A Man is walking down a street, and he sees...

Ok, I know what you're thinking. You're wondering whether I'm ever going to get onto the actual 'New York' stuff. You wondering whether you're ever going to hear about actual interesting blog-worthy type stuff that doesn't just involve me sort of walking in and then out of shops, and as a grand finale sitting in a car for a bit, that then randomly seg-way into a rather disturbing childhood story that you never wanted to hear about in the first place and which, for pyschological reasons of my own, I should probably not delve into too deeply. Stories that, in essence, wouldn't be immedietly edited out of the film. Well first of all, tough. I've got a LOT more where that came from, you better believe it, including a brilliant one about some evil mice who essentially became my masters between the ages of 13-14. But their time will come.

Today, a proper actual New York thing happened, and I'm going to tell you about it and it was bloody great. So well done for sticking around thus far. I was walking down Fulton Avenue (check google maps, I'm not even making it up) when on the corner ahead of me I saw a New York chef, a Rabbi, and a pile of wood. I knew the chef was a chef, as he was wearing cheffy overalls with some unfortunate looking animal stains down the front and a brilliant hat that was so cliched I wondered at first if he was just playing 'chef' in the local performance of 'The Chef'. The Rabbi, well, he literally could not have looked more like a Rabbi if he tried. He was even holding a book, i mean it could have been a Ruth Rendall for all I know, but if there's one thing Rabbis do, its hold books in weird situations. And as for the pile of wood, well, there was no getting away from it. It was a pile of wood. One of them was shouting a LOT. Two were staying stoically quiet. The wood could just about get away with that tactic, but the Rabbi, i feared, might not. There was no way of knowing what the dispute was about, but some shit had gone down here. Some shit involving a pile of wood, a chef and a Rabbi. It makes me happy just contemplating the possiblities. Now, not being much of a stopper and starer, I only had the time that I walked to hear their argument. But it was wonderful for a number of reasons. It began like this
Chef- 'SO WHAT, YOU- YOU JEW, YOU'RE JUST GONNA LEAVE IT LIKE THIS?? HUH??'
Rabbi- '.................................'
Chef- 'YOU FUCKIN- I OUGHTA, YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE YOU FUCKIN, WHY;'
Rabbi- ................................

The pile of wood, rather sensibly, kept out of it. The Rabbi began to walk away in a fairly Rabbi-type way, little curly wurly hair bits on the side of his head blowing sadly in the wind. And then the funny bit happened.
Now, I think my problem is that the only arguments I have ever been privy to that involved a New York accent are ones that have been carefully and cunningly crafted by about 17 scriptwriters, honed to almost perfection by a team of directors and then said with impeccable timing by Al Pacino or similar. These are arguments that do not go wrong, that are cutting, nay searing, and are intelligent whilst at the same time achingly relevant and usually begin with a cigarette and end with someone's head gettin fuckin' blown off by samuel El cos he just caint take yo' shit no mo'. In my world, things are slightly different. In my world, when you have an argument things like intelligence, rational thought and unimportant things such as using actual words sort of go out of the window. You hear youself bizarrely using the wrong tense, sort of snorting where you should be breathing and using words like 'unprobably'. In such situations, when you need so very badly the most to be articulate in order to destroy your loved one, it is inevitable that the only thing that can come out of your mouth are things like 'ohh you just fucking don't GET it do you?' or 'Yes, ohhh yes, yes well you would say that'. Shit things. Things are so rubbish Samuel El would probably fall unconscious behind you out of boredom. You know what I'm saying. The great thing about what happened next is that I saw the NY equivelent of myself, trying to get in the last word, and failing miserably.
As the Rabbi walked away, the chef exploded with possibly the most ill-thought out tirade ever spoken, which, in essence, was the following-
'YOU FUCKIN.. YOU... YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE?? YOU ARE HITLER! YOU ARE A FUCKIN... FUCKIN NAZI! A NAZI JEW!... YEAH... YOU CAN WALK AWAY YOU FUCKIN NAZI JEW'
and as he began to sense his key argument may be slightly flawed he tailed away, finishing with possibly the best ending to a crap argument I have ever heard, which was
'THEY... THEY SHOULDN'T LET YOU WEAR THAT HAT! THEY SHOUlD.... THEY SHOULD TAKE IT AWAY.... FROM YOU... YOUR HAT...'

and with that he was left looking down a the pile of wood, for better or for worse, and all I could do was stroll on by, wondering whether the stains on his apron were in fact from animals or from those he had slain in a head-wear enduced rage.
They shouldn't let you wear that hat. I am definately saving that one for the next time I need a devestating final line. Thank you New York. Thank you for showing me that in high pressure situations even those such as the star of 'The Chef' can fall to pieces. And to be honest, the Rabbi did look a bit shifty.