The Great Leftover Swap

The other night my friend M called me out of the blue to invite me to dinner. He and his friend Adam were heading to Vynl in Hells Kitchen, and would I like to join. Always up for a cocktail and conversation, I headed right over.

We had a nice dinner, and Adam the Friend seemed nice enough. I did find it odd that he ordered a hamburger with French fries and only ate the fries, without touching the burger.

“I’ll take it home and eat it tomorrow,” he explained. “These are trying economic times!”

I’m usually not one for taking home leftovers from a restaurant (more often than not after dinner I’m headed somewhere else like the theater or another bar, and don’t want to carry a smelly doggie bag). But noticing I’d only eaten half of my grilled chicken salad (choosing instead to focus on the dirty martini) I decided that since I was in fact headed directly home I would buy his logic and wrap my leftovers too. Returning to my apartment I dropped my bag in the fridge, feeling proud of my frugality but secretly doubting if I’d ever touch the salad again.

The next evening, I was leaving the locker room at the gym when my phone rang. Because work makes me give out my cell number to all clients, I am forced to answer all calls, even unknown numbers like the one that appeared on my screen.

“This is David,” I answered.

“Hi David, this is Adam, we had dinner together last night.”

Because of his bizarre choice of introduction, it took me a moment to process who he was. Did I have a date last night? Why didn’t I remember that? Did we hook up? Did we not hook up? Was he some hideous internet trick that I blocked out? Oh wait... he was M’s friend. Why didn’t he just say that?

“Oh hey,” I finally replied. “What’s up?”

“You have my leftovers.”

“… huh?”

“All day I’ve been looking forward to my hamburger! I was thinking about it at lunch, and then when I got home I was like ‘ooo-hamburger!’ and now it’s finally dinner time, and I got my doggie bag out of the fridge… and no hamburger! My bag has your salad. You have my hamburger.”

“Oh.” I was scared to even wonder where this was going.

“So, since we both live in Hells Kitchen, wanna meet up and do a Leftover Swap?”

And that’s where it was going. Really? “Uh… I dunno. I don’t really even want the salad…”

“But I REALLY want the hamburger,” he replied.

Sigh. Of course he did. “Um, ok….”

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“At the gym.” Maybe he’d give up since I wasn’t at home.

“That’s ok, I can wait til you get home. Even if it’s a couple hours.”

Sigh. Clearly he was determined to get the damn hamburger. There was no way out of it. “No, that’s OK, I’m actually leaving in a few minutes,” I told him.

“Cool! Want me to come by your place to pick it up?”

“No!” Like I was going to tell Leftover Hamburger Psycho my address. “Let’s just meet half-way.”

And so I found myself 20 minutes later doing the Great Leftover Swap on the corner of 44th and Ninth.

“Thank you SO much!” he said, happily taking the package and handing me a matching bag. “Have a good night!”

“Enjoy your hamburger,” I said as he headed back toward his microwave.

“I will!” he called back.

No doubt you will I thought, as I turned in the opposite direction, and tossed my leftovers into the nearest trashcan.