June 22, 2011

Sifu and I sat in the Chinese restaurant in disbelief at the obnoxious woman at the next table.  She had a cell phone, so I understood her excitement.  That’s huge.  But she couldn’t shut the fuck up for even a moment.  Everyone else in the restaurant could just leave if they didn’t want to hear more about RICHARD GERE’S WIFE IN GREENPOINT BROOKLYN.

We ordered our dumplings.  Ring!  “HI, YEAH, IT’S ME.  LISTEN, I NEED YOU TO PICK UP RICHARD GERE’S WIFE.  THAT’S RICHARD. GERE’S. WIFE.  She’s in BROOKLYN.  That’s GREENPOINT BROOKLYN.  She needs a ride.  Don’t keep her waiting.  This is RICHARD GERE’S WIFE.  This is not just some nobody.  No, it’s okay, I can hold.”

We ordered our main courses.  “WELL, LAST TIME SHE WAS VERY UNSATISFIED.  We sent another driver.  He was alright, but you know, HE TALKED TOO MUCH.  RICHARD GERE’S WIFE doesn’t have time to listen to him.  No it’s okay, I’m in the car. (LIAR!)  Yeah so this time we sent Anthony G.  He’s a good driver.  He’s not so CHATTY.  HE KNOWS WHEN TO SHUT UP.  He got a flat tire once but RICHARD GERE’S WIFE doesn’t have to know about that.”

Our dumplings came.  Ring!  “Yeah hi.  No, it’s okay, I sent Anthony G.  To GREENPOINT BROOKLYN.  He’s got a pickup there, so give him the good car.  Well, normally I would, but this time it’s RICHARD GERE’S WIFE.  In BROOKLYN!  Yes.  I told her we can’t control traffic, but you know RICHARD GERE’S WIFE!  She’s got places to be!”

The people at other tables looked at us.  We exchanged gestures of frustration.  The entire restaurant was involved.  One lady called out to me from across the room, “Hey, do you have any updates on RICHARD GERE’S WIFE?”  I replied that she was in Greenpoint Brooklyn, and that everything would be fine.  Today’s driver wouldn’t be so chatty.  “Good thing!” said the lady. 


Ring!  “YEAH WHAT’S UP.  No, it’s okay.  It’s Anthony G.  Right, to GREENPOINT.  For the pickup…”

"RICHARD GERE’S WIFE!" Sifu and I called out in unison. 

This annoyed her.  “No, I’m in the car, I’m on the way.  Just don’t be late, because this is RICHARD GERE’S WIFE we’re dealing with, so get there fast.”

She left.

Richard Gere’s Wife, I hope you know that an entire Chinese restaurant full of people think you’re a royal pain in the ass.  I hope Anthony G. talked your ear off the whole way home to Richard Gere’s Golden Castle in Space, and you got home and found that his voice planted a word sperm into your ear hole, and your head was impregnated with his talky, yakky, chatty seed, and nine months later a giant Gerbil hatched out of your ass.  What kind of person goes to Greenpoint Brooklyn on a weeknight?  Shame on you.  I hope you google yourself and find this, but I hope you don’t search for yourself by name, because you don’t have one.  You are Richard Gere’s Wife, and You Need a Ride Home From Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

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