...taking signs from lester...

At lunch today I called Rachel and reached her answering machine, as I knew I would. "Dude", I said, "why are you at work? You are a jew". And hung up. Hours later, I am leaving work for the night and checking my voicemail and there are two irate messages from her. One is incomprehensible, as she usually is. The other, she says "Loser, I've been working Friday open since January! Being a Jew has nothing to do with it! That's like, at night. Gaaaah!". And hangs up.

I'm not as inconsiderate a best friend as that. Of course I know she does a Friday lunch shift before going home for Shabat dinner. Clearly that was not the point. Clearly, I was sitting in the diner with HJW standing close by, and I needed to get my requisite Jew reference in for the day. As in, "Look! I like rugalah, and can pronounce it. I take to Judaism like gefilte fish to water. Please like me!" And it worked, because as I was leaving he turns back to me and asks if I am working tonight, which I am. He asks when, and I say from right about now until 11 when we close. "Okay cool, maybe I'll see you there". "Sure, see you later" I send back. Clearly, he is dying to be mine.

Such is the legacy of my childhood in Thornhill - I am immeasurably turned on by collared-shirt Jewish boys with smallish builds named David and Gabriel. Or you know, ones currently without names since I do not know his name yet. The point is. With his oversize headphones, and cuffed jeans, and unmistakable look of "Atkinson and Centre, born and raised" about him, I am done for.

*HJW = hot Jewish waiter