Talk Soup

It’s been a soupy summer thus far. And today is no exception. In appreciation of the present dog days, I will opine on this, that, and the other thing. For starters, I watched clips of the president ranting and raving at a pep rally yesterday. What came to mind—other than the incredibly obvious—was that more than a few people in attendance were offended when the Orange Man’s predecessor wore a tan suit at a press conference. He demeaned the presidency with this shocking sartorial selection, they—once upon a time—grumbled.

For some reason this same spectacle made me resurrect a waiter named Nestor and cat named Kyle. Nestor worked in a diner that I regularly patronized twenty-five years ago and Kyle was the place’s skulking mouser. On occasion the latter would wend his way up from the basement and saunter around the diner. Nestor warned my dinner companions and I to be leery of Kyle. “Cat not friend!” he said in his less-than-fluent English. Well, fast forward to the here and now and Nestor would be right in saying, “Russia not friend!”

A favorite short-order cook of mine in the very same establishment in which Nestor toiled was fond of saying—after his patented kitchen ramble of how so many things in society have gone awry—“It’s crazeeeee!” And indeed it is! The evidence is in and it’s overwhelming: We are unhinged—it would appear—and in a perpetual state of outrage. The unremitting frothing at the mouth knows no single political bent or particular demographic.

Facebook, for one, is a revealing laboratory. Nowadays, so many people are out to get scalps. “Shoot first and ask questions later” is their mantra. Mobs are lying in wait to annihilate those with whom they disagree politically. Nasty name-calling is the new norm. But mob outrage is hardly confined to partisan politics. Its wrath—to pick a couple of dissimilar instances—is cast upon adults who snare foul balls meant for little kids at the ballpark and, too, supercilious cheapskates who demean restaurant wait staff. With respect to the former, I’ve personally witnessed my fair share of Neanderthals at baseball games. Men and women who should have known better behaving like boors in usually futile attempts to procure orbs wrapped in cowhide. And while I found their behaviors annoying, even nauseating at times, I didn’t believe then or now that violence should come to them or their families. I didn’t believe then or now that their lives—and abilities to earn a living—should be disrupted in perpetuity. Apparently, that’s the posture of all-too–many angry Wizard of Oz-types on social media. Cloaked in the anonymity of their technological devices, it's disheartening to see them clamoring for the home addresses or pictures of those whom they believe deserve a taste of virtual justice. We're in a bad place right now...

Okay that’s enough of all that. It’s time to return to the more mundane—picayune annoyances and oddball observations. Recently, a woman across from me on the subway decided to paint her nails, taking most of the oxygen out of an already stuffy subway car. After exiting the train and the still lingering scent of nail polish, I spied Jolly Joe’s snack truck at Van Cortlandt Park. Free advice for Jolly Joe: If you can’t fit your name and the essence of who you are on one line, use a smaller font. The Scrabble board look is unbecoming of an ice cream man and makes a tacky first impression. Oh, and one last thing, I came upon a sneaker pawnshop in Manhattan. Yes, Virginia, the shop does purchase used sneakers, but probably not my Reeboks. I saw a pawned pair of sneakers selling for $850 on their website! These are strange times for sure.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)