New York Minute 172 - Cough Fest

One of the ironies on life in New York is that despite the vast number of restaurants that operate in the city, New Yorkers tend to go to the same places over and over again. It makes sense if you think about it. You might occasionally trek to another part of town for dinner, but you’re not going to do that every day. For lunch, you’re even more restricted, because you have a limited amount of time. So, you tend to gravitate toward a handful of places in your neighborhood that serve good food and aren’t overpriced.

There’s one restaurant that I visit just about every weekend. It’s located near where I shop and do my errands. The food is good, the prices are reasonable, and the people who work there are always very nice. They know me and my dietary restrictions, so I don’t have to explain things every time I go there. 

I had lunch at this restaurant on Saturday after a stop at the post office. As I was finishing my main dish, a lady in a blue hospital uniform, a nurse or a technician perhaps, came in and sat at the table beside mine. She was very quiet; I didn’t notice much other than her uniform and the fact that she didn’t order right away. She appeared to be waiting for someone.

Ten minutes or more went by. I finished my meal and was catching up with news and emails on my iPad as I waited for the bill. (Note to restaurants: I HATE waiting for the bill.) 

A man came into the restaurant with his little boy, who seemed to be about seven years old. They joined the hospital lady at her table. They all greeted each other and shared a bit of kid friendly chit chat before the lady launched into a prolonged coughing fit. Unable to get her coughing under control after a minute or two, she excused herself and went into the restroom. 

My brain started to make some unpleasant calculations. Bad cough. Hospital uniform. What could that mean? 

While the lady was in the restroom, the man started to cough. It wasn’t an uninterrupted stream of coughs as the lady had suffered, but it was still concerning. These were deep, loud, hacking coughs, and they kept coming even after the lady returned to the table. Happily, she wasn’t coughing any longer.

So, there I was sitting in a restaurant next to a guy who’s coughing like mad, a woman in a hospital uniform who until moments ago had been coughing uncontrollably, and a germ-carrying kid. I stood up, grabbed my coat, and chased the waiter down so I could pay the bill and get out of there.

Copyright © 2019 Daniel R. South 

All Rights Reserved