Hug Years

Dan and I were in a restaurant on the lower east side somewhere. It
was called “Hug” and was pretty fancy, but we figured we would splurge
and eat fancy for once.

Our waiter was really uptight, and was kind of rude to us. Probably
because we weren’t ordering the really expensive things on the menu –
we were keeping to about twelve dollars apiece, when it would be easy
to spend double or triple that.

So we finished and took a look at the desserts, and they are also
expensive. All of a sudden we have this apple dessert in front of us,
it looks like little shells filled with apples, and a dipping sauce.
Dan tried it, but said it was uncooked and really bad. Then a brownie
plate came out, and it seemed like an extravagant little debbie cake. I
tried it and it was really good. Dan said he ordered that one since the
apple was so bad. The menu said that they charged extra for tip on the
dessert, but I didn’t want to pay for it since our waiter was not very
good.

Our check came and it was about thirty-six dollars (which doesn’t
seem completely absurd to me now, but it did at the time). We paid, but
twice the waiter came back and said we had extra charges – one for
desserts, one for a “service charge”. I got really upset, and gave him
another twenty dollars even though they didn’t deserve it. He gave me a
dollar change, and I was still really mad. Then I unfolded the dollar
and it was fake! It’t proportions were stretched out.

So I went to the counter and I started yelling at them – I don’t
even remember what I said. I threw the dollar at the women while she
was calling the waiter that gave me the dollar on a headset. She said,
“Franco, can you come help us out, this customer is off the wall.” Then
I thought it’s not even worth fighting over the dollar, so I went to
get Dan, and he was eating a bowl of soup with little hot dogs in it. I
asked him how he got that, and he said, “Hey, I deserve it.” I think he
took it from somewhere, because I decided to walk out, and while doing
that employees were saying “But I can smell the turkey…”

I walk outside, and there is a chalkmarking on the wall that says “Hug Years.”

I didn’t realize how late it was we were there, but it’s very dark,
and I’m on Rivington Street, but I don’t really recognize it. Some guys
were hanging out next door, and one started following me with a gallon
milk container. He is following too close to me for me to be
comfortable, and I then see the container is frozen water. I wanted to
run, but I didn’t want to look scared, because I was sure he would
chase me and hit me with the block of ice and rob me. Then a police car
came around the corner, and I thought I’d just go talk to them, but
they don’t stop, and then I woke up.

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