Posts Tagged ‘Rite Aid’

We were swamped at work and I didn’t get a chance to catch my breath until well into the afternoon. Even if I hadn’t forgotten my lunch at home, I wouldn’t have been able to eat until 4:00 at the earliest. But by then I had gone beyond hunger. Ever been there? When you wait so long to eat that you no longer feel like eating? It’s like your hunger fed on itself until it disappeared.

So I decided that I wouldn’t run out and get something awful in the area (the deli around the corner makes a semi-competent egg sandwich; the owner of the deli two doors down is still mad at me because I refused to comp him a doctor’s appointment; the Chinese buffet next door makes Panda Express look like Shun Lee; the Burger King next door is a Burger King). Instead, I’d wait until we closed at 9:00, hightail it to Zito’s Sandwich Shoppe on 7th Avenue (in Brooklyn, not Manhattan) and get my new most favoritest sandwich ever: The 8-Hour Slow-Cooked Pork Bracciole.

It’s a butterflied loin of pork (from Faicco’s!) stuffed with provolone, garlic, parsley and a pinch of bread crumbs, covered in their deceptively simple tomato sauce, and sprinkled with parmigianno reggiano — all served on a perfect hero (from Brooklyn’s own Il Fornaretto Bakery!). It’s absolutely amazing.

Zito’s closes at 10:00, but I called them at around 8:00 and asked when they stopped taking orders. “10:00 p.m.” Perfect. If I left work at 9:00, I’d be between the Carroll Street station and the 4th Avenue and Ninth Street station (which is an area that gets great cell reception as it isn’t in a tunnel) by 9:45. I’d call in my order and arrive at Zito’s by 10:00 at the absolute latest.

I wasn’t hungry until around 8:30, but from the moment I devised my plan I could only think of that sandwich and how good it would taste when I ate it with my face.

A patient arrived at 8:15, so I started tidying and closing down what I could. He was on his way by 8:50 and I considered calling in my order and telling them that I’d be there in an hour. “Nah,” I thought. “No need. My plan is foolproof.”

Cut to 9:30, when we actually locked up.

I calmly walked to the R train, frantically doing math problems in my head (what if I get off the train just before 10 and call in the order and then get back on the train — would that work?). I didn’t see myself getting a sandwich. So I started considering the places near Zito’s that would still be open. Mediocre pizza, horrendous Mexican, Dunkin’ Donuts, Rite Aid… nothing really tickled my fancy. Then I heard the R train coming. I raced down the stairs and then raced up the other stairs (I hate you, Cortland Street station) and made it onto the Brooklyn-bound R. I looked at my watch phone. It was 9:35.

“Hmmm… I could get to Jay Street by 9:48… if there’s an F train there by 9:53, my plan will still work!”

I maneuvered through the train so that I was standing exactly where the entrance to the escalator at Jay Street would soon be. When we arrived at the station, I hurriedly climbed the escalator (it’s like walking fast on an airport treadmill except not fun and it makes me wheeze). In all the time I’ve made this commute, there has never been an F train waiting for me at Jay Street. Tonight, there was. At the doors closed as soon as I started down the steps toward it. A crazy person was loudly trying to seduce a morbidly obese station agent as she pretended to sweep the floor. It offered me no succor. I would arrive home sandwichless.

An F came about 10 minutes later. When we were finally out of the tunnel, I called Zito’s. It was 10:02.

“Zito’s, how can I help you?”

“He wants to help me!” I thought. “A place that wasn’t taking orders wouldn’t offer me assistance!” I tried to hide my giddyness from the dead-in-the-eyes commuters surrounding me. “Are you still taking orders?” I asked.

“Sorry, no. We’re no longer taking delivery orders. We stop at 10. Have a good night.”

***

But… but… what of his offer of help? What did he expect me to ask for that he would have been able to aid me with? “Would it be possible for me to not order a sandwich?” I was gutted. But then I had another thought. They aren’t taking delivery orders, but what of pick-ups? What of pick-ups? We were back underground, but I started to feverishly imagine various scenarios wherein I exit the subway and call and ask to make a pick-up order and am told, “Sure thing!” or that I arrive just as they’re about to throw away a pile of unclaimed but perfectly OK sandwiches or that I appeal to the kindness of Zito and he smiles and nods and hands me the sandwich that he had been saving for me all along.

[Full Disclosure: I don't think anyone who works at Zito's is named Zito.]

I started walking towards the shop and saw their sign was still illuminated. “That’s a good sign,” I thought. Then I thought about what a horrible pun that was and winced. I crossed the street and approached their door. As I did, I noticed people sitting and eating. Then, as I was about to reach for the knob (and feign surprise when I found it locked), someone opened it to take out the trash. I saw my opportunity and seized it.

The first employee who saw me wasn’t any of the three guys behind the counter. They all had their backs turned to me and were dealing with various closing duties. No, the one who immediately took notice of me was one of the cooks. He had a slight note of “you’ve got to be kidding me” on his face. I smiled weakly at him and waited by the register. Finally, someone turned around and asked if he could help me.

“Can I get a sandwich to go?”

He looked at the cook, then at his register, then at me — all while wearing a mask of “please notice that I am trying to make it clear that you cannot.”

I would accept a “no,” but he would have to say it to me. I wouldn’t say it to myself. At this point I was getting deliriously hungry.

“…OK,” he surrendered. The cook rolled his eyes. I didn’t care.

I sat down to wait. I could hear various people saying, “I told him not to take out the trash yet” and “lock the damn door” and “we’re supposed to be closed by now” and “what is wrong with him?” I went from fearing that I cost someone their job to wondering if the last remark was directed at me to not caring about anything except bracciole. In fact, I started imaging the man getting killed by his co-workers for unknowingly letting me in and, at his peasant funeral, a rockslide wiping his entire family out. I imagined everyone at Zito’s pointing and laughing at me for being so pathetic that I needed to swindle my way into a meal. None of it mattered to me. I just wanted my dinner.

After what seemed like two minutes (but might have been three), I was handed my sandwich. I profusely thanked the man who handed it to me. Then I profusely thanked the man who unlocked the door to let me out. I almost started to cry.

It took me another 25 minutes to get home, but I didn’t care. As soon as I walked in the front door, I washed my hands, ripped open the foil and paper casing and did unspeakable, inhuman things to my first real meal of the day (the semi-competent egg sandwich I ate at 8:00 a.m. doesn’t count).

You know what? This would be a terrible movie.

I hate the MTA.

On Saturday night, I braved the sleet and winds to get from my warm and cozy home to the UCB for Let’s Have A Ball. I took the same route I always do — the F to Jay Street-Metrotech where I switch to an A or C (if an A comes first, I get out at 14th Street and wait for a C or E to 23rd Street; if a C comes first, I take it all the way to 23rd).

Due to the weather I expected delays, but I always give myself plenty of time to get to the UCB (I prefer to arrive early and read over racing against the clock and giving myself an ulcer). When we arrived at Jay Street, the recorded announcement told me to “transfer here for the A, C and R train.” So I did.

An A showed up 10 minutes later and announced that it would be traveling on the F line until 4th Street. That made me sad (I got off an F Train 10 minutes ago — I would have taken it to 4th Street and switched to a C or E there had I known the A — and I assumed the C, as well — was becoming an F train), but I still had plenty of time and an Onion crossword to do.

When we got to 4th Street, the conductor said, “Next stop: 14th Street.” But I noticed we were still on the F line despite the previous announcement that said we’d be back on the A line from 4th Street on. The weather being what it was, I didn’t want to have to walk from 23rd Street and 6th Avenue to 26th Street and 8th Avenue. So I got off and raced upstairs to wait for a C or E. An E finally showed up and I got on. Ten minutes went by before the conductor announce, “This train isn’t going anywhere. If you want to go to 34th Street, go downstairs.”

A mob of already-frustrated straphangers raced downstairs only to find an empty platform. Eventually, an E arrived (on the F line) and I got on. After ten minutes, the conductor explained that there had been “an incident” at 59th Street and there was no service on the A, C and E lines. Five minutes later, we started moving.

I got to 23rd Street and 6th Avenue at 7:15. I called the UCB and asked them to let Becky and Kay know that I would be there ASAP and to hold the curtain until I got there (we were the only three performers because everyone else was out of town and Brandon’s plane to NYC was cancelled that morning). I was told (in a very polite way) that I didn’t have the authority to hold the curtain but they’d suggest it to the theater manager. If it wasn’t sleeting and if there wasn’t three inches of slush on the ground, I would’ve had no problem getting to the theater by 7:25. But it was (and there was), so I hurriedly slid into hordes of umbrella-toting pedestrians staring at the ground (instead of watching where they were going) until I got to the theater at 7:28. No curtain holding was necessary.

The show was fun and I was smart enough to pick up some empanadas for the journey home (I had to wait 25 minutes for an F train at Jay Street, but they were a delicious 25 minutes), but I saw something on the F train that made me glad that I had already eaten my dinner (as I would have immediately lost my appetite if I had one). I took a picture of the poster, but I found a less blurry photo at Fucked in Park Slope:

What this means: Starting on November 14th (and [allegedly] ending in “Spring 2012″), no southbound F or G trains will stop at the station I live above. This is the opposite of what happened last time (no northbound trains stopped there for a few months), and slightly more preferable (it will add no time to my commute to work in the morning, but it will require me to travel past my stop and transfer to a northbound train every time I am coming back from work or the grocery store or a rehearsal).

Bonus Points: FiPS also points out that the poster’s (alleged) finish date is different than the one on the MTA’s Web site.

I really and truly despise the MTA.

“As as many as 500 as many as 400 16 cops were hauled into Bronx Supreme Court yesterday to answer for the massive NYPD ticket-fixing scandal, and hundreds of officers protested outside, new details emerged on how the suspects made the summonses disappear.”

“IT’S A COURTESY NOT A CRIME” was a popular sign, as was “‘IT’S BEEN GOING ON SINCE THE DAYS OF THE EGYPTIANS.’ MAYOR MIKE BLOOMBERG.“ But my favorite is this: “JUST FOLLOWING ORDERS” (which you might remember as the most common defense at the Nuremberg Trials).

It looks like they’re standing in the street, doesn’t it? That’s a crime! Why isn’t anyone beating them with batons and pepper-spraying their eyes?

“Families worried about loved ones with Alzheimer’s getting disoriented and wandering off can now get them walking shoes with built-in GPS devices.”

But they’ll only work if the person wearing them forgets how to take them off.

There’s a story about how the new racino at Aqueduct Racetrack had to turn people away from their grand opening. I only mention it because it introduced me to my new favorite name: “‘This wait is crazy!’ said prospective gambler Inosent Carver, of Queens.”

His parents, Nahtgiltee Stabber and Akwidid Slasher, had no comment.

“Two off-duty NYPD officers were arrested yesterday morning charged with driving while intoxicated. Police officer Ariel Rosa, 26, was arrested after the rookie allegedly hit a parked car on Moffat Street in Bushwick  at 4:25 a.m. yesterday…He’s been suspended for 30 days without pay. Meanwhile, Officer Michael Botros, 29, was arrested near 150th Avenue and Lefferts Boulevard in South Ozone Park at about 7:40 a.m. yesterday, and also charged with driving while intoxicated.”

I don’t know who watches the watchmen, but I know who gently slaps their wrists.

“Firefighters powered down Occupy Wall Street yesterday, seizing protesters’ electric generators as the grungy horde prepared for the season’s first blast of wintery weather.”

The grungy horde? Fuck you, Antonio Antenucci and Bill Sanderson.

“Mayor Bloomberg said the seizure was made ‘just to make sure everybody’s safe.’”

Because what could make the protesters safer than removing the things that keep them warm right before a giant slush-storm?

“Meanwhile, a protester was arrested early yesterday on charges of assaulting a TV reporter. Dustin Taylor, 34, of Millersburg, Ohio allegedly threatened WNYW/Channel 5 reporter John Huddy, saying, ‘I’ll stab you in the throat with this pen.’” Now why would a protester be rude to a TV reporter? Hmmm… what’s WNYW/Channel 5 an affiliate of? Oh, that’s right. It’s Fox’s channel in New York City.

It’s such a shame that after weeks of insulting the protesters and perpetuating the “they don’t even know why they’re there” and “they hate wealth” myths, Fox isn’t treated with kindness. Incidentally, here’s a sign that might help Fox better understand the OWS movement:

“Meanwhile, a fed-up Rudy 9iu11ani said the city should move the protesters out, citing public safety and health hazards. ‘Enough is enough,’ the former mayor said. ‘We can’t allow this to go on forever and ever. It sets a bad precedent… [and] diverts police resources from public safety.’” And protests outside Bronx Supreme Court.

Bonus Points to Antonio and Bill for starting paragraphs #12 and 18 with “Meanwhile.”

“The Long Island Rail Road and a federal board said they are prepared to yank the pensions and disability benefits of the seven retirees busted in a $1 billion scam Thursday in which the workers allegedly falsely claimed to be too hurt to work.” Yay!

“But [RRB spokesman Mike] Freeman repeatedly refused yesterday to say if RRB will investigate — as it promised three years ago — whether up to 1,423 LIRR retirees who were approved disability benefits between 2004 and 2008 are legitimately disabled… The vast majority of the 1,423 retirees were certified disabled by two doctors, who were also busted Thursday.” Boo!

The TSA is firing the baggage inspector who put an inappropriate note (GET YOUR FREAK ON GIRL) in Jill Filipovic’s luggage after he spotted her vibrator. Here’s part of Jill’s response:

“I get no satisfaction in hearing that someone lost their job over this. I would much prefer a look at why ’security’ has been used to justify so many intrusions on our civil liberties, rather than fire a person who made a mistake… The invasion is inherent to the TSA’s mission, regardless of whether a funny note is left behind — the note only serves to highlight the absurdity of all this security theater.”

Page Six is on page 10 today.

“Actress Kristen Stewart has revealed the latest movie in the ‘Twilight Saga’ was originally given a ‘R’ rating after a sex scene between her and real-life lover, Robert Pattinson, was deemed too steamy… Luckily for younger fans, the rating will not be final as the scene is being re-cut.”

Wait… the Twilight Saga has older fans?

Conrad Murray’s lawyer put Dr. Paul White on the stand yesterday and he told the jury that “Michael Jackson likely injected himself with a fatal dose of the anesthetic propofol after popping an extra eight sedatives without [Conrad Murray's] knowledge.”

This is an odd strategy, as Los Angeles juries have made it clear that they disregard everything Michael Jackson does.

Swedish Chef:

Swedish Lunch Lady:

“[A lunch lady in Sweden] stunned teachers and students when they confronted her about the inedible food she served, and she responded by taking off her pants.opening her shirt, and doing a striptease in the cafeteria. ‘The school’s social-welfare officer tried to tell her this is no [sic] acceptable behavior, but she just kept on dancing,’ said a witness.”

This seems like a good time to thank all of the cafeteria workers in all of the schools I have ever attended for never taking off any of their clothes in my presence.

“A stray beagle mix that cheated death in the gas chamber of an Alabama dog pound is up for adoption in New Jersey.”

When he heard this, Pat Buchanan (who recently complained that Jews — “who represent less than 2 percent of the US population” — have “33 percent of the Supreme Court’s seats”) turned to his wife and said, “See? They can’t even kill a beagle mix in a gas chamber! I told you the Jews were lying about the Holocaust!”

Rich Lowry still doesn’t get it.

“Are we divided between the top 1 percent and a vast wasteland of the dispossessed, as many of the Occupy Wall Street protesters have it? Or are we still the land of opportunity, as top House Republican Paul Ryan insisted in a recent speech at the Heritage Foundation? The answer is that we are still a mobile society, although not as much of one as we might wish. If the nihilistic despair of the Occupy Wall Street crowd is detached from reality, neither is self-congratulation in order.”

Vast wasteland of the dispossessed? Nihilistic despair? That’s weird. When I listen to what the various Occupy groups are saying — and doing — I get a sense of unity and compassion and hope that has been sadly missing from America for some time. But please, Rich, tell us what the answer to our nation’s problems are.

“If Americans finished high school, worked full time at a job that matched their skills and married at the rate they did in the 1970s, the poverty rate would be cut 70 percent.” Of course! Everyone should just get full-time jobs! Brilliant!

“These old-fashioned bourgeois virtues, and particularly marriage, rarely figure in the public debate. Everyone is more comfortable talking about taxes or the banks, as the American Dream frays.” Yeah, Occupy Wall Street! Shut up about the criminals who almost destroyed our economy! Start protesting the lower marriage rates in this country!

Rich Lowry is not very bright.

Not to get too meta, but I honestly don’t know if the authors of these two letters to the Post are being sarcastic or not:

Staten Island’s Charlie Honadel writes, “I know that Frank J. Fleming is trying to be funny and that ‘Why We Must Lose the Darn 1 Percent’ is supposed to be satire. But some people might not understand he’s kidding and take him seriously.”

Flemington, New Jersey’s Joe Hann writes, “Fleming must have written this column with tongue in cheek the whole time. Include a picture next time so that we can know for sure.”

“Tesla Motors, a US maker of electric cars, is sold out of next year’s production of its new Model S sedan and should earn a profit in 2013, CEO Elon Musk said in a Bloomberg TV interview.”

I would like to applaud the Post for printing this sentence without adding “for eco-fags” after “electric cars.”

GOBLIN IT UP! is the PULSE section’s guide to the right candies to get for “your guests” on Halloween.

Examples include: A nine-piece bonbon box from Max Brenner ($12.90), a small skull with marshmallow eyes from Jacques Torres ($20), and cupcakes from Crumbs ($3.75 each).

If you come to my house on Halloween, I will give you one fun-sized candy bar from a giant bag that I got on sale at Rite Aid. You’re welcome.

Hondo (the sports section’s resident right-wing pundit) writes, “The Occupy Wall Street Protesters, aka ‘the 99 percent,’ today will belong to a group in which they will be ‘the one percent’ — the tiny minority that camps out while being deluged by a wintry mix.”

And speaking of tiny minorities,

And that’s Saturday.

Teresa and I are heading down to Zuccotti Park tomorrow and I start my new job (finally!) the following morning. But I’ll write what I can when I can.

Have a great week and Happy Halloween!