It was 6:54pm on Wednesday. I had a 7:00 dinner reservation with friends and had just gotten home from work. I scrambled around my apartment to change and get ready for dinner. I found a black Levi’s button up shirt, threw it on, and hustled out the door. I noticed immediately that the shirt was a little tighter than I remembered it being upon purchase, but then I remembered that I got beefier (in a good way) during the pandemic, so it was probably just a result of my new and improved musculature.
I made it right at 7 and sat with my friends for dinner. We quickly got into the hot topics of the world – Kanye’s new album, the return of Bachelor in Paradise, and how we all felt about the media’s refusal to acknowledge the inherent difficulties of evacuating Afghanistan and ending a 20-year war. You know, typical small talk among friends.
Shortly after, our waiter came to take our order. We were at a sushi restaurant - one that has a Michelin star – and all my friends ordered sushi. Unfortunately, I don’t like sushi, but I do love their accommodating non-fishy options, so when it came to my turn I asked for the Black Pepper Beef. The waiter gave me a look that said, “If you just want rice and beef and veggies in sauce why don’t you just get $9 takeout from some other restaurant?”, but I ignored his judgmental gaze. You see, I happen to think that the Black Pepper Beef here is exceptional, and that if the chef wanted to open a restaurant that exclusively served Black Pepper Beef and other stir fries of the like it could become a Michelin star restaurant as well – it’s that good. Is any of this information regarding the beef dish essential to this story? Absolutely not, I just wanted to paint a picture for you and set the record straight regarding the non-fishy options.
After putting in our order (and resolving the framing of the Afghan War), I decided to head to the bathroom. Upon entering the lavatory, the first thing I noticed was just how large it was. Many restaurant bathrooms in New York are built like porcelain broom closets, so it’s truly jarring when you walk in one of this size. Honestly, it was such a large bathroom that my first instinct was to play the game where you start peeing and see how far back you can step and continue accurately peeing in the toilet – there was room for a good 6 or 7 backwards steps if you’ve got that sort of range. Ladies, I’m sure you’ve got some benefits to your style of urination (like not being judged for sitting while you do it), but I’d be lying if I said you weren’t missing out by not being able to ever play this game. Seeing that things could get messy and that this restaurant is kind of fancy, I decided against playing the peeing game, but just know I really considered it. Again, extraneous information in the grand scheme of things, but just setting the record straight.
After peeing (regularly) I went to wash my hands, but was taken aback by what I saw in the mirror…
My shirt made me look like a magician.
How did this happen? More importantly, why did none of my friends tell me?! Something about the slender fit of this black, collared shirt gave me the appearance of a low-budget, corny, non-Las Vegas magician. It was a humbling and terrifying sight. The only time you want to look like a magician is when you’re doing actual magic, and even then it wouldn’t be a bad idea to break away from the typical, slaezy attire.
I immediately hurried back to my table, interrupted my friends’ conversation about Obamacare, and confronted them with a scathing question, “Why did none of you tell me this shirt makes me look like a magician?!” My question was met with chuckles and whispers of “Oh shit, you do look like a magician.” I reiterated my inquiry. The three responses I got back were as follows:
“Who wants to be told their shirt is ugly?”
Great. Love my honest pals.
“I don’t really think you look like a magician…”
Ah. That’s bett-
“…you look more like a guy who doesn’t win often on the World Poker Tour.”
Oh. Excellent. Very Good.
And lastly…
“Don’t we all sometimes?”
Don’t we all wear shirts that make us look like magicians sometimes? That’s the response I get? Not even a “next time I’ll tell you”? In this moment I simply couldn’t believe the company I chose to dine with. It took everything in my power to not get up right then and leave to go hang out with some people who speak up when their friends wear shirts that make them look like magicians.
But, as I sat there questioning the character of my useless friends, our waiter pranced over with our food, and the overwhelming smell of black pepper kept me glued to my chair, ready to feast. We had a lovely rest of our meal discussing light topics like upcoming Marvel movies, funny airline experiences, and why property values in coastal cities will likely reach their ceiling in the next ten years because of the accelerating effects of climate change, and I decided to forgive my friends for their silence regarding my shirt. Oh, and the Black Pepper Beef? It was as good as ever. I don’t know what they do to make it, but it’s so exceptional. Heck, for all I know, maybe it’s magic.