Geek Anecdote #546321
Tuesday afternoon, after Tim and Jay and I spent two hours debating theater marketing strategy in Drama Books (and were “the annoying people”—I hate it when that’s me) we met Andrea (who recently took on her second identity as “Tim’s Wife”) for some fast food before we all had to run off to different places. The plan was to go to Ranch 1, which has often been rated the best fast food chain in NYC. But Burger King is right next door. And it was soooo tempting.
How, after you’ve sworn off fast food for months on end, does it suddenly become so appealing? Is it that—as with the return of winter each year—we just can’t remember exactly how miserable it made us last time, so we think it might actually be an okay concept? Come to think of it—we swear off a lot of things only to return once we have repressed the more unsavory memories. But let’s not get into that right now.
So that’s how we found ourselves in Burger King. Eating French fries. (If we’re going to cop to eating fast food, let’s admit that McDonald’s fries are still the best). Staring at cross-promotional Star Wars/BK posters and mini bobble-head things. And being disgusted.
I was reveling in my chocolate milkshake, zoning out in a sugar overdose, waiting for Andrea to arrive, when I started hearing Tim and Jay bandy about mathematical combinations.
“No. 5 – 6 – 4 – 2 – 3 - 1”
Usually, I’m the math geek at the table. I’m the (retired!) test prep instructor. I’m the one who deals with the theater company’s finances.
Tim retaliates: “Are you serious? 5 – 4 – 6 – 3 – 2 -1”
Jay glances around. People are looking at us.
“People,” he stage whispers, “are going to think we’re terrorists.”
“Well you’re the only one who remembered the freight bridges when we were counting the ways to escape Staten Island.”
This is true. I have to laugh. One night, way before we ever thought we’d actually need to know how many routes there were off of Staten Island, we did try to count them. I think we were planning to trap some other people. Something about the turn of the millennium. New Year’s Eve. Chaos. Did I mention we’d just seen Fight Club? Jay reminded us that there were, in fact, 6 bridges, if you counted the freight bridges.
Tim and I both harbor ridiculously random trivia in our gray matter, but we haven’t let Jay live this down since. That doesn’t stop him from asking us to.
“Will you give that up already? That was like six years ago.”
No, Jay. No. Not ever. Freight bridges.
I intercede, bringing the conversation back to where it started. Mind you, I had been spacing out on the creamy chocolatey stuff, but I knew exactly what they were talking about. “Alright, obviously there’s only one choice for number one. We all agree on that.”
“Obviously.”
How, after you’ve sworn off fast food for months on end, does it suddenly become so appealing? Is it that—as with the return of winter each year—we just can’t remember exactly how miserable it made us last time, so we think it might actually be an okay concept? Come to think of it—we swear off a lot of things only to return once we have repressed the more unsavory memories. But let’s not get into that right now.
So that’s how we found ourselves in Burger King. Eating French fries. (If we’re going to cop to eating fast food, let’s admit that McDonald’s fries are still the best). Staring at cross-promotional Star Wars/BK posters and mini bobble-head things. And being disgusted.
I was reveling in my chocolate milkshake, zoning out in a sugar overdose, waiting for Andrea to arrive, when I started hearing Tim and Jay bandy about mathematical combinations.
“No. 5 – 6 – 4 – 2 – 3 - 1”
Usually, I’m the math geek at the table. I’m the (retired!) test prep instructor. I’m the one who deals with the theater company’s finances.
Tim retaliates: “Are you serious? 5 – 4 – 6 – 3 – 2 -1”
Jay glances around. People are looking at us.
“People,” he stage whispers, “are going to think we’re terrorists.”
“Well you’re the only one who remembered the freight bridges when we were counting the ways to escape Staten Island.”
This is true. I have to laugh. One night, way before we ever thought we’d actually need to know how many routes there were off of Staten Island, we did try to count them. I think we were planning to trap some other people. Something about the turn of the millennium. New Year’s Eve. Chaos. Did I mention we’d just seen Fight Club? Jay reminded us that there were, in fact, 6 bridges, if you counted the freight bridges.
Tim and I both harbor ridiculously random trivia in our gray matter, but we haven’t let Jay live this down since. That doesn’t stop him from asking us to.
“Will you give that up already? That was like six years ago.”
No, Jay. No. Not ever. Freight bridges.
I intercede, bringing the conversation back to where it started. Mind you, I had been spacing out on the creamy chocolatey stuff, but I knew exactly what they were talking about. “Alright, obviously there’s only one choice for number one. We all agree on that.”
“Obviously.”
Labels: geeky interlude, my disaffected postadolescence, on film and tv, yummy stuff
posted by Jill at
10:05 AM
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