I was at a Starbucks in Brooklyn yesterday waiting to pay when a Hasidic man sidled up to the next register.
I noticed right away how handsome he was despite, and please don’t take this wrong, his… what Camille likes to call, Hasidim wear. He was around 35, dark with those long tendrils flapping on either side of his face otherwise known as peyos or sidelocks. His black suit was very somber along with a hat that sat on top of his head like Lincolns. It’s what the whole community of Hasidim men wear but his just looked more Armanish the way the jacket was cut along with pants that creased just so. He smelled good too like he just came from a steam.
Watching him in my peripheral vision I thought, if only I had my little manicure scissor I could snip off those suckers before you could say, ‘Is it kosher?’ which is exactly what flew from his mouth when the coffee girl suggested he try the soy milk.
The tiny Spanish woman working the register whose nose barely touched the counter shrugged and said, “I don’t know Mister…I can’t answer that.” Of course thank goodness Susannah was on hand to help out because she said, “Why not just check the label.”
They both gave me that, coulda had a V-Eight look (if it was kosher of course?) as they scanned the carton like the FBI when the little lady said, “Yes, look… here in small print…it’s kosher.”
You would have thought they both won Powerball.
No I didn’t say that but it would have been apt if you saw how happy he was. Is that all it takes to make this guy’s day? A pity we couldn’t convert then clone him. No I don’t mind if he’s Jewish…it’s that hair.
I couldn’t help wondering how he couldn’t have already known this, but as I found out being the natural sleuth that I am, it was his first trip to a Starbucks after a client gave him a gift card.
Imagine, your maiden voyage into the depths of designer coffee.
“I got one for Christmas too,” I said, marveling at how much we had in common until he said rather stiffly, “I did not get mine for Christmas…it was a token of gratitude for services rendered.”
Wow…his proper English, I kid you not, was a bit of a turn on. You know, like when you hear Shakespeare or The Earl of Grantham on Downton Abbey.
I humbly took my blue Ked from my mouth and said, “Of course you wouldn’t have gotten yours for Christmas, how silly of me.” He seemed to wince every time I said the C word.
We met again at the sugar counter where I was doctoring up my latte for a farewell blast since, no more sweets on my new, get that Cholesterol down diet, that was commencing at midnight. I decided to give myself one last hurrah before going Amish.
“By the way, do you happen to know where Kingsland Street is?” I asked him, since I had no idea where the hell I was going. I had ignored the directions that were given me just so I could go to that particular Starbucks because they make such a mean latte. Hey, life’s short so you need to live a little, and I’ve been lost in Brooklyn before so I wasn’t too worried. Plus I had my pal Ed on speed dial just in case.
He gave me a surprised look and I thought…uh-oh, he thinks I’m flirting…no no, it’s not like that…but it was too late.
“No, I don’t know where that is,” he said in a low voice…but I can Google it for you, if you’d like to step out to my car.”
“To use my iPad.”
Oh brother…how’s that for a line?
Men! Even an Orthodox Jew from Williamsburg with hair hanging down like Cher thinks, because a woman helped him with a milk issue, he’s about to get lucky.
Come out to my car, indeed. I immediately started fantasying how he’d look in a few years which cured me of any temptation…you have to remember he did look like George Clooney however creative visualization worked its magic.
I said, thanks, but no thanks…I’d find my way.
I then ventured out into the wilderness known as Greenpoint and only walked 11 blocks in the wrong direction before my wits returned.
I stopped, took a deep breath and collected myself…
Then I did what I should have done in the first place.