You know why? Because apparently, I am “a human Google”.<\/p>\n
Here’s the story. I took the Metro North today to my friend Jen’s parent’s house. They invited me to their Passover seder (yes, a week early) … I have been invited for, oh, 8 years now? This is the first year I have been able to go. So I got up at the fiery crack of 8 a.m., made my way to Grand Central, and got onto the train.<\/p>\n
I sat there, looking out the window at the gleaming Hudson to my right, the cliffs of Jersey, and yes, because I’m a geek, I thought of all of the things that happened up and down that river and along that cliff during the Revolutionary War.<\/p>\n
10 minutes into the ride north, I heard the guy in the seat in front of me say into his cell phone:<\/p>\n
“No, man, listen, I heard that there’s a Red Sox bar in Manhattan.” Pause, pause. “I have no idea where it is, bro – but I heard that there is one. Look it up or something … I know there is one …” Pause, pause, pause. “All right, man … I’ll talk to you later. All right. Bye.”<\/p>\n
He hangs up.<\/p>\n
And I could not resist.<\/p>\n
I leaned over the seat in front of me and said, “Hi … sorry … couldn’t help but overhearing …”<\/p>\n
And he looked at me with… that look. I can’t explain it. It was polite, but reserved. Maybe a little fearful. Like: why is this random person talking to me? The guy was just a classic Boston guy. Can’t explain that either, but you just knew he was from Boston. And NOT just because he was wearing a Red Sox hat. He had that blunt open face … the kind of face you rarely see in Manhattan.<\/p>\n
So I saw his hesitation and plunged on, getting to the point: “There is a Red Sox bar in Manhattan, and it’s called The Riviera.”<\/p>\n
In that moment, all of his hesitation dissolved, and we suddenly became best friends. His whole face changed.<\/p>\n
“Are you from Boston?”<\/p>\n
“No, Rhode Island … but, you know. Same thing.”<\/p>\n
“I’m from Belmont.”<\/p>\n
“Oh! Okay!”<\/p>\n
Then came this huge laughing smile on his face … “So wait … what’s the name of the bar?”<\/p>\n
“The Riviera. It’s awesome. 50 TVs, they’ve got NESN … it’s THE place to go to see Red Sox games in New York.”<\/p>\n
“Where is it?” He already had his phone out.<\/p>\n
“It’s right across from the Christopher Street stop, on the 1, 9. It’s on 7th avenue south.”<\/p>\n
He dialed.<\/p>\n
I heard the following conversation (this is pretty much word for word):<\/p>\n
“Yo. Bro. The name of the Red Sox bar in New York is The Riviera.” Pause. “Yeah – I was sitting here, and a very helpful woman just gave me the name of the bar.” Pause. “It’s on …” He had forgotten, he glanced back at me.<\/p>\n
I said, “It’s on 7th Avenue South – across from the Christopher Street subway station.”<\/p>\n
He repeated into the phone: “It’s on 7th Avenue South – across from the Christopher Street subway station.” Then: long pause, as his friend spoke. Then: “Dude, you want the exact address? What?? Bro, I’m sittin’ here next to a human Google, and you want the exact address? I say to you: ‘There’s a Red Sox bar in New York’ – then this woman appears and tells me not only the name of the bar, but the subway stop and<\/i> the street it’s on – and you want an exact address? You’re nuts, dude. Look it up.”<\/p>\n
I felt proud. I had helped this lost soul find a Red Sox home, and … I got called “a human Google”.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
You know why? Because apparently, I am “a human Google”. Here’s the story. I took the Metro North today to my friend Jen’s parent’s house. They invited me to their Passover seder (yes, a week early) … I have been … Continue reading