Sushi Strategy

There are laundry facilities in my building but I go to the laundromat. The machines at my place are old and the room is small and it just seems easier to walk around the block and use shiny, well kept machines. Of course the laundromat is run by a little old lady, Mayoress of Myrtle Avenue, who uses her shopping cart as a walker and runs her business as a benign dictatorship. You behave because you don't want to disappoint her. The rules are simple; clean up after yourself, stay out of the way and don't eat or drink inside.

I got my laundry all set in the washer a couple of weeks ago and found I was starving. So I strolled up the block to our new fancy deli for a little flat of sushi. I didn't have time to go home and there aren't any benches or stoops around so I stood outside the laundromat gobbling hunks of California roll awkwardly hunched over the plastic bag it had been served in.

For the most part people are walking by me and not even sparing a glance. That's one of the things I adore about New York City. Even if people think you're a total wackadoo they aren't going to waste their time telling you so. One guy, though, gave me this sidelong glance that, well, I didn't know if he objected to my food, to the fact that I was eating outside or standing up or what but I took offense. You know, silently, while I stood there continuing to eat.

A very few minutes later he came back in the other direction. I tensed a bit, waiting for him to give me another evil eye but not expecting him to say anything.

"Hey," he said a little sharply, "Can I ask you something?"

Fully on the defensive I replied, "Sure."

"Is that sushi?"

So not where I thought this was going. "Yes it is."

"Does it taste like anything?"

What?!? It was actually a nice opportunity to pull out all that Chrome and I had learned at our sushi making class. So I did. Blah blah rice vinegar, seasonings, different locations, blah. The upshot was yes, but not like spoiled fish.

"Where'd you get it, the Associated?" (That's our local mid-scale grocery store.)

"No, that new deli, Mr. Coco." I pointed, too, like the guy was completely new here.

"OK. Well, OK. I think I'll try some of that."

Great. Good. That's nice, sir. Glad I could...help?

Even a plain old laundry day fails to be at all dull in my neck of the woods.