Last week I was sitting in my favorite NYC restaurant, Quantum Leap. A sanctuary of clean, organic and unbelievably tasty vegetarain food [and salmon] nestled in the heart of the Village, right smack dab next to the New York University. Now the thing about Quantum Leap is that it's mainly patronized by make-up free, leather-free, perfume-free, Village Voice-reading youngins with a leaning toward regularity and a complete disgust for red meats [dead or alive].

Enter: An obese woman doned in make up and what smelled undeniably like Macy's top of the line perfume [and I'm pretty sure NOT cruelty-free]. And when I say "obese", I mean it was very difficult for her to squeeze through the front door.
And she let everyone in the restaurant know with loud yelps of discomfort and struggle.

And of course the waiter seated her next to me. My mouth full of mixed-berry tofu pie and loving every morsel, but Miss Macy's saw my savoring and actually gave me the most disgusted, nauseated look I've ever seen in my natural born life. The way she looked at me I thought I had made a mistake and was actually gnawing on the head of a rat.

Well, she was finally seated, and it literally took two minutes to sit her butt down. Not because of her weight, but because she literally looked around her seat for... roaches, crumbs, another person, something. Whatever it was she was not going to relax until she found it. And she did. And I still have no idea what it was.

But I do know she needed assitance from the Waiter to order. Not only had she never been to a "place like this", but she was in a hurry and needed something on a plate and her face within ten minutes [her words, not mine]. The waiter suggested the Macro Platter [a vareity of tasty steamed... before the waiter could finish his pitch, she yelled out for all to hear: Oh, please, that sounds DISGUSTING!] I looked at her, the waiter looked at me and I then looked at the waiter and we both found ourselves being LOOKED at by HER. Her response: "Are you two going to give goo-goo eyes all day or you going to bring me this grilled salmon in peanut sauce, heavy on the peanut sauce."

After a moment of reveling in my own self-ordained pompous good eater versus bad eater crap, I thought: Wow. Where did this woman come from? With her perfume and make up and frustrations. I thought: maybe she stumbled upon this place during her lunch hour because there was not enough to time to make it uptown to her favorite Italian eatery, or maybe during a dinner with friends the week before a friend suggested this place to help curve her hyper-tension issues, or maybe her physician told her she better 86 the meats and potatoes or she literally may not live until Easter. Whatever the reason, she pulled out the latest John Grisham novel and waited for her grilled salmon, daring anyone to look her way, daring anyone to make her feel unwelcomed. So I smiled, and of course she DID NOT smile back.

Exit: A brother like me gathering my things to vacate this newly uncomfortable environment. But during my escape, the obese woman looked at me, her face smothered in "Why is he leaving? Was it something I did?" I love a contradicted woman.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: I'm often fascinated by the torrid journey one must take toward over well-being. There's nothing easy about choosing life. And this woman was a classic example. I only wish I had the stamina to endure the torridness of each and every journey, but life is short and a brother got his own life to choose. So good luck and good eating!
I just hope next time she doesn't feel the need to share her stress all over my mixed-berry tofu pie.

Until next time,

Keith