One issue with waiting six months to post a sent postcard is it becomes hard to remember what you were even talking about. We must have had a conversation about how much Scott Tissue sucks at some point? This was funny at the time, I swear.
Also mildly humorous is the fact that I had an entire blank postcard on which to write the date, and still I managed to run into the printed “Ad Nauseum” anyway. Sigh.
For about a month and a half during the summer months, we have what is called “Summer Fridays” at work. Summer Fridays means the office is closed on Friday; instead of working on Friday, one can choose to either use a vacation day or work longer hours Monday through Thursday. Having friends and family all over, as well as a new-found obsession with visits to Japan, I’m stingy with vacation days and always elect to work longer hours. I’m sure you care exactly 0 iotas about this useless back story, but these things are related in my mind, sorry.
One Thursday night last summer, Tim and I got out of class at 10pm, and had the brilliant idea to go out for a couple of drinks (why not, no work tomorrow!). Somehow a couple turned into many (the perils of knowing the bartender); by the time we got out of there it was late and the rain had begun in earnest. We needed food in a big way and didn’t want to slog far through the downpour, so we ended up at Ray’s Candy Store about a half a block away. This place is an East Village institution beloved by many, but Ray was really pushing (nicely, but repeatedly) the chipotle mayo sauce on this avid mayo hater, and I remember being pretty grossed out. The scene was basically two drenched and sauced people laughing, eating hotdogs, and looking nervously out of the corner of their eyes at the chipotle mess. Nevertheless, I’m pretty sure that hot dog saved my life.
I’m supplementing with a blurry shot from my phone on the night in question. Note our hot dogs in the foreground, and the terrifying jug of chipotle mayo sauce in back. *shudder*