Zabar's Zoo

Saturday, time was all mine. I loved getting a cup of coffee and sitting on a stool that looked out on the sidewalk traffic in a little "not too popular" coffee shop. Instead, there in front of my favorite coffee shop was the dreadful sign. "Closed Due to Construction."

By New York standards this really meant the owners no longer could afford the $20,000 a month charge to rent a hole in the wall that faced Broadway. Overnight a place disappears and rarely reappears. In my southern hometown, Valdosta Georgia, Willie's Haufbrau and the Gold Plate Restaurant have been in existence all my life, probably never to experience reconstruction closure ever.

The change of location certainly put a kink in my Saturday ritual. I wandered further South down Broadway with no hope of finding a coffee shop where I could sit undisturbed, drink a large overpriced coffee and do some thinking, people watching, writing, or whatever my heart desired. Now, where to?

Across the street, the crowded, over-popular, New York, quintessential, weekend shopping must: Zabars. Did I dare? It's always a zoo at that store, but I was desperate to write, and I knew if not now, never. So, I trudged across Broadway and into Zabar's Cafe. Okay, it wasn't selections and trashtoo crowded and it did have seating, and good coffee and food. I ordered a latte and a doughnut from the Doughnut Planet. With drink and snack in hand, I selected a suitable spot: a corner of the counter towards the door, great for watching the sidewalk traffic, horrible for writing and contemplation. I decided to move. A couple was leaving a nice spot nestled at the other end of the counter near the drink selections and the trash cans. Rushing like a true New Yorker, I carried my things, and took possession. Coffee stirred, pricey doughnut tasted, and now to wring. Thoughts in hand, I plunged in.

Soon I was deep in ideas of what makes one feel a belonging or connection. What happened next came about so quickly I don't think I knew at first what was going on. An elderly lady stood next to me. She placed what looked like part of a crab-salad sandwich on the counter. I watched through my sunglasses as she delicately scrapped off bits of what she didn't want to eat. I was fascinated by the care with which this woman was treating a half-eaten sandwich. Carefully, she prepared the bread and the crab-salad to be consumed. "Greedy, greedy, greedy," she whispered.

If I didn't know better it seemed this ancient person was eating leftovers. Must be something a grandchild didn't want. Intrigued, I kept watching. She removed any unusual bits and cut off snippets of bread in a peculiar way; then picked up the crab-salad sandwich and sucked it down. She then nonchalantly walked behind me, went to the garbage can to my right, and began to pick through it. All the while I could hear her guttural whispering, "Greedy, greedy, greedy." As usual no one paid one second of attention to this strange bird. The cafe was packed full of people, and she was ever so boldly digging in the trash cans.

Quickly, she went to the trash can at the other end of the counter and rummaged through the bags she found. She held up a half-eaten cream-cheese sandwich on rye bread and then a piece of plastic wrap filled with bits of smoked salmon that someone had carefully thrown away. What a prize.

Again, the woman muttered, much louder in a guttural voice, "Greedy, greedy, greedy," but when she found the salmon her tune changed to an uplifted: "Thank you, thank you, thank you." I was totally mesmerized by her ability to completely ignore where she was and what she was doing. Neither did anyone in the place see what she was doing. She didn't look poor or even dressed as someone who lived on a limited income. She wore a very clean lace-trimmed top, beige pants, and a nifty pair of beige and white lace-up shoes. She didn't look miserable, like people I had seen looking through trash for food. In fact, she seemed quite satisfied and thrilled by her finds. It appeared to be her job to go through the garbage. Sort of a waste-not want-not patrol. I was disgusted, but still curious. I couldn't take my eyes away. I watched her carefully prepare her repast, rearranging and snipping.

It then occurred to me that she must have found the crab-salad sandwich she'd previously scarfed down in the trash, and now she had a sumptuous meal of cream cheese on rye with bits of smoked salmon. She was searching for hidden treasure, and now it was time to prepare a celebration.

This strange patroller of garbage at Zabar's came prepared. She pulled up an Emporium Armani shopping bag and unloaded a plastic knife and fork, paper plate, a napkin, and several small orange juice bottles filled with what looked like apple juice. I boldly watched under the veil of sunglasses as she prepared her meal with the utmost care: peeling off the smoked salmon from the plastic wrapping, cutting off tiny bits that seemed unappealing, spreading the cream cheese carefully over the bagel, and placing the salmon strategically on the bagel remains. Now her sumptuous meal before her, she declared in a high soft voice, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Looking at her salmon, cream cheese and bagel one last time, she devoured it all in a greedy frenzy. Occasionally, she would look upwards and mutter softly, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," and then return to her joyous eating.

I didn't quite know what to think. Suddenly, I felt like an intruder into a strange little world. I looked down at my writing book, coffee and half-eaten doughnut. In front of me the best that money could buy: a four-dollar trendy coffee, an all organic, handmade doughnut that had been featured recently on the food network that cost a whopping three dollars and seventy-five cents.

I had offered no thanks, no joy in eating or drinking what was before me. I looked at the remains of my doughnut and glanced up. The woman was staring at my doughnut.

I slowly pushed the plate with the doughnut in front of this elderly woman. She never looked at me, but announced her judgement whispering, "Greedy, greedy, greedy." followed by the small cry of "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She delicately picked up the doughnut and joyously ate.