An unmarked cop car sped alongside my train at 5:30 in the morning for a few blocks, window down, cop hanging out, smiling and waving at all us sleepy commuters on board.
The dramatic arrest of an iPhone thief in Flushing last month on board a 7 train, as detailed in a great New York Times article from this morning.
I can imagine the conversation on the sidewalk as it went down.
“‘Scuse me officer, what’s going on? Why was there just a massive car chase? Why did you guys stop that subway? Did someone get shot? Fall on the tracks?”
“No, we’re recovering an iPhone.”
If you’ve been around these parts for a stretch of time, you know my love for Katz’s knows no bounds.
I always go for counter service, never the waiters, only because that’s what my Dad always does when he goes. I suspect his Dad did too. And probably his Dad.
But I am so incredibly happy there’s a smartass waiter blogging with the world. David, you’re doing important work.
This is just so great. So, so great.
Disclaimer: Opinions of The Last Jewish Waiter are not necessarily those of Katz’s Deli.
I was standing in the front of the store, it was a Sunday night and I was beat. I am a waiter at Katz’s. Easily the most absurd job I’ve ever had, and I have had some seriously absurd jobs in my life. At Katz’s, it’s busy! Like super busy, I don’t know how to explain how busy. Just people everywhere! You run around the cafeteria from one station to the next, picking up and depositing food. The customers, who are mostly tourists usually take it, like they are at the DMV or something. Like somehow, this is acceptable, because everyone else is accepting it. But in reality, for a restaurant it’s really not acceptable. It’s pretty fucking gross really. And I love it! I throw silverware at the customers, refuse to serve certain items, and am generally nasty. With a certain understood kindness at the bottom.
For example, a family of four will sit down to dine, it’ll go something like this:
ME: Hi, how are you doing? Have you been here before?
ME: OK, well. The Pastrami is the best, the corned beef is very good, the potato Latkes are great, and the fries are actually really super delicious. Should i come back?
Usually they need to confer, I can tell just with a glance and a few words what is gonna happen.
Anyway. I come back.
ME: So you guys figure this thing out yet?
The Mother points to her daughter: Well, she’s gonna get the Roast Beef…
(I quickly shake my head, like a pitcher throwing off a bad sign)
ME: No, don’t get it. It’s really rare, and I promise you the pastrami is much better.
Mother: Oh. Well, she doesn’t like pastrami.
ME: Trust me, she does. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Who are these people?