Long story short, as a child I led an abnormal life. Not only were my parents dysfunctional, but I was plenty weird, too. It was kind of like living on the set of The Munsters — we had virtually no visitors; the apartment was dusty and gloomy; and I don’t remember any big holiday blowouts.
Things were different when I entered my early teens and started getting invited to friends’ houses for Thanksgiving. I loved being “adopted” for the day — parents always liked me because I was so nice and polite — and I got to spend the holidays in a nice house with a “real” family. Those are some of my best memories.
From then ‘til now, I’ve remained the perpetual guest — the wandering Jew, as it were — and to date I've never hosted a Thanksgiving dinner. My ex-boyfriend G had a big family who loved to get together and cook and eat and drink. So for the twenty years we were a couple, the holidays were always a no-brainer: we knew what our plans were, and all we had to do was show up for Christmas Eve, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, birthdays, and anniversaries. G’s mom was a great cook, but if she was taking a break from the hausfrau schtick, we’d go to a nice restaurant instead.
But since I’ve been with my current boyfriend BG (aka Clyde) things are a bit different. His family is scattered throughout the country, and G is mostly out of the picture, so we have no Thanksgiving hosts to glom from.
Moreover, Clyde used to work as a cook, so of course he not only hates to cook at home but also loathes going to restaurants, while I adore them. Even though we could afford a "real" restaurant every now and then, Clyde likes to watch the dollars — his and mine. So if he’s feeling really flush, we might wind up at Wendy’s or even a diner if we’re being tres rich and fancy.
Thus, in typical low-rent fashion, Thanksgiving will usually find us at the diner down the road which we affectionately refer to as the Toilet Bowl. It acquired this nickname during its bad old days, when you might wind up with burnt bacon and moldy toast for breakfast, or some sort of nauseating sauce smothered all over your meatloaf for dinner. The service was lackadaisical at best, and you were damn lucky if you got your eggs scrambled instead of over easy, or French dressing instead of Italian. In those older, rougher times, the toilet was seemingly open to all comers and was rather… how you say… challenging. Aside from being filthy, it was a rare occasion when one would find unused toilet paper, soap, and paper towels in the bathroom all at the same time. The used stuff was usually strewn in wads all over the nasty-ass floor.
Article comments
1 - Dubya
Interesting story. Happy Thanksgiving! :)
2 - Elvira Black
Thanks Dubya--and happy holidays to you.
3 - Christopher Rose
Hope you have a good one Elvira. Nice to see you on the site again.
4 - Elvira Black
Many thanks, Christopher! Since the Toilet Bowl has a strict no-reservations policy, I should be able to have my holiday dreams fulfilled without incident.
5 - sr
Dam girl, where do you come up with this stuff? Im still laughing. HAPPY THANKSGIVING. sr
6 - Elvira Black
sr!!!
Happy holidays to you, my friend.
This year BG went out in the rain and got our dinners to go. They gypped us out of dessert (not included in to-go orders--bogus!) and the mashed potatoes were fake, but BG realized later they'd given him 10 dollars extra change, so it all evened out.
7 - Elvira Black
Plus which, I didn't have to brave their toilet--and BG keeps his sparkling clean. Bonus!
8 - sr
Gypped you out of dessert". No doubt a Jewish owned business. BG keeps his toilet sparkling clean. BG would you teach my wife? I did notice his toilet. What about her toilet? Love this potty talk.
Great day to all. sr
9 - Elvira Black
sr:
Nope, it's a Greek run place...not too many of My People in BG's neck of the woods these days. BG got a big laugh out of your comment. I think BG should have taught his mother how to cook--she almost killed him a few times with her meatloaf--no joke. She liked to store it in a warm dark oven for days on end until the e-coli was nice and marinated in the meat. BG almost didn't survive childhood, but that's another story.
10 - A.L. Harper
Congratulations this article is Assistant Music Editor, A.L. Harper's Editor's pick of the week.
11 - Richard Marcus
Elvira
You are one sick puppy my dear, which in truth is what makes you and you're work so special. I see the toliet bowl operated on the old New York City health codes. The one which stated no more then one fly and two rat droppings in every hot dog...
Reminds of some of the finer establishments in Toronto's Kennsington Market area in the 80's where toilets were given friendly monikers like "The Black Hole of Calcutta"
cheers
Richard Marcus
12 - Elvira Black
A.L.--Thanks so much!
13 - Elvira Black
Thanks Richard; well I've been to some pricier places that had horrendous toilets as well. At least it's kind of expected here so as to match the overall ambiance. It's kind of analogous to a beloved neighborhood dive bar--part of the charm is the shabbiness and homey-ness. Plus my ex-boyfriend's toilet often makes the Toilet Bowl's look like it's just been "sanitized for your protection."
14 - sr
Elvira/BG. Did you see the history channel on toilets and toilet tissue? One can only wonder how we are so populated. Good Lord, the Queen of England bathed maybe once or twice a year. Crustacens come to mind. No wonder I smoke and drink.
15 - Elvira Black
sr:
Yes, I thiink I saw that one awhile back--something about the toilet bowl being invented by a guy named Crapper or something? BG also told me that the term "cornhole" derived from the days when folks would use dried out corn cobs to clean up their business.
I guess in the old days when nobody bathed everyone smelled so they didn't smell each other as much--kind of like when you eat garlic you have to make sure your dining partner does too.
16 - sr
Elvira and BG. Think I'll pass on dinner this evening. sr
17 - sr
BG is right about crapper. John Crapper was his name. Think of all things starting with crap. Bet old John Crapper never realized his fame and fortune. Crap on you. Take a crap. I dont give a crap. Holy crap. This is a bunch of crap. Etc Ete.
18 - Elvira Black
sr:
Yeah, good thing he had such a catchy name. If his name was Schwartzheimer or something, I guess now we'd be saying that's a load of Schwartzheimer or I just took a big steamy Schwartzheimer. Just doesn't have the same ring to it.
19 - sr
Elvira. My mother use to bake several loaves of fresh Schwartzheimer's and give them to the homeless. Never cared for it myself. No wonder my father said the house smelled like crap. Now my dogs leave fresh Schwartzheimer's each day around the yard. Go figure.
20 - nancy
LOL - very funny article, hugely enjoyed. But ... what part of NYC do you live in? The few times I've been in NYC, it was crawling with restaurants of all descriptions & levels, no matter where I went, from Spuyten Duyvel to the Square, to the point of being astounding to this beknighted out-of-towner. The whole city is a foodie's dream. Maybe I lucked out, or the Food Goddess was looking after a naive innocent who needed protection, but I never had a bad meal no matter how humble, while I was there. Must'a been the rat droppings added flavor or something...?
And another myth shattered: I never encountered such out-&-out NICE, friendly people as New Yorkers! They were wonderful. The only attitude I got even in rush hour was friendly happiness to help. Even on the subway. One guy walked 2 blocks out of his way to make sure I got to the right bus stop on Lexington Ave. Everyone I looked at looked back & smiled, even the cabbies were polite & chatty. No wonder the motto is, 'I [love] NY'.
21 - Elvira Black
sr:
Baked Schwartzheimers--sounds a little like the Entenman's cake line. Yum! Someone I knew used to say that if you're hungry enough, you can eat stones--so I guess Schwartzheimers are a step up. And probably still better than BG's mom's meatloaf.
22 - Elvira Black
Nancy:
Many thanks. Firstly I have to say that I love your commentary--when I see your name in the comments section, I know I'm in for a treat.
I live on the Lower East Side, but just went into contract and am moving to the Bronx, near where my boyfriend lives.
Yeah, I guess New Yorkers can be nice, but maybe in a different way from some other parts of the country.
My theory is that in big cities, folks have to have a bit of a protective armor in the interest of self preservation. But when someone needs help, they are usually happy to help. And yes, the cabbies seem to be a lot friendlier than they used to be.
I remember the time I went with BG to visit his folks in a small town in Wisconsin. We went into "town" (like one small block) and a guy in overalls walked up to us and said:
Hey, where y'all from? You know where I can buy some feed?
Then he started engaging in convo with BG's hapless brother. BG and I just kept walking. I mean, in NYC you may ask someone where they live and what they "do," but usually it's over a drink or two at the local watering hole rather than out on the street. Just different styles, I guess.
It's good to know that you had such a positive experience here. Happy holidays!