Finding the Street Meat Eater
Friday morning I was walking home from yoga all peaceful and centered when a foul whiff of attacked my face, stopping me in my tiny tracks. “Ugh!” I replied aloud and looked around for the serenity-stopping vendor. My eyes paused and I saw the guilty party grilling some sort of kebab or taco or meat mash wearing a smug smile on his sweaty face. I marched to inquire as to who on earth would be purchasing meat on stick before 11 a.m. “Soho doesn’t even wake up until 10:30!” I protested. He kindly explained to me that one of his most loyal customers liked to eat lunch early. How freakin’ early? Can’t he or she just have a bagel and call it a damn day. Why is their food preference disrupting the scent of the entire neighborhood. There are people yoga-ing around here!
Maybe I’ve been watching a bit too much Gossip Girl, for that explanation far from satisfied my curiosity, launching me into full-scheming detective mode. I would find this street meat eater and explain to them the horror his (I couldn’t picture a lady eating antibiotic-laced meat pre-noon) a.m. habit brought anyone and everyone with functioning nostrils. For the next week, I staggered my gym time. Monday I left at 10:32, Tuesday 10:46 and so on. By Friday I had yet to come in contact with the perpetrator. But if Blair Waldorf wouldn’t give up so easily, then neither would I.
Thursday morning I exited the gym at 10:57 a.m. After a series of failed sightings I was ill-prepared to see a man purchasing the meat! Ah ha! I’ve caught you, I thought quickening my pace. As I approached, I noticed him and the vendor engaged in a lively conversation. The man looked worn, wrinkled from sun and years of labor but had smiley blue eyes. He was wearing a construction hard hat, paint splattered Timberland-esque boots and Wrangler jeans. The vendor saw me and called out,“Ah Emma! Please come meet my friend Abe.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Emma,” he said smiling.
“You as well,” I replied, and with that, the speech I rehearsed for two weeks slipped my mind and as he shook my hand with gentle firmness. My determination lifted. At that moment, Abe was the nicest man on earth. Yes he is a street meat eater who contributes to the demand for stinky street vendors, but if I knew my day meant Abe, I’d come to work early as well.
Posted by Emma Dinzebach at 12:00 AM
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