Muslim?

Last night, en route in a late cab to the West Village for a cocktail at the Four-Faced Liar, the cabbie turned to me at a red light:

"Muslim? Are you Muslim?" he asked, perhaps referring to the beard I was wearing...

"Nah, man. I'm Roman," I said. And that was that... 

The Taxi Home - Pt. 2

So where I last left off, the cabbie had pretty much called himself an idiot. The rest of the story happened as follows:

"You guys go to shows, right? Music shows, yeah?" he asked, as he bombs forward down the dawn streets of Brooklyn. "Yeah," we mumble. "You guys seen some good shows?"

"Sure," we say. I can't remember a single show I've ever seen. My brain is reduced to nothing; simple math maybe. But there is no honest way I can have a conversation with this man, no way it's going to happen with my benefactor, and no way I can tell him. So, he just goes on.

"Best show I ever saw was Woodstock '94. So get this... you know Rollins? Henry Rollins; the Rollins Band? You know he's intense, right? Well, he's out there in the tattoos and all that, and it's raining, man. And he plays this intense show. And then guess who comes on next? Crosby, Stills and Nash! Can you believe that? Crosby, Stills and Nash following up the Rollins 

Band? And you know what - the rain stopped. Serious." He stops briefly. Two intersections fly by and the sound the car makes in the wind is a loud whoosh and whistle.

"Who do you guys think is the biggest asshole in rock'n'roll?" He's back on the offense. Why is this happening right now? We don't even answer. "Lars, right? ...From Metallica." I take one for the team. "Yeah, I've heard that," I say.

"That's what everyone says, man. But not me. I saw him in this little coffee shop at about four in the morning, right? This is a couple of years ago, and he's just sitting there. So I go over to him and I say 'I don't want to bother you, man, but I got to thank you for that set at Woodstock '94.' And you know what? He was cool, man... He was real cool. You know who's a dick, man? Lou Reed. No one says anything good about him, man. Nobody. You ever heard anything good about him?"

"I guess not, but he's like Mr. Brooklyn, isn't he?"

"I don't know, but no one says anything good about him, man," he says again.

"You can let us out right here," instructs my benefactor. "This is close enough..."

Anytime: Williamsburg

I'm hungry. I decide to brave delivery. My benefactor tells me of a service that delivers a vast array of items - Anytime. "There's one in Manhattan and Brooklyn," he says.

Anytime: Williamsburg. (718) 218-7272. I call...

"Anytime..." Silence.

"Uh, I'd like to make an order for delivery," I say, confidently.

"Ok, this first time order?" he asks quickly. "Yeah," I say.

"Number?... Address?... Apartment... Cross Street?... I need the other cross street, sir." There is a void to him; there is no patience. He repeats the last four digits of my phone number. "Uh, huh." He repeats them again. I repeat them to him. "Ok, your order..."

"How about..." I begin. He stops me. "One moment." He clicks over.

He clicks back. "Ok, what can I get you?"

"Two Anytime Burgers," I order. "Sides?"

I panic. "Fries?" "No fries, sir" he says. He's starting to get annoyed, but no fries? "Uh, how about felafel?"

"We don't have felafel, sir!" I am staring at the menu. Felafel balls are $4.50. I go silent. I shut down...

"We have fries, baked, mashed..." He begins listing the side options, and the beginning of the list begins with fries! I manage to tell him, "yeah, fries please..."

"Will there be anything else, sir?" he asks.

At this point, I thought everything between us had been solved. As if it were only a big misunderstanding. Yeah, they had fries. Yeah, they have falafel balls.

"How about an order of the felafel balls?" I ask. A different tone of voice, a few different details - I figure if I ask him nicely, it'll all just work out.

"Sir, WE don't have felafel! Will that be all?"

"Yeah..." I was baffled. What exactly had just taken place? How could calling a late night delivery service prove such a challenge?

Instantly, he lightens up. "Thirty to forty minutes, sir." I hang up. The city is laughing at me.

(Incidentally, the "Anytime Burger" was pretty much incredible when it arrived...)

The Taxi Home

It had become dawn. The sky continued to brighten and gain color. I couldn't understand how the temperature had remained the same from the night before. We had stayed on the roof until dawn and the temperature hadn't changed a bit.

We grabbed a cab at the end of Orchard out of the city, over the Williamsburg Bridge back to Brooklyn. "Grab the second exit. Take a left and a quick right all the way down to Bushwick..." directed my benefactor. "You can go right here too, right?" questioned the Cabbie.

"Yeah... but there are more stoplights that way." "Good. You know that. A lot of people don't know. You gotta know more than the cabbie. Some of 'em are idiots." the Cabbie laughed.