When: Friday, 5:30-ish
This was the Friday before Easter, a long time ago at this point, and I was playing hooky naively thinking I could get a whole leg of lamb at an Astoria butcher two days before a big fat Greek holiday. There had been a lot of ticket-taking and line-standing that afternoon and I’m not really someone who enjoys going from place to place to pick up provisions like a a good food blogger. Give me a giant supermarket any day.
Going to Astoria, where I also have a periodic doctor’s appointment, is often an excuse to have a drink or two since it’s the closest neighborhood that has non-dive, non-Irish bars geared toward other demographic groups than Latino men, though it’s not all that close as I always forget when it takes 30 minutes on a subway plus a long walk or 30 minutes on two subways. Queens Kickshaw isn’t really even a bar, though there are roughly 10 counter seats.
Originally, I was alone, as usual, drinking while old and female, and then a few drinks in I realized two solo women had sat on my left and after talking for a while, that we had three decades represented: 25, 36, 44. The youngest woman, Mexican, (which I only point out because I never assume anyone Latina is Mexican in NYC) grew up in Queens, was a veteran of the service industry (she was friends with all the staff) and was now working at a medical office. The older woman looked no older, cute, midwestern, blonde with an undercut, and was telling Tinder tales about polyamorous relationships and dating bisexual men. She turned out to be an E.R. doctor, which impressed the hell out of the receptionist. Me too, though I didn’t show it. I have no math and science friends, nor hang out with any women in traditional, respectable professions. It was one of those situations where upon leaving you all say “connect with me on Instagram” or trade cards, but by the next day it’s all forgotten.
My hands turned blue while remaining warm to the touch as they do once or twice per year with no explanation. My doctors have been no help and this doctor drinking rose cider had no ideas either.
Was I carded? That’s pretty much a thing of the past. I might have to get rid of this category.
Age Appropriate? Yes, but no one my age was present.