Fuck Off, Metropolitan Diary

If you’re even only casually aware of the “Metropolitan Diary,” you would have to share my sentiment. It’s just an accepted fact that section of the NYT needs to fuck off. Even very occasionally skimming it makes me scream out loud, sometimes in an empty house. This week’s was no exception.

Dear Diary:

My friend and I were waiting for two bar stools to open up at a cozy hotel restaurant on a crisp fall night.

There was a woman sitting alone at the end of the bar next to the only free chair. She was staring idly into the distance, an empty tumbler in front of her.

My friend got the bartender’s attention and asked if he knew how much longer the woman would be sitting there.

The bartender looked at the woman with a sense of recognition and then slowly turned to my friend.

“Indefinitely,” he said dryly.


The bartender looked at the woman again.


Two other seats eventually opened up and my friend and I had a great dinner. When we left, the woman was still sitting there with her finished drink, watching the wheels turn all around her.

— Geoffrey Rubin

Fuck off, Geoffrey. Why would a woman drinking alone need to move for a two men (or equally irksome, a couple)? I’ve lost my shit when I’ve been asked to move to accommodate others (unless there is an open seat next to me). And why would you ask the bartender about someone sitting right in front of you?