Duane Reade vs. My Needs
It’s humiliating to own actual food that you cannot access. So two days ago, after a disastrous misadventure with the subway (where I found myself on 4th Street instead of 23rd like I’d planned, only it was midnight and this forced cancellation of my earlier plans), I also found myself across the street from a 24-hour Duane Reade pharmacy—a common sight in Manhattan.
Well, what the hell, I thought. I’d just spent an hour getting from my home out to this place. I don’t want to just turn around empty handed. Maybe they have a can opener! And so I went shopping. I should mention, by the way, that I also forgot to bring plates, utensils, and any cups bigger than a shot glass. (I have four of those, so if I fill them all and then go back for seconds, it’s like I’ve just finished a real adult drink.) So I thought, while I was there, I should check for that sort of thing as well.
So allow me to report that this Duane Reade, despite having two levels and ceiling-mounted displays to maximize space, had no cups, no plates, no utensils, and no can opener. What they had instead were shower curatain rings, baby teething beads, needle-nosed pliers, a twenty-four-hour lamp timer, disks of Clip Art software, and—I feel silly pointing this out—a whole lot of canned food, which I guess you’re supposed to open through ESP and erosion.
Still I’m glad I went. If I ever wake up at night and think, “Holy shit! It’s three in the morning and I desperately need a breast pump!”, now I know where to go.