Here are things I’ve been busted for lately:
Checking myself out in a window. By someone inside the window. It was a dark little administrative office at the pier for free kayaking or fishing or something that adventurous people do in the Hudson, and I didn’t think anyone was in there – till I noticed motion behind the glass and there was a guy grinning and waving at me and giving me the “ok” hand signal.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d been looking straight on, and then I could’ve thrust my head forward and shielded my eyes with my hand, “just trying to see if anyone’s in there”-style. (Like I have a kayaking complaint or something.) But I was checking out my side view. The how’s my butt profile doing inspection. There’s no defense.
Whatever you call this. When I entered my apartment building the other day, I took my ear buds out so I could ask the doorman, Shef, a question. Before I said anything, he said, “Yes, Laura. You want to ask me something?” And then he explained, “When you take out one ear bud, I know it’s a courtesy thing and you’ll walk through and just say hi. When you take out both, it’s to ask me something.”
I’m not sure if that’s “busted” or understood.
Stealing a chicken from a blind lady. That’s giving away the punchline, but it stays.
Couple of nights ago, I go to Garden of Eden at around 7pm to get a rotisserie chicken for dinner.
Nothing left on the chicken shelves but some dried-out looking, cut-up quarter chickens.
I leave and trot to Whole Foods. No chickens left. Is it some chicken-eating holiday I didn’t know about? Or is this just what happens in the chicken community after 7pm?
I’ve already seen the chickens at Agata and Valentina. Not looking good. Garden of Eden’s are best. Maybe good enough to settle for the 2 quarter chickens, if they’re still there.
They are, but down on the bottom shelf, tucked out of view, is a beautiful one, all fresh and niced up with sauce and herbs. There’s a piece of paper on top of the plastic lid, which I know means something, but I toss it aside and grab the chicken. After you’ve gone to three different places looking for chicken and doubled back, your brain and body tell you that you must have chicken at any cost. Social codes don’t apply. You’re like a Walking Dead zombie but feeding on rotisserie meat instead of living humans.
I pretend not to hear the counter guy yelling “Miss, Miss!” until the third time, when snap my head toward him like, who me?
“You can’t have that chicken. It’s reserved.”
“It’s mine. I called for that chicken.” – This from a woman 10 feet away from me, standing at the counter.
No, wait, a woman with dark glasses and a seeing eye dog.
She’s looking at me as accusingly as a blind woman possibly can.
“She called for it,” counter guy confirms. “That’s why there was a sign on it.”
“Oh, no kidding! Huh! I didn’t know you could call ahead for a chicken.” Trying to pretend I wasn’t just caught taking a blind woman’s dinner (which, of course, she deserved because she had dibs on it, not because she was more in need). “What time do you have to call by?”
Deli guy looks at me like, “What is wrong with you?”
Blind woman shakes her head.
Seeing eye dog lies down and puts both paws over his eyes like it’s all too much.
Cue Curb Your Enthusiasm end-of-show theme music.
(Except for the last two lines, every bit of this really happened. I’m not proud.)
What’ve you been busted for? Or busted someone else for? How far would you go for a nice roasted chicken?
TELL ME IN THE COMMENTS.
Or, leave a question for future posts. I love questions.