Public transit story #23: You're hotter than these pretzels

Mrs. Gerbil and I took Tovah on her first overnight trip this past weekend, to visit Grandma and Grandpa Gerbil. A very fun time was had by all!



(Moo, I am sorry we didn't have time to look you up... but once you move to Phila., getting together will be even easier!)

On our way back today I had this fantastic conversation with the man selling soft pretzels, nuts, Swedish fish, etc. at the Trenton train station. He looked at least old enough to be my father, if not my grandfather; and English was decidedly not his first language.

"I help you?" he asked.

"I'd like a pretzel, please," I said.

He handed me a gigantic pretzel braid ($2.50) instead of a regular pretzel twist ($1.25) but hey, I love my Philly soft pretzels. Then he asked, "Why you so beautiful?"

I held out a $5 bill and flashed what I hoped was a "please stop being an ass and give me my change now" smile. But Mr. Smooth Soft Pretzel Man ignored the five and repeated: "why you so beautiful?"

"Genetics, I guess," I said, waving the five a little.

"You have lucky man," he said, finally taking my money and opening the register oh-so-slowly. "Give me his number. I call him." Smoooooth.

"There's no man," I said.

"Give me his number. I call him."

"I don't have a man," I repeated.

"I don't understand."

"No man," I said. "I have a woman."

"I don't understand."

"Never mind," I said. I held out my hand for my change.

He took the hint about the change, but not the one about his not being my type. He asked for my--excuse me, my nonexistent man's--phone number again, but I thanked him for the pretzel and walked away to join my wife and child.