Thursday, 11.15, 1:40 pm — 57th Street and Seventh Ave. It took me a little while to recover from Mary, Queen of Scots. I ducked into a market/food bar joint a few doors down from Carnegie Hall. I scooped up some hot steaming vittles and waited in line to pay.

HE to cashier: “Where’s the cutlery?”
Cashier to HE: “Duh whah?”
HE to cashier: “Forks and spoons?”
Cashier to HE: “Sullabaugh.”
HE to cashier: “What?”
Cashier to HE: “Sullabaugh.”

I walked in the direction of where she was pointing, but I couldn’t imagine what a “sullabaugh” might be. I looked and looked…nothing. I turned and looked back at the cashier, and then caught her eye.

HE to cashier: “I still don’t see any knives and forks!”
Cashier to HE: “Sullabaugh!”

A light went on.

HE to cashier: “Oh, you mean salad bar? Fine, sorry, I’m stupid. Thank you!”