By Paul Goldfinger, Editor@Blogfinger.net
A short shtory is a written story that is shorter than the usual short story. Short shtories usually appear in groups of 3. In that respect, it’s like migraine headaches.
The bar at Taka on Cookman Ave. A. Park. Paul Goldfinger photo 2018. Click once to enlarge.
#1 “The missing guacamole:”
Eileen once told me that guacamole comes from Guacamala. But she actually “misspoke.” We were at La Tapatia, Main Street, A. Park, late, a few nights ago on Fajita Night (Wednesdays 1/2 price.)
They brought out our dinner which was sizzling. There were tortillas, rice, salad, chips, sour cream, black beans, steak, chicken, dips (red and green)—it smelled great! We ordered one Dos Equis to share after we debated how to pronounce that Mexican beer. And then we started to eat, voraciously, and it was delicious, but we soon discovered something meaningful: no guacamole.
We called the waiter over, and he said, “Oh. I’ll check in the kitchen.”
He returned and said, “The reason we didn’t give you guacamole is that we don’t have any.”
OMG!! Can it be possible; no explanation and no redemption? But we finished the meal, sans guacamole, and left, venturing out into the heart of darkness in that worrisome neighborhood. Ho hum. Life isn’t perfect.
#2 “Practicing medicine on Cookman Ave.”:
We were having dinner at an A. Park restaurant on a weekday night. I wasn’t done yet with dinner, however the meter needed money. I went out on the darkened and empty street and found my car and my meter. It was the old system.
As I fussed with the settings and the credit card, I felt a presence behind me. I thought, “I will get mugged…why am I out here alone?”
But I wheeled around, and standing there was a bedraggled woman, on the older side. (I figure that anyone older than I is old.) I noticed her wrist band which looked like the kind you get in a hospital. I also noticed that she had no visible weapon. “I could take her,” thought I.
Then, surprisingly, she began to speak, and she started to tell me her medical history. What the hey? How does she know….that I’m a doctor? She wants medical advice.
And then I knew: She saw my MD plates. Whew! I always feel better when an unknown becomes known. I listened for awhile; It didn’t sound like she had any urgent medical issue.
“I’m sorry miss, but my dinner is getting cold.” Uh, no, I didn’t say that. I told her the truth; “Sorry, but I am not licensed to practice medicine in NJ (any more–although I can practice in New York, but this, after all, is NJ). “Um, you had better call your doctor tomorrow.”
#3 “The center of attention at Taka.”
It looks like these 3 shtories are about dinner in A. Park.
It was crowded at Taka the night we went. Taka is the fabulous Japanese restaurant on Cookman. We were with my cousin “Ernie the Attorney” and his wife. We were led to a table for four in the middle of the big crowded noisy room.
We are usually happy to be at Taka because it is beautiful and classy, and the food is first rate. I once interviewed the owner/chef of Taka–he lived in Ocean Grove when he opened his first restaurant in AP.
After arriving at the table and looking around, I and the others grabbed our chairs to have a seat. Everything was fine until I actually sat down, and then there was a loud, terrible cracking noise: The chair collapsed and I was on the floor with the chair wreckage.
Everything went silent inside TAKA. I quickly realized that I felt OK, so I stood up and looked around the room: EVERYONE looking at me. I looked at them and said, “Do any of you know a good lawyer?” Ernie kept quiet–he’s a prosecutor and becomes interested if there is a murder.
Then about three Taka people came to me, including the owner. One of them said, “We have been having problems lately with our chairs.”
The Taka owner was visibly rattled. I reassured him and looked for the waiter. I was hungry.
MAX RABBE and CHRISTOPHER ISRAEL: