The Lone Star State

Some people have no sense of where they are, and in particular when it comes to riders of New York City’s subway system. More specifically, I am often cutoff at the turnstiles and that is exactly what happens today as I swipe my metorcard and walk through. The man one turnstile to my right – middle aged, tall, and with a tennis racket emerging from his backpack – walks through on his side and then immediately moves in front of me, for no obvious reason and oblivious to the fact that I am there. I narrowly avoid colliding the handle of his racket.

On the platform I see Adina S. sitting on a bench and walk towards her. Emily T. is also near nearby. By the time I reach Adina, a train has pulled into the station and we board together. There are numerous available seats, but most are singles, and only one pair of adjacent seats is open. Emily unknowingly sits on one of them, leaving Adina and I to sit separately, and so instead we choose to stand. At the next stop, someone gets off the train, creating a new pair of adjacent seats, which we take.

Adina has been to Austin for the Thanksgiving weekend and we talk about her trip and compare notes about kosher food throughout Texas in general. I have been there many times for work and tell her the story about one particular trip with a Russian colleague who had flown in to join me on several meetings. Although I insisted it was unnecessary, he was kindly adamant on accompanying me along a forty minute drive to the nearest kosher restaurant. The second night was a repeat, I asserting once again that he need not join me, and he resolute that no one should eat alone. At dinnertime on the third and final night, he turns to me and says, in a thick Russian accent, “twice we go Kosher, tonight we go Hooters.”