Fuzzy Snowmen and Chow Mein

September 11, 2005

While out with my friend Virgo, we randomly came across a DUMBO art opening and were chased by a guy in a baggy snowman costume. We weren't chased, exactly, but he appeared to head right for us anytime we got close. Virgo revealed that she has a fear of people in fuzzy costumes, and the possibility of the snowman getting close enough to touch us set her on edge. The costume's big black eyes made it impossible to tell where the snowman was looking, and must have made it equally hard for him to see where he was going, so we were probably imagining it all anyway. "Do you know what I mean about people in fuzzy costumes, though?" asked Virgo as we backed away to a safe distance. "They're like—like—"

"Pervs?"

"Yes!"

Then she told me a story about being groped in a theme park by a guy in a furry costume when she was fifteen. He grabbed her ass while she was posing for a picture with him.

"Are you sure you weren't doing anything to lead him on? Were you dressed provocatively?"

"No!" she laughed. "I think they just think they can do whatever they want because their identity is hidden."

Maybe so, but I think it'd be pretty easy to pick a guy in a baggy snowman costume out of a lineup.

We didn't bother actually going into the art opening since just about everyone was milling about on the street, anyway. We hung around for a few minutes, but the snowman prevented us from mingling effectively, so we headed to a quiet bar around the corner, where Virgo filled me in on the details of her honeymoon in Morocco. "Did you bring any pictures to show me?" I asked.

"Yeah, I did, but they're on a CD."

We looked at each other for a moment.

"Yeah," she said. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Tonight, I ate alone in a Chinese restaurant. That's where people go to eat alone. Jade East is the name of the place; there's a neon sign clinging to the side of the building that says so. There's another sign below it, hanging perpendicular, that reads CHOW MEIN, and that's precisely what I was there for. A bowl of egg drop soup to start, then chow mein, fried rice, an egg roll, and a pot of green tea, all for the amazing low price of five dollars and forty cents. I go there now and then, and nearly always order the same thing. "Do you want to see a menu, my friend, or do you know what you want?" asks the waiter.

"I know what I want."

There's a yellowed full-page article from The New York Times hanging behind the cash register. It's from ten years ago, and too long to read. There's a clipping from New York Press right next to it proclaiming Jade East's egg foo yung, the best in New York. I tried it once or twice, and it was pretty good, but since I've never eaten egg foo young anywhere else, I have nothing to compare it to. Either way, it's more expensive than the chow mein, and since I go there for the express purpose of getting stuffed for five dollars, I don't really see the point.

There was a smattering of elderly, early-bird diners seated at the booths. Beige vinyl upholstery, off-white linoleum. Men in black pants and shiny black shoes with thick rubber soles. Women in tan sansabelt slacks and sensible low-heeled sandals, thin white socks over crooked toes. A couple stood by the cash register, watching koi and catfish butt heads in the overcrowded fish tank. They wore matching denim shirts, and I tried to decide if they'd done it on purpose.

The Chinese waiter punched a few keys on the old-fashioned cash register, its bell rang, and it's drawer opened. "Thank you, come again," the waiter sang as if it were one word.

"Thank you," replied the man, before adding, "You need to get a bigger fish tank."

Waiting for my food to arrive, I started reading A Sport and a Pastime. I picked it up earlier in the day after Miss Snark recommended I read something by James Salter. She was so confident that I'd like his writing that she backed up her recommendation with a money-back guarantee: "If you don't like it, I'll give you your twenty dollars back." I only read one chapter before the waiter brought out my soup, but since that chapter alone was probably worth about $10.95, I don't think she has to worry about me taking her up on the offer.