“Bacon, egg and cheese please”
Brian starts to assemble my order with a sense of familiarity; a fluidity.
How many of these has he made already today?
The B.E.C. or, sometimes, the H.E.C.: Ham, egg and cheese, a classic breakfast sandwich and THE staple for all hangovers after a night out in NYC.
Kaiser roll. Fried egg. Crispy, crispy bacon. American cheese.
While the griddle sizzles, my hands start to shake.
My insides churn, desperate for sustenance. Something please to soak up the alcohol.
Feebly, I murmur: “Coffee. Regular. Please.”
Glaring from behind my dark sunglasses that so far have protected me from the harsh lights, I watch as he first generously scoops the sugar, then squirts two shots of pale blue milk into the cup. Finally, he pours the steaming black silk into a paper cup emblazoned with blue greek keys.
Why the hell, do all the delis in NYC have the exact same paper cups? Somewhere there is a very wealthy Greek paper cup manufacturer…
I watch as he methodically snaps the plastic lid on.
Yep. Probably better to wait until I’m back upstairs. Just in case.
I spy a neon orange Gatorade in the fridge across from me and motion towards it.
My head is throbbing… my eyeballs hurt. Each step takes extra effort, extra concentration.
I pull the cold drink from the cooler and immediately condensation forms around its neck.
It’s going to be so hot today.
I weakly twist the top and with a loud crackle the lid unsnaps from the plastic ring. Even this requires me to pause.
What the hell did we drink last night?
I remember pitchers of margaritas when the waiters came to prepare the guacamole at our table using a pestle and mortar, chopping each and every ingredient fresh in front of us.
Was that all I ate? Guac and chips?? No wait…
Then I think there were beers after the quesadillas. Then another margarita maybe?
Then a cab. Lizzie ordered a fishbowl drink and more beer.
Someone bought shots. Tequilas. Two rounds.
Did I get up on the bar???
The sugary drink greets my lips and my tongue is immediately grateful for the relief. But I wince with each sip.
This drink is way too sweet. Blech…
I shuffle back towards the deli counter, praying that my lifeline is ready. That I can grab the white paper bag and head upstairs. To my bed. To recover from last night and all those drinks. Into the air conditioning. Where I can hide. Until tonight.
Oh crap… drinks, tonight...
[box type="bio"] Note: This may, or may not, be a piece of fiction. A reflection from my younger days while living in NYC.
The prompt from The Red Dress Club was to write about “about gluttony – eating and drinking to excess. ” With a word limit of 600.[/box]
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