A brief word on diners. They're wonderful. Most people have "their" diner, one they put above every other diner in the world. The one that has the best food, the coolest staff, and the weirdest regulars.
My diner kicks plenty of ass. It's had a lot of names over the years, and everybody refers to it as whatever it was called when they first started hanging out in it. Jimmys, Jude's, Main St. Diner, Newark Diner, Korner Diner, the list goes on... actually, no it doesn't. That's the whole list. If they go to a different diner, they call it "The Big Metal Thing on Main Street", which is an apt description.
Walk in the door and seat yourself. You don't need a menu, because it's a fucking diner. You know what they have. Bob comes over and says hello. Bob's the owner. He came here from Russia eleven years ago with "Two dollars in my pocket, and no English in my mouth." He loves this country. On slow nights, he takes you into the basement office and gives you shots of Tullamore Dew and Russian vodka that his family sent him from back home. Bob has the best toasts in the world. He'll raise his glass in the air and say "When a lady crosses a puddle, she lifts her skirt a little bit. When she crosses a big puddle, she lifts her skirt a little bit more. When she crosses an even bigger puddle, she lifts it more still. My friends, here's to the lady that crosses oceans." Every so often, he'll intercept the waitress and tear up your check.
More often than not, one of the waitresses will see you and get your coffee to your booth before you even sit down. Mr. Pink would tip here. He would tip big, too. I don't even know what the bottoms of the mugs look like. If it's busy, they leave the pot at your table. They know how much coffee you drink.
The regulars are always up for a game of chess. They are all in the middle of a really good book, but it's never so good that they can't put it down and tell you just how good it is. They can talk about everything or nothing, but either way, you always feel like you accomplished something afterwards.
The jukebox doesn't have any bad music on it.
Nik and Yolita, the night managers, don't mind if you come in drunk after being at the bar, as long as you tip your waitress well, and you don't make too much noise. Also, no sleeping in the booth. If you're that tired or drunk, someone wll drive you home. Just get their coffee next time and they'll call it square.
When you need a quick cup of coffee in the morning, you go to the diner (free newspaper with the coffee, too). When it's your day off, and you're sitting at home bored out of your skull, you go to the diner. In the middle of the night, when you have insomnia and you've counted enough sheep to go around the circumference of New York City, you get up and go to the diner. Cause it's your diner. And that's just where you go.
God I love that place
ST. PATRICK'S DAY IS ONLY A WEEK AWAY!
Party starts on Sunday the 14th. You're all invited.
New pictures, by the way.
My diner kicks plenty of ass. It's had a lot of names over the years, and everybody refers to it as whatever it was called when they first started hanging out in it. Jimmys, Jude's, Main St. Diner, Newark Diner, Korner Diner, the list goes on... actually, no it doesn't. That's the whole list. If they go to a different diner, they call it "The Big Metal Thing on Main Street", which is an apt description.
Walk in the door and seat yourself. You don't need a menu, because it's a fucking diner. You know what they have. Bob comes over and says hello. Bob's the owner. He came here from Russia eleven years ago with "Two dollars in my pocket, and no English in my mouth." He loves this country. On slow nights, he takes you into the basement office and gives you shots of Tullamore Dew and Russian vodka that his family sent him from back home. Bob has the best toasts in the world. He'll raise his glass in the air and say "When a lady crosses a puddle, she lifts her skirt a little bit. When she crosses a big puddle, she lifts her skirt a little bit more. When she crosses an even bigger puddle, she lifts it more still. My friends, here's to the lady that crosses oceans." Every so often, he'll intercept the waitress and tear up your check.
More often than not, one of the waitresses will see you and get your coffee to your booth before you even sit down. Mr. Pink would tip here. He would tip big, too. I don't even know what the bottoms of the mugs look like. If it's busy, they leave the pot at your table. They know how much coffee you drink.
The regulars are always up for a game of chess. They are all in the middle of a really good book, but it's never so good that they can't put it down and tell you just how good it is. They can talk about everything or nothing, but either way, you always feel like you accomplished something afterwards.
The jukebox doesn't have any bad music on it.
Nik and Yolita, the night managers, don't mind if you come in drunk after being at the bar, as long as you tip your waitress well, and you don't make too much noise. Also, no sleeping in the booth. If you're that tired or drunk, someone wll drive you home. Just get their coffee next time and they'll call it square.
When you need a quick cup of coffee in the morning, you go to the diner (free newspaper with the coffee, too). When it's your day off, and you're sitting at home bored out of your skull, you go to the diner. In the middle of the night, when you have insomnia and you've counted enough sheep to go around the circumference of New York City, you get up and go to the diner. Cause it's your diner. And that's just where you go.
God I love that place
ST. PATRICK'S DAY IS ONLY A WEEK AWAY!
Party starts on Sunday the 14th. You're all invited.
New pictures, by the way.
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[Edited on Mar 12, 2004 8:14PM]