After a quick run to the bank this morning, I thought that it would be nice to pick up a corned beef special at a great little Jewish deli that I hadn't been to in a while.
The parking lot was crammed, and people were streaming in and out. "Boy," I thought, "I've never seen it this busy." A young man was holding the door for patrons, but as I approached, he gave me the once-over and a mildly hairy eyeball.
"Are you here to pick up a party tray?" he asked.
"Ummmmm, no." I said.
"Well, I'm sorry. We're closed. Unless you're picking up a party tray."
"Oh! Is that usually how it works on Saturdays?" My curiosity here was genuine.
"No. Today is.....a holiday."
Suddenly, it clicked. The Star of David superimposed on the "Saturday" during AccuWeather's five-day forecast leapt to the front of my mind. Duh! Of course! It was Hanukkah!
I smiled at the guy and did that thing you do when you understand something suddenly, the thing where you point, swing your forearm in a slight downward motion, and say "Got it" all at the same time. Try it, you'll see what I mean.
As I returned to my car, the thoughts began to haunt me. Well, haunt is a bit much, but I have demons. Further research revealed to me that today was, in fact, Yom Kippur, among the most solemn and important of days for Jews everywhere. That's great and all, but let's be honest about a couple of things, OK?
The deli wasn't really closed, was it? It was only closed if you didn't order a party tray in advance, the kind of party tray you might be interested in after, I dunno, say, 25 hours of fasting that were about to end at nightfall? In terms of consumer interest, that constitutes a pretty specific group of people, methinks. Would you agree?
So, strictly speaking, the deli wasn't closed.
It just wasn't open to good little Catholic boys who happened to like Jewish things.
That's cool, man. I can just go home and make some tuna fish or something.
/goes home
//makes tuna fish
///feels like an outsider for the 12,315th consecutive day.