Grand Central Terminal, Food Court, 1:30 PM
An attractive young white guy and a stunning Asian girl are seated next to me. As I’m eating my lunch and scanning the Times, they converse animatedly in Japanese. As always, I am startled to hear an apparent Westerner speaking fluent Japanese, I don’t know why I always notice that. They are in business attire, but their clothes are cut a little more on the art side of office drag, so I imagine that they may work for a Japanese media company.
Halfway through my meal, their conversation grows louder. First the girl gets rather excited, then the man responds, both slapping the table as they try to make their points. I wonder, “Is that a Japanese custom, the table slapping?” Their voices continue to rise and others are beginning to turn their heads to follow the argument. The two women seated across from me shake their heads and I hear one of them say, “Ooh, somebody’s gon’ be alone THIS weekend!”
After ten minutes or so of excited exchanges, the man gets so frustrated that he breaks out of Japanese and shouts in perfect Brooklynese, “Gawdamn it! Pennsylvania is NOT in da fuckin’ tri-state area!”