'm already halfway down the block. Very Costanza-esque.

And then there are the those other moments where I walk away, quickly, wishing that I had some sort of control over my mouth.

I get my coffee every morning from Chicken Deli and I love them despite the fact that they are called Chicken Deli. Every morning, coffee and a banana.... sometimes an egg wrap with hot sauce, which they already know I'll ask for. It's a real parent-child relationship I have with them (which includes the mussing of my hair while handing me my bag of goodies and pat on the butt as I scamper off to work.)

I went in there the other morning for a cappuccino and a banana. I was feeling the cappuccino , until they charged me 24 cents tax. 24 cents tax! The injustice! I demanded an explanation as the unfortunate fellow behind me was trying to pay for his bagel.

The reason for taxation was, "We tax cappuccino." Well, that's crazy.... you never taxed me on coffee before! This huffing and puffing went on for about a minute or two which was a whole lifetime to the guy behind me who was looking on in embarrassed horror as if I was his verbally abusive wife yelling at him as usual.

I threw my 3 dollars down and attempted to storm out, but my coffee was not in the bag. It was both next to AND hidden by the bag so that when I picked it up I knocked it the eff over! This somehow angered me more and the guy behind me instinctively shrunk. I said, "What the....!" She said, "I put a sleeve on it.... that means it's not in the bag!" I say, "I don't know what you are saying to me!"

Finally, after standing there a few seconds too long I said, "Whatever." And storm out pissed like the high school child I apparently am. In my head, I've shouted I hate you and slammed my bedroom door.

Half a block down I'm embarrassed, praying that my dead grandparents weren't just witnessing that episode and thinking, "Why am I such an asshole?"

Friday, March 16, 2007

In honor of Wrathos, the Travel Edition

In my younger and more vulnerable years I dated a Republican who lived in Dallas. I could start trying to justify it, but I would stray so far from the story that I want to tell, that I fear I might never find my way back. The only thing that matters is that he was living in Dallas, and I was in New York. He usually came up to see me, but I had one long summer weekend, and, being a native of Texas, I thought I’d zip down to partake of the 100+ heat and a little sweet lovin’.

You’re already laughing at me, aren’t you? “Silly Daisy,” you’re saying, “nobody can ever zip anywhere if plane travel is involved! The airlines simply can’t abide it if your trip is stress free. Your pain only makes them grow stronger, like Fraggles and whatever those things built by the Doozers were made of!” What can I say? I was young and deeply in like.

So I bought a ticket to fly out Friday and back on Sunday night on Continental. I took the bus to Newark, giving myself like three hours to get there, because I am hyper paranoid about getting to the airport on time. The ticket line was long, and we were moving at about six inches an hour. Slowly, a grumbling started to move through the line, an anxious murmur like the one made by the crowd in the courtroom at the end of every Matlock. Flights were being cancelled! Everyone was going to be stranded at Newark Airport, which (no offense to Jersey residents), is the armpit of hell.

I can’t tell you why exactly, but when bad shit goes down, I turn into a blissful optimist. “Sucks for them,” I thought, “but surely everything will be fine with my flight, because if it’s not, I won’t get to spend three days with my boyfriend, and nothing so horrid could ever happen to me!” If I could go back in time, I would walk up to myself at that moment and punch me in the face.

So, surprise, I got to the front of the line and am told that my flight is cancelled. I couldn’t go that night because of “weather in Dallas.” Every time I hear anyone who works for an airline say the word weather, everything that comes after that is in the voice of Peppermint Patty’s teacher, because it is oh-so-frequently bullshit so they can get away with not putting you up in a hotel. To test this theory I stood at the front of the line and called my boyfriend in Dallas to find out what the weather was like down there (Yes, I was that asshole, delaying things for everyone else.). His words, “It’s hot. And sunny.” I repeated that assessment to the guy at the ticket counter who said, “Maybe he’s lying to you.” I’m not going to comment about that, because the memory of it makes me want to punch a hole in my wall. Suffice it to say that my irritation level was fuchsia, a state I feel sure requires no translation.

The best they could do was put me on a flight the following day at 5:30 in the morning. That meant I would have to take a bus back into the city for the night, and then take a cab back to the airport the next morning, because the flight was too early for the bus. That’s like $70 in transportation bills I was racking up. I decided to plea my case and demand a hotel room. I was going to tell them that the whole weather story smacked of chicanery and that it was their responsibility to put me up in a room at the airport adjacent Marriott. I was going to be a stern, take no shit woman of the 21st Century. In the interest of full disclosure I will tell you that I was none of those things. Instead I burst into tears, which made the desk clerk feel bad but did exactly nothing to advance my case.

As I was walking away, a sweet retiree came up to me with her husband, and we chatted about our mutual frustration. We vented for a few minutes waiting for the bus when a flight crew came to wait in the same area, and we heard the following words:

"Yeah, I was supposed to do the Dallas trip tonight, but the whole crew was over their hours, so they had to ground the flight. We’re going tomorrow morning instead."

Translation: The airline scheduled the pilots for too many hours so they cancelled the flight, and the whole story about weather turned out to be, as suspected, bullshit. And so I turned to the terminal, shook my fist in fury and began my incantation:

"From now on we are enemies, you and I. Because you choose for your instrument a boastful, lustful, smutty, infantile boy and give me only the ability to recognize the incarnation. Because you are unjust, unfair, unkind I will block you, I swear it. I will hinder and harm your creature on Earth as far as I am able. I will ruin your incarnation!"

Admittedly it’s not a perfect fit, but I swear to you, no Italian composer ever hated Mozart more than I hate Continental Airlines.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Speaking of Starbucks

I actively hate Starbucks. I go in there, despite my hatred and better judgment, about once or twice a month and I am regularly pissed off.

Just the other day, I was berated for not putting the wording of my order in the right contextual order, according to Starbucks.

Really, guys?

Let's say I asked for a vanilla latte, grande with skim. I already want to kill myself for saying the word "grande," but history proves the horror in saying "medium."

This uppity, condescending, c-u-next-tuesday of a barista stares at me for a moment and then without taking her eyes off me says, "Can I get a GRANDE-VANILLA-SKIM-LATTE? Or a vanilla, grande, latte, skim.... whatever she said."

You make 7 dollars an hour, sister... if you are expecting my petty change in your tip cup (that sounds dirty) I'm thinking a little less of your 'tude and a little more kissing of my butt.

This Just In: Stunned Silence Edition

"This Just In" features stories sent in by you guys.
Keep 'em coming!

[Ed. "Buy this man a drink. Seriously."]

From "Steve-O":

I am an epileptic, and one day I was having 'auras' while at work so I went into Duane Reade to fill out a prescription, because it was the closest thing to my job.

I went to the counter, and saw someone stocking meds in plain sight. Granted, I am standing there having little body twitches, and I can barely talk, but she sees me.

After 5 minutes of watching the pharmacist stock meds, I spoke up and said, "Excuse me, can you help me?"

This big fat bitch looked up and said, "Excuse me...I am on break."

Not in the mood, I snapped back, "You stock things on your break, but you cant help me? I guarantee you I am easier to deal with, and I need your help now. Its an emergency."

What does she do? She fucking walks away, and goes in the back room!

So I go to the front cashier, and tell her I am sick and need to see someone immediately.

Her response, "Go to the pharmacy section then."

I calmly said, "I did that, and for some reason she walked away."

The cashier responds with a nasty attitude, "Well, she went on break then."

I flipped out here & I am very embarrassed about my response but I was not well.

I shouted back, "No fucking shit. I know she went on break. She fucking told me as I asked her to help me. You are not aware right now, but I am very sick, and you ignoring me is not helping. So if you are not busy, will you please go fucking find someone to help me. Otherwise, I will drop right in front of you and vomit, piss and shit all over the place. So either help me, or I will give you something to clean up."

Her response, "You are very rude. You dont have to talk like that."

My response, "Yeah well...everyone here acts like they are fucking retarded, and they are very convincing."

The woman called my bluff and stood at the counter and did not help me.

Realizing this was not helping, I shouted, "Ok then. Go fuck yourself bitch! You go and earn your $7 bucks an hour with pride! Maybe you can buy a boat ticket back home!". Yikes...not nice at all.

I went to the SI Ferry and was able to get to my regular pharmacist to help me.

I dont go back to that Duane Reade anymore.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

I have to admit, a little bit of my soul just died when I heard that the baristas are pissed off enough to create an I Hate Starbucks blog....and mess with your drinks.

I just leapt out the window onto a swimming pool filled with razor blades. And shut up, I don't know where the pool came from, nor can I explain how I'm blogging from my fall. Maybe I'm using my blackberry.

Anyway. If you're looking to cut back your caffeine intake or sneak a peek into the lives of SBUX Baristas...hereyago.

Congrats, Duane Reade! You Suck!

Time Out New York is our new best friend, with whom we share Bonnie Bell Dr. Pepper lip gloss, solely based on their 'bad service' issue.

Our dear DR has been bestowed with the impressive and tongue-in-cheeky (tm Wrathos) "ConEdison Award":

Duane Reade
What do Swiffers and tampons have in common? At DR, they’re stocked side by side. Just don’t ask the zombie staff to help you find anything (whatever it is, they’re out of it, by the way).

Monday, March 12, 2007

Wrathos Round-Up

They're just messing with me. I'm ready to binge eat and shave my head.

Instead of my usual short story of retail hell, I thought I would put a few people on notice:

* Lady at the salad tosser counter. I know you didn't ask for beets and I know he tried to trick you into taking the beets by pretending he didn't understand you. But, I'm not your friend. I will not help you with your beet issue. Don't look to me for support, b/c if i don't get my turkey/bleu cheese/cranberry/pine nut salad in record time, you're dealing with the business end of my skechers. Oh and I hate your "shushushuh" laugh; Find a new one.

* 98lb. girl at the post office. Look, I'm with ya, that line suuuucks. But do you really need to put all your materials together while shuffling in line? Do you really need to be in line to put a box together, tape said box bottom, fill with miscellaneous items in plastic grocery bag, squat on floor to fill out crappy 99cent precious moments card, use teeth to rip more packing tape, squeeze box with thighs (soliciting growth from all pants within 10 ft), then lazily kick box down the line for a half hour, all emo and shit? Stop it. PS: I like your gold bag.

* {blank} online store {redacted b/c boyfriend hasn't gotten his birthday present and frankly? Not ruining it for you guys.}
Listen, B.O.S.: I know, get what you pay for and yeah, I saved a couple of bucks ordering from you. But if you're calling me to check whether my bank's address is the same as the address on the order form I'd filled out Friday....because you're concerned that someone had stolen my card....don't you think you should WAIT to take that money out of my bank account? You asshole. So, when I call you on it, don't get all "Ma'am" on me. Because I'm right.

* 973-322-2312. What kind of number are you anyway? Yeah, I had the wrong number and thought I was calling my landlord. But when I ask for "Mario," just say "you have the wrong number." You know he's not there, you know I don't have the right digits. So, why put me on hold and then come back for clarification and then hold again and then back to your manager who FINALLY tells me my mistake? Wait, you're an emergency room at St. Barnabas? Alright, pass. For now.

* Ass Family, party of 4. First of all, shout out to Daisy Buchanan, who'd recommended "Music & Lyrics." Bravo. Bravo, In. Deed. Anyway: Ass Family. Movie's at 4:10, which means the previews start at 4:10, so by my count you've decided to mosey on in at around 4:30 and sit in front of me. AND TALK LOUDLY TO DECIDE WHO WANTS TO SPLIT A DIET COKE? "I'll go get it!" offers Pa. "No, you sit, the kids will go," suggest Maw. "Chortlegibberishfuckheadmeh," go the kids as Pa slllloooowwwly makes his way to the aisle and out to concessions. I get that it's a matinée. But, Fools, I'm there b/c I want to avoid fuck heads like you. Oh, am I being hypersensitive. NO, because your loud ass came back with two WATERS, which you know is going to piss off the teens. And sure enough, they're whining about your beverage choice and while you're explaining the economics behind concession stands, I'm missing Hugh Grant's formulaic stammer! Sit. the. fuck. down.

Why I Hate You... Big Head Edition

The series continues with the people who live to ruin Monday.

The Scene: 6 train platform at Grand Central-42nd st, 8:30am

The platform is *surprise* packed and a full train rolls up. People shuffle to the door waiting for others to get off the train so they can shove on. I get to the door and the train is completely full so I resolve to wait for the next train. I can feel the lady's bag behind me poking me in the rear as the train pulls away inches from my face. I tried to step back a little, but this lady is up against me. I turn to see how many people are on the platform.... behind the woman who is poking me with her bag there is 15 feet of NO ONE!

Confused, I turn and ask her to step back a little and this is how THAT turned out:

Me: Pardon me, could you just step back a little bit?
Pokey: (insert immediate attitude) No. Why don't you move instead of pushing me?
Me: Lady, I'm just about to fall onto the tracks. (seriously, I was on the edge in the yellow zone!) Could you just move a little?
Pokey: (sucks teeth) Well, maybe you should've thought about that when you moved there.
Me: I was trying to get on the train. It's kind of how that happened and I really don't want to wind up on the tracks.
Pokey: (now she's J. Lo.) That's stupid. I'm not going to push you.... Why don't YOU get out of the way if you are uncomfortable?
Me: Lady! Forget it.

I turned back around (okay, maybe with a little hair flip) with the train rolling in, completely pissed that she thinks she's right when I hear her talking about me!

Pokey: Can you believe her? Some people. And her big head.
Patron: (nodding) Mmmm hmmm.

What are you nodding at?! This woman and every idiot on this platform is insane!

Let me tell you something, Pokey... if I was going down I would've grabbed a handful of your fake red ponytail and you'd be coming with me.

Thursday, March 8, 2007

Overheard in the DR

From Overheard In New York:

Teenage girl shaking her fist: Fuck you Duane Reade! Gah!
--76th & Broadway

No One's Safe from the DR...Not Even Busty Dad-Bangers

From Gawker Stalker:

Jessica Simpson

Broadway & E 22nd St

Mar 7th, 2007 @ 5pm

Saw Jessica Simpson at the Duane Reade on Broadway between Houston and Prince. She was alone, glued to her cell phone, and trying to pick up a prescription, only to find it was waiting for her at a Duane Reade afew blocks away. Brunette hair and giant diamond earrings.

Tuesday, March 6, 2007

Have Cell Phones Made Us Douchebags?

I went to see the movie Amazing Grace this past weekend. There were two things to be taken from this experience:

1) Slavery is bad.
2) Turn off your cell phone when you’re at the movies.

The first point is obvious. The second, apparently less so. Before the previews, the audience was reminded no less than seven times, in a variety of ways, to turn off cell phones. “Please silence your phone.” “Power off your phone.” “Shhhhh!” There was a whole skit involving some famous director whose name escapes me about the subject.

Now, I am not an unforgiving woman. I understand that sometimes people forget or get distracted or think they’ve turned off their phones or whatever. Sometimes a phone will ring. It’s annoying, but I’ll let it go, because the person involved is usually (and rightfully) embarrassed and quick to turn it off.

Not so on Sunday, March 4, 2007 at Union Square Cinema…

Highly Dramatic Scene. Daisy Buchanan is not ashamed to admit that she is getting a little misty when suddenly…


What the fuck?

“Hey. I’m going to be late. The movie isn’t over yet. Yeah. So wait, are you going someplace else? Where? No, I’m at Union Square. I’m not going all the way uptown; just stay there for like half an hour. Fine. Fine. Okay. I’ll see you then. I’m hungry too; we’ll get food. Yeah. Okay. Cool. Bye.”

I don’t know who this guy is or what he looks like, but I know unequivocally that he is an asshole who makes the lives of everyone around him less pleasant then they would have been if he had never been born.

7 Train Haikus

Okay, so I wrote this a month ago, but it doesn't make it any less valid today.

Just got to the train
With my suitcase and cold heart
I hate these midgets

Bus was half hour late
All my digits are frozen
Fucking MTA

Was pelted with salt
Standing on the sidewalk
Truck shoveling snow

Bitter cold Flushing
Smiles turn to angry rages
'Cause of my luggage

Not enough coffee
Not enough of anything
To complete this day

Why I Hate You...

Continuing the series of awards to special customers who've irritated us enough to bring commuter sweats to a boil.

Why I Hate You: Middleaged Commuter Pals

Alright look.

It's 7:08 in the goddamn morning. This is everyone's silent sacred time. Time to catch up on the morning news via blackberry, to answer some early emails, to catch a couple of the Zs you'd missed last night.

So listen up middle aged debaters with no sense of personal audio space:

I dont care that you two made friends via a chance meeting on the train in which you learned both your kids attend the same school. Save the romance for Lifetime.

I don't care about your book.

I don't care how many times the number 48 appears in the motherfucking bible.

You're not interesting.
You're not amusing.
You're LOUD with your dirty uncle cackling ways and Cosby sweater.

Shut the fuck up. I'm tired. I fucking work for a living and this is one of two half hour trips where I can relax and either prepare for the day or unwind after a session of marathon meetings.

There's a code. A commuter code: If it's before 10am, you keep your voices low and your eulogies to yourself!

I hate you.

xxxooo Wrathos

Monday, March 5, 2007

Overheard in the DR


Note Oversized, Gangsta-style Duane Reade Smock

Employee: I'm so gangsta and keep it so real that I think it scares women sometimes.

--Duane Reade, 76th & 1st

This Just In: Faux-Yolk Edition

"This Just In" features stories sent in by you guys.
Keep 'em coming!

From "Ernestina":

Husband in car with sleeping 3 year old. Long day of Irish Pride spent at the St Patty's Parade in Staten Island. Toes and fingers frozen, contacts suctioned to my eyeballs, all I need is a few quick things to hold us over until our monthly Supermarket Sweep this week. Soda, Milk, Pop Tarts and Cereal.

Grab my loot in 4 minutes, only one person on line--YAYA...

.............7 minutes later.............

I'm sitting on my basket of loot because I am tired and stuck behind a woman who is not only 100, not only wearing one of those "knit caps with the wig attached", but who is buying completely useless shit. If she was purchasing things like heart medication, band aids, you know, I could wait.

But this list is SO RANDOM and she piles everything on the 1 x 1 counter in a HUGE PYRAMID which eventually topples and takes another 7 minutes to pick the crap up.


1 box of mac and cheese
1 box of chocolate covered liqueur cherries that looks ABOUT 25 years old with dust on it
2 jugs of windshield wiper fluid ??????????? (Please get off the road old lady)
14 Cadbury chocolate eggs with the gross, yellow faux-yolk
1 Case of water
1 stuffed bunny that sings when you squeeze it which she keeps squeeeeeeeeeeeeezing.
1 box of baby wipes (don't want to know)
1 lollipop
1 dishtowel
1 sponge
rope (not kidding)

Just when the end looks near, she pulls out 150,000 coupons from her pocket.

Then I hear the most glorious words over the loudspeaker:

"I'm open in Cosmetics! Please step over!"


15 minutes gone.....when I get back to the car, husband and child, both asleep in running car.


Saturday, March 3, 2007

Why Phoenix Sucks

  1. They have scorpions. I am paralyzed with fear in the face of a waterbug, but at least they won't sting you in your sleep and incur the pain of (what I was told felt like) birthing 15 babies made of spikes. (Okay, I made most of that up. But I bet it hurts a lot.)
  2. My cab driver from the airport to the hotel punched his steering wheel when I told him where I need to go.
  3. Same cab driver, upon dropping me off, pulled my bag out of the trunk, left it right next to the trunk and peeled out the second I closed my door.
  4. New cab driver (after dinner that night) took me to the La Quinta in Phoenix when I specifically said the La Quinta in Tempe to which he replies, "You are wrong." Well, buddy, that's you're opinion, but we're still at the wrong f-ing La Quinta.
  5. La Quinta.
  6. When scheduling my hotel shuttle to the airport they asked if I could go at a different time because that time is the drivers lunch. (Uh, yeah. Hows about I call the airline and see if they'll reschedule my flight because my driver needs to eat?)
  7. La Quinta shuttle driver leaves me off at baggage claim. Huh? What?!
  8. Frontier Airlines does not have self check-in so you are forced to stand on this very long and painfully slow moving line.
  9. When I got to the desk to check in with a human, I just happened to overhear someone say the flight has been delayed 2 hours. When I asked the human if that were true the conversation went a little like this:

Me: Um, is our flight delayed?

Human: You didn't already hear that when you were in line?

Me: Was there an announcement made to the line?

Human: No.

Me: Then no.

Human: Well, that's what the line is for.

Me: ???????????

  • The final nail in this nightmare coffin: 2 hours hanging out Mexicana Cantina (or whatever it was called) trying desperatly to get the 80's waitress' attention and sweater vest guy thinking I'm playing Basic Instinct with him because I am staring intently in his direction (where the kitchen was.) What's a girl got to do to get the hell out of this town?!

Seriously, Phoenix? I was only there for one night!

Friday, March 2, 2007

This Just In...Eckerd

"This Just In" features stories sent in by you guys.
Keep 'em coming!

From "Mooch Rex":

Call me curious, but when Eckerd decides they need to hire some folks to help mind the store, do they start by combing through primordial ooze for applicants?

Perfect example. I'm at my local Eckerd, which is located on the 6th level of hell, just past the adulterers. I had an odd craving for Coca-Cola Blak (Which is cooler than regular coke because they dropped the “C” out of “Black”. Hip! Cool!) So, there I am, purchase in hand, standing in the ridiculously long line as usual. Random thought: Y'know It's always a marvel to me how Eckerd always has the great sense to make sure that as LONG as the line gets they MAKE sure only ONE employee mans a register. Must have been in the contract ol' Scratch worked up for them. (Ol’ Scratch is another term for Satan. And before you ask, Yes, I worship the Devil.)
So, the single celled organism working the register, with her fat mouth hangin’ slack and her big meaty “Will there be rabbits on the farm, George??” hands clumsily molesting the items folks bring up, unenthusiastically calls upon the next person in line.

Now the woman in front of me was old. Really old. I'm talking formed out of the first sludge of the earth old. The ancient one shambles up to the counter and states that she'd love a pack of cigarettes for purchase. Now, all of us people trapped in line can tell she's been a LONG-TIME smoker. I suppose it was the small visual and audio clues that tipped us off. The white hair of age now a lovely yellowish tinge from the billowing clouds of nicotine smoke, the brownish teeth that looked like she ate a bowl of tootsie rolls without coming up for air and the throaty rasp of a once feminine voice now three octaves lower. Hell I’m a man and I don't even have that deep a voice.
The lummox behind the counter, and this is NO bullshit, asks to see her I.D.

HER I.D. PEOPLE. Would you card God? Hell no. You just know that fucker is OLD.

The Ancient one stared back at the Lummox like she just took a dump in a box of cigarettes and demanded she smoke them.

I settled back to enjoy the show.

"You're joking, right?" Oldie rasp/chuckled.

"No, I've got to see your I.D.” Said the Lummox “To make sure I'm allowed to sell you cigarettes. To make sure you’re legal"

Holy fuckin’ shit.

A massive sucking of teeth erupted from the line behind me, which if I had to visualize with a word, would sound very close to "TCCHH". The line which had been about ten people deep when I found my place, had snaked so far back it went past the photo counter. Methuselah was furious, and really, why wouldn't she be? When you've experienced the extinction of the dinosaurs AND lived through two world wars, I'm sure all you'd want to do is just chill out with your pack of smokes and take the edge off of life for a bit.

"The Mummy Returns" demanded to see the manager.

Having had my fill of the floor show, I put down my bottle of Coca-Cola Blak (Rad!) and I walked out. No small amount of bottled sugar water was worth waiting in that line to witness the battle of wills between a woman who's intelligence can be trumped by a brick, and a woman who most likely kept a Stegosaurus as a pet. I walked over to my local grocery store and bought a delicious red bull instead, thankful it gave me the wings I would need to fly back out of Eckerd hell.

Thursday, March 1, 2007

Are you F*&#ing Kidding Me?: New Jersey Transit

First in a series of special, inner monologue accounts that make us visibly turn plaid.

9:19pm Ok. Catching the 9:29. Ready to-waitaminute. Ugh. What is up with my stomach? Ugh, yeah I do NOT feel good. Need Tums or something...note to self - no eating chinese within 10 blocks of Penn Station.

Maybe I'll just run to the ladies before I go...godDAMN it smells like crotch in here. Abort.

9:28pm Alright. I just need to get on this train and in half an hour I can be home, take some mylanta and get into be-


Awwww F!

Ok. I can do this.

9:45pm Alright. Track 15. Lessgo. I'd better sit near the bathroom, just in case.

9:46pm I immediately regret this decision.


On another track? Really? Didn't they get the memo? We all heard it: Track 15. Ugh idiots.


9:55pm Yeah yeah yeah off we go. Alright, hang in there. Eat another Tums and you'll feel better. Wait-why are we stopping. We're in the tunnel, so let's go. Oh, it must be one of those 'only one track is open' deals. Eh, happens all the time.


Am I having a stroke? What the hell did he just say? Yeah buddy in front of me, I have no fucking idea. Oh good, here comes the conductor.


Oh sweet and savory Jesus. Alright, well at least we're still stopping in Glen Ridge. You know, I'm still not feeling-ugh...I'd better just get it over that a fucking Cup O'Noodles in the toilet?


So, finally moving. Fine. Ok. Just make it to Glen Ridge. Five stops. Only five-

::click click::


What the fuck is that?

::click click click::


Oh for fuckssake -Sir are you cutting your toenails?!


G&G: Still needs some work

I’m going to have to agree with my colleague regarding the Guy & Gallard internet service. Rather than take her post as a cautionary tale, I thought “Cool! I can order online and pick up after I go to the post office!”

Long story short, the exact same thing happened to me. I said I’d pick up at the restaurant on Park & 31st and was told I actually had to go across the street. That store also wanted a credit card, but I’ve been riding my MasterCard like a porn star recently and wanted to give the poor thing a break. After a little negotiating I was able to get them to accept cash. I was then told that even though my order clearly states I’LL PICK UP, they had in fact sent it to my office.

Not a huge deal. They were very nice about it. Remade the whole thing and tossed in a free cookie.

I get back to my office and, naturally, run into the delivery guy who doesn’t believe me and wants to call the store. We were down in the lobby and the security guard wouldn’t let him use the phone, and I wasn’t going to prolong this by letting him up to my office, so he was SOL. He finally turns to leave. Then he stops and says, “What about my tip?” I wanted to laugh like Moira Kelly in The Cutting Edge when DB Sweeny keeps tripping on the toe pick, but I managed to bite my tongue and walk away. Irritation level: charcoal (equivalent to have one’s chair kicked repeatedly in a movie theatre). I admit this might be a bit of an overreaction, but I’m sick. There are construction people in my current office, and I have to come in on Saturday to move my stuff into my new office by myself. And I have 1.7 million things to do that are actually work related. All I want to do is get to my desk and kick back with my chicken noodle soup and egg salad sandwich while I catch up on some Gawker. I really don’t think that’s too much to ask.

Overheard in the DR


: This place is terrible.

#2: I know.
#1: I hate Duane Reade.
#2: Yeah, me too.
#1: And yet I love it... it's like an abuse relationship you just can't get over.
#2: Yeah.
#1: Everytime I come in here, I see all these people who are like, I really don't want to be here right now. [Pause. Dionne Warwick is playing.] Must be the music.

--Duane Reade, 14th & 3rd