I rarely display domestic prowess. I am capable of cooking and cleaning and am actually a fairly good baker (thanks Dad!), and when I do these things, I don’t play. So when Gigi asked me to bake funfetti cupcakes for her husband’s surprise party, I knew I would have to go on a small quest to find the original funfetti icing (street name: Funfetti; official name: Betty Crocker Rainbow Chip Frosting), instead of the Pillsbury icing with the sprinkles in a little plastic container on top (official name: “Fun”fetti; street name: Bullshit Knockoff Frosting).
I first headed to the Food Emporium across the street from my gym, where I spotted one of my favorite things: a couple fighting in public. This fight particularly piqued my interest because she was wearing a white cotton sundress with a white feather-thing, like a fascinator, but less fancy. He was wearing most of a tuxedo, like they had been en route to elope in Atlantic City, but had to make a pitstop in Midtown just to have a crazy fight. They were both wasted and the girl had scrapes on her arm and kept yelling at the guy not to effing push her, even though he was not touching or pushing her and she was drunk enough to have been pushed by gravity alone. I stared for a few good seconds to make sure that neither of them was going to be killed and because I love to watch people classlessly fight in public (live is vastly preferable to TV).
I walked into the store for the 45 seconds it took to see that they only had crappy Pillsbury anti-Funfetti icing and walked back out, to find an ambulance parked in front of the Food Emporium with the girl inside and the guy standing outside still yelling at each other. This happened over a week ago and I still can’t wrap my head around it. This couple walked up to the corner at the same time that I did. I went in the store for less than one minute and an ambulance was already there when I came back. There is no hospital nearby. Where did the ambulance come from? Did they steal someone else’s ambulance? What were they treating the girl for?
The curse of living in a big city is that you never get the full scoop. I want to know what happened to these people and how it happened. I want the before and after stories. But there is no Gladys Kravitz-ing in New York. There’s so much more to judge, but you can never really know what you’re judging. Four grocery stores later, I found the icing I sought (Westside Market on W. 110, FYI) but the victory felt hollow when I realized all I’d lost.