Delightfully white trash Part II

(I asked for the small cake!)

Bright lights. Mirrors on the walls, pickles and pastrami. Who knew those four things could be united under one roof; but they are at Harold's Deli. I don't think I was quit prepared for the adventure Harold had to offer; not on a sleepy Friday evening. Sarah and Cathy craved dessert and we found ourselves in the parking lot of Harold's. I've eaten before, but have never been.
Nothing could have prepared me for the sights. Earlier in the evening we contemplated entertainment-- a movie perhaps. This was better than that. Better than a side show, better than a peep show. This was Edison embodied into one bright, flashy, pickley place.
The Mexican greeted us and proceeded to sit us in the far corner.
"Scared we're going to cause a ruckus and you're putting us in the corner?" I asked jokingly.
He smiled exposing a gold canine, recently polished. Doubt he understood me.
I was at once overcome by my surroundings. My senses were on overdrive. Did I smell first? Look around? Listen? Touch? Eat? I was at an impasse. Even looking at our table I was overcome with the voluminous items...the silverware was unusually big in my hand, the napkin--felt much like a baby's cloth diaper, thick and absorbent; even when we ordered coffee and tea, the mugs were bulky and heavy. I couldn't drink from it because the brim was so thick, I had to use a spoon.
The sights distracted me from any conversation going on before me. I was in awe of the lady walking out wearing a furcoat. What an odd place to find a fur coat wearer.
Our waitress, a no-nonsense woman with cornrows took our order and brought out a monster slab of carrot cake within minutes. The dessert resembled a centerpiece.
The guy sitting alone, wearing an orange cap struck up a conversation with the lesbians at the table over. They wore matching white turtlenecks and khaki vests. One claimed, "This is the only decent place around to get good food." Orange cap boy agreed and proclaimed, "I love the pastrami here. It's the best. Hot. Good." They spoke for several minutes about the quality of food. I became bemused by the commotion of the room. The toothless bearded man kept rolling his tongue out with every bite. He wasn't being fresh, I think he was just trying to process his food. A Yankees cap decorated his head. In fact, 3/4 of the patrons opted for the baseball cap, flannel shirt, facial hair look. The table of six next to us included four hats--"Factory Racing", "Nascar", "Yankees" and "GM". I felt good to be in NJ.
I remembered my summer adventure in Keyport and realized-- this is where all the trash must come when it gets cold out--Harold's deli.
I couldn't focus. My mind, like that of an autistic kid was going bonkers with the lights, the sounds, the shapes, the smells. It was so out of any ordinary routine that my brain was a fire ball.
I devoted all my attention back to the carrotcake and the game of K.M.F. (kill, marry, fuck) going on between Cath and Sarah. We licked cream cheese icing off our forks and devised evil triads of people to arrange in the above mentioned categories of K.M.F. It was all fun and games until Sarah hit me with a whopper-- three guys at the table over...the toothless bearded guy, a bald guy and a faceless guy with his back towards us. I took my chances-killed the toothless Yankee fan, f-ed the bald guy and married the faceless dude. My turn to get her back, I proposed the fat lady in the orange shirt with a mustache so thick we initially thought it to be a chocolate milk mustache, the greasey busboy with the gold canine, or the guy across the room in the toupee and a tight white shirt(sleeves cuffed around his biceps). As always, Sarah was as cool as a cucumber and responded with a giggle, "Marry the fat chick, fuck the busboy and kill the guy with the toupee." Creamcheese icing erupted out of my mouth and into my napkin. My eyes teared up and I had the hold back my laughter. My cheeks ached. It felt good to laugh and act like teenagers again, making fun of others and their differences.
To top it off on our way out some guy approached us and said, "Congratulations." I waited in earnest for a cheap pick-up line to follow that would put the cherry on the top of my cupcake of a night. Cathy asked, "Why?" He replied as no man should ever, "You're pregnant aren't you? I saw you rubbing your belly earlier." My mouth dropped and a shakey gasp came out. I don't even think I made eye contact with Sarah. I didn't even have a come back! He was dead serious! And Cathy, the saint that she is, said she ate too much carrotcake. The guys shrugged and walked away trailing off a barely audible sorry. Two things bother me about this scenario. 1-That this guy was dumb enough to say something that would up being tactless to a stranger. and 2- He must have been watching her while she was rubbing her full stomach. The weird thing is, we didn't notice anyone staring. Ooohhh. Creepy. Viva La Edison.