A Late Lunch: {Are You Gonna Eat That?}

We were among only a few on an Eastchester-bound 5 train one hot September afternoon. I boarded in Brooklyn, bound for the southern tip of Manhattan. He was en route to where… Midtown? Harlem? Dyer Avenue at the end of the line? Who knows? We were at this subway car’s trailing end, and he took all of the two-person bench reserved for the elderly and infirm. The NYC subway seat: pale turquoise, hard plastic; contoured in a failed nod to comfort.

He was a large man with massive hands that suited his frame. His flimsy shopping bag was brimming, nestled between his enormous thigh and the pooling fabric of his unzipped sweatshirt, too heavy for this day’s weather.

He pawed for the first course: a northeast local brand of extruded, cheese-flavored, preservative-filled snack marketers call “puffs” to ignite appeal. The Cheetos would have been close to a dollar more than the Utz brand, and either money mattered or maybe he just liked the Utz, dammit… thank you very much for your concern.

Hand to bag to mouth to bag and back; quick work.

An orange-yellow film stained the five fingertips of his left hand. It was not yet time to clean up. There were several courses ahead.

The empty Utz bag was shunted aside. Next up was the Doritos Big Grab. No snack sized-bag here; this was the BIG grab. The appetizer course was over, and an entrée demands heft. The name brand here had won the day; a man’s Doritos are important. Some comfort foods’ empty calories taste better than others. Generic Doritos? An abomination. Name brand Doritos? Delicious!

The salty courses devoured, the big bottle of blue Gatorade was next, the kind of blue not naturally associated with food or drink. Thirty-two ounces gone in the few moments it took the train to speed between Atlantic Avenue and Borough Hall.

Dessert? Of course. Out came the two-pack (kleverly marketed as the 2-Pak) of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Consumed and finger-lickin’ good, providing the dual benefit of “Cheetos” stain removal.

He hunted through the shopping bag for more and, seeing none, tied it up for disposal. And now, up over the head with the business end of the hoodie, sliding into a nap.

We parted at the Wall Street stop.