I Love-Hate New York (No. 4)

Years ago, in Phoenix, Adam and I saw a Taco Bell advertising what it called a "Fourth Meal"—one you have after dinner, I think, which struck me as decadent, because the last thing America needs is more refried beans. (But then I go to bed at 10 p.m., a.k.a. when the wine wears off.) Usually, the only time I allow myself a fourth meal—which I prefer to call elevenses, the British term for a nibble before lunch—is when I fly to California, rationalizing that the longer day necessitates more energy. Anyway, yesterday, I knew we'd be dining late because we were going to see the Valentino documentary, and since I had already been to the gym, I figured a fourth meal would be prudent. I was walking home down Broadway, and I remembered that a new pizza place had just opened. I vowed only to have one slice, but then I ordered two. (When I told Adam this story—and there is a story coming, sort of—I said I only ordered one slice but then I mentioned the cost was $5.75, so I had to come clean. Doh!) The Italian woman behind the counter took my five- and one-dollar bills, but then she stopped and inspected the single. She held it up by the corner, touching as little of it as she could, so that it was dangling there between us. She muttered something quietly, as if uncomfortable speaking publicly about whatever was bothering her. I leaned in to look at the bill: Maybe it was torn or something. Still it dangled. She stared at it, then looked at me. I raised an eyebrow at her, unclear why we were stuck like this. She asked if I had another one-dollar bill. I did, but I said no, because I honestly didn't know what her problem was. I'll admit that the bill was kind of dirty, but more in a faded, dusty way than in a gross, scuzzy way. "Is something wrong with that one?" I asked, nodding to the bill, which she was still holding like it was a diaper soiled by someone else's child. "It's... dirty," she said. Trust me on this: We have all handled far filthier money that than single. Later, I wished I had snatched it back and said, "Look, sister, if you don't want it, I'll just keep it." Instead, I said, as drily as I could, "It'll do," and waited for my pizza.