A few weeks ago, Toby and I were eating at one of our favorite Indian restaurants, Brick Lane. I had just finished my meal and the waiter cleared the plates. I went to grab my water when I noticed a baby roach running madly around the table. I lifted the water glass and put back down, directly on top of the beast’s head, killing it dead.
A week later, we were at Dumont, another absolute favorite. We were sitting at the back bar, ordering our meal when I noticed another baby roach running across the bar top. I lifted the water glass and put back down, directly on top of the beast’s head, killing it dead.
On Sunday, Toby and I were at Sea, not a favorite but we didn’t know where else to go. We just finished eating, when suddenly, a brown roach about the size of my thumbnail, ran all over my side of the table.
Holy Mother Of God. A roach.
I got up as if someone was burning my ass.
Can you pay so we can leave? I am not sitting back down.
Toby tried to grab someone to share the fact that a mammoth size roach was running all over my table. (He was already pissed about the fact that someone gave him a beer glass with a dead bug in it and instead of giving him a new beer, the guy removed the glass from the table, took it back into the kitchen, removed the bug and then brought the same glass back out to him. So it’s safe to say he wasn’t easing up anytime soon.)
Excuse me, man, but there’s a roach on our table.
The busboy then lifted my napkin and squashed it right there on the table.
We paid our bill and left and I never sat down again. As a matter of fact, I don’t care of Sex and the City and Garden State was filmed there, I don’t plan on sitting down there ever again.
Surely, this must be God’s way of telling us to stop spending so much money eating out and instead buy a farmhouse in upstate New York.