Hasenfeffer Incorporated

I'm back in the Bensonhurst Burger King but it's a weekend lunchtime, so its filled with life -- mothers, kids, etc. You can barely smell the incontinence-covering cleaning fluid they use. (This is a good thing.)

Yesterday, I had another lost phone scare but it turned out (as I hoped and suspected) that I'd merely left it at my friend's house. So, I happily went to the gym where I locked the key to my lock in my locker and had to have the cleaning guy snap it off so I could have access to my clothes and the now-useless keys within. (Yes, I had to buy a new lock but at least I didn't have to walk naked through the sub-freezing streets of New York.)

I think, typically, a schlemiel is described as "the guy who spills the soup" and a shlimazel as the guy who gets soup the spilled on him. So, what does that make me?

I locked myself out of the locker, so it would seem I'm a soup-spiller. But I have a friends who would tell you I've, metaphorically, spilled soup on them.

Locking yourself out of your locker is, in effect spilling the soup on yourself. (Someone I know recently said self-spilling was the trademark of a shlimazel but I'm pretty sure they are wrong.) So, am I schlemiel, shlimazel, or something else?

Shmegeggie?

Nebbish?

Putz?

We report. You decide.


By the way, I've purchased bags of Quinlan's pretzels (see I Didn't Fall Off No Turnip Truck) for 25 cents each over the last two days, in the glorious borough of Brooklyn.

Hah!

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21 January, 2007 @ 18:52 GMT
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer