Kvarma

Last night I went to dinner with two of my compatriots, Bobby B and Lance Ford, who was in town visiting from LA. We went to a restaurant down in Gramercy Park called Rolf's, which is a bizarre German place decorated so extensively with lights, ornaments and creepy dolls, it's like you're eating inside a Christmas tree (so you know I loved that).

Our table wasn't ready yet, so we decided to get a drink at the bar up the street, which was very crowded, filled with financial-looking people. As we were waiting for our drinks, Lance turned to me. "I hate these Wall Street types," he said. "What do you think of them?"

I looked around. "Eh," I replied. "It's not my scene. But they don't bother me."

Ten minutes later, we're back at Rolf's, which is such a shitshow, Lance and I wait outside the entrance while Bobby B goes to check if our table's ready yet. I'm still struggling to comprehend what happened next.

Three guys walked by us, into the restaurant. The first was the epitome of a "Wall Street type": tall, pinstripe suit, slicked back hair. He looked like Luke Wilson playing Patrick Bateman. Behind him was a preppy guy in a sweater and a hipster Asian guy wearing sunglasses. As they walked by us, in rapid succession, all three made snide, sarcastic comments to us. I don't remember exactly what they said, because it all happened so fast, but it was something akin to this:

Wall St. Guy: "What, are you guys just gonna fucking stand here? That's great."

Preppy Guy: "Early bird catches the worm, guys."

Asian Hipster: "Don't hurt yourself out here."

I swear to god, this happened. Lance and I looked at each other, completely flabbergasted. The whole thing seemed totally rehearsed, like we were the dorky extras getting picked on in the scene introducing the bully antagonist and his cronies in an 80's movie. Even if there had been time to respond, I don't know that I could have come up with anything in the next fifteen minutes.

Fast-forward to after dinner. I get up to use the restroom. I go in, pee, wash my hands, and come out. There are a couple people waiting outside the door to use the bathroom - which, by the way, is not a single bathroom; it has a urinal and a toilet. One of them is a different Wall Street type, and as I walk by him, he says: "Hey, that was really quick in there."

I stopped and looked at him. "What?" I asked.

"I said thanks for being so quick."

Again, I was totally stunned. "What are you talking about?" I asked, becoming confrontational.

"Nothing," he said, getting defensive. "I'm just saying, you took a really quick piss." And with that, he walked into the bathroom.

I came back to the table and relayed what had just happened to my friends. "Maybe he was being sincere," Bobby B said. I explained that that was impossible, because I had not been exceptionally quick in the bathroom; I had taken a totally normal amount of time. And even if I had been fast, who would say that sincerely? That's even weirder than being insulting. "I think he was just paying you a compliment," Bobby B insisted.

I rolled my eyes. "Bobby B, I know when someone is making a sarcastic quip. I do it all the time." We left the restaurant, and I have been contemplating this bizarre phenomena of Wall Street jerks insulting me, unprovoked, ever since. I can come up with no plausible explanation for why...

Oh, wait. Now I get it. I would like to take this moment to apologize to begging vagrants everywhere.