There’s this store here in Brooklyn called Eagle Provisions…it’s about two blocks away from where SaxFace and Vix and SuaSponte and a whole bunch of other NYC Dopers live. Down on Fifth Avenue just where Park Slope is beginning to blend into Sunset Park.
They make their own kielbasa, and smoke hams and turkeys and chickens, and sell sauerkraut right outta the damn BARREL, and carry homemade perogis and the best eastern-European rye bread I’ve ever seen anywhere in New York.
But you know what I hear every time I mention the place? “Oh, yeah…and the GIRLS there…{drool}.”
The counter ladies are all recent Polish emigres, fresh-faced blondes between 15 and 19 with large chests and enormous blue eyes and trusting expressions. No matter how much I try to describe the quality of the sausages or the delicacy of the pickled cabbage, everyone I discuss the place with drifts off into erotic fantasies involving bevies of naked adolescent Slavic Brunhildes.
This always bugged me. Until I noticed that the same thing was happening to me…at the beer store.
At Fourth Avenue and 12th Street, there’s a Discount Beverage Emporium where I’ve been known to drop in and stock up on brew by the case. The proprietors are textbook examples of Brooklynites circa 1950: balding guys with five o’clock shadow and thick Bensonhoist accents: “Hey VINNIE, wheah’s da shipment a Schaefers?!?”
But the girls behind the checkout desk…swarthy, raven-haired daughters of the Amalfi…clad in tank tops and cut-offs, displaying their olive-toned thighs and cleavage…leaning over to scan my price codes…smiling up at me with teeth whiter than seacaps on the Adriatic…young, vibrant Psyches of the cash register and Special Today Only on Twelve-packs a Rolling Rock…
The Beer Store Girls…they will visit me tonight, in my dreams…plump Sicilian succubi…
raaooowwwwww. italian girls get me hot. do these sienna sirens have mustaches, nay, dare i dream, crabladders? do they chew large wads of gum in charmingly bovine fashion? twirl their raven locks around a plump pepperoni finger? wear three pounds of cheap gold, including their first names, in script? do they bellow coarse obscenities to their cohorts through the open door? look right through you, like you weren’t even there? raaaaaoooowwwww!
I was in NYC not 4 days ago, with lurkernomore and TruePisces. Where, may I ask, the hell was this a week ago? You do realize the situation I am in, and you do realize how much of a Xanadu this would have been?!?
Tripler
For the love of God, get me the hell out of North Dakota.
Awww… poor Trip. There’s gotta be a good looking Lt. up there somewhere.
All the guys down here do the same thing with one of our local steakhouses. The food there sucks, but all the guys go just to look at all these farm raised, blue-eyed, lightly freckled chicks bringing them their crappy steak and $.50 piss beer while wearing tiny little shorts.
Ike, I think we’re not dissimilar ages. I face distractions at the video shop, the supermarket, the pub and, generally, leaving the house. In particular, the girl at the bakery wears those short strappy tops that reveal her ritualistic, pagan belly button piecings. Short, strappy tops which, I feel forced to mention, also reveal more than a hint of flawless alabaster breast. I thinkit’s a phase but I do like a rustic French roll.
Also talked recently with a guy who has late teen daughters. He has similar problems with his daughters friends. Says the thing to do is not to be caught looking. Aging is harsh.
Listen bub, besides the missileers (they’re just plain wierd) it just ain’t a target rich environment. Only 1 1/2 more years to go . . .
IIRC, there are a handful of honeys at American Pie - at least a couple of good lookin’ waitresses with that sultry southern accent. Up The Creek ain’t too shabby either.
Tripler
So many targets, I needed AWACS for help . . .
While I cheerfully admit to being a pathetic middle-aged schlemiel, I should point out that this is not a condition that came upon me suddenly or recently.
Having been in a series of monogamous (roughly monogamous) relationships since the age of, oh, seventeen, and knowing that there was going to be a warm body in the bed next to me on any given night, possibly armed with a rolling pin, my reaction upon catching a glimpse of well-turned ankle or supple bosom has been less of the “Sidling Up Hey Baby What’s Your Sign” thing and more of the “Furtive Staring While Trying to Appear Blase Even Though Jaw is Hanging Slack” deal.
Trip, Lux, andygirl: Okay, you want to schedule a field trip to the Beer Store during the next NYC Dopefest? Not that it’s necessary to purchase discount suds if one wishes to ogle attractive women in New York, of course. “Mr. Vinnie, could you check the back room for two cases of, uh, Tree Frog Beer? We’ll just wait out here with Gina and Sofia and Francesca while you’re gone.”
Pluto: You mean to say that you don’t bring home a case of beer every day?
I’m in love with the girl who does the announcements on the Hong Kong Subway system (MTR). Ok ok, so I’ve got a thing for Chinese girls, but I’ve never even seen this one. But that voice… Educated Chinese / British posh ice maiden. WOW! There’s a slight pause between each perfectly formed word that for some strange reason I find the sexiest thing on the planet.
“The - next - station - is - Tsim - Sha - Tsui. Please - stand - clear - of - the - doors [sub] - and - come - back - to - my - place”[/sub]. Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh
Uke, take it from a Brooklyn-born-and-raised Italian-American here, those girls behind the counter are not named Gina and Sofia and Francesca. More like Debbi or Tiffani or some other Mall Nouveau bubble-gum name that swept through outer borough Italian neighborhoods in the 80’s like the potato blight swept through Ireland.
Hey, and can someone give me details next time you guys get together?
