Here’s what you need to know: Earlier today, a woman went shopping at the Whole Foods in Union Square. The customer elevator was out of order, and the stroller she was pushing was too large to ride upstairs on the escalator. An employee escorted her to the service elevator, where she witnessed the following scene:
Yes, that there’s some tasty-looking turkey, on its way to the prepared foods section, nestled tightly between some overflowing garbage and a gentleman’s ass. Horrified, the customer whipped out her cell phone, snapped a picture, and sent it off to Gothamist. Gothamist published the picture, and that’s when things got awesome.
But before we get to other people’s awesome, let’s have our own awesome! Because it’s quiz time!!! And I know how much you people love quizzes: I’m on Facebook. I nearly gave myself carpal tunnel last year hiding all the fucking quizzes you people were taking from my newsfeed. I love you, but I don’t care which Muppet you are. I do, however, care how New York City you are, and that’s what we’re about to find out, using completely unscientific methods and arguably flawed logic.
You read the tragic tale above — the one about the proximity of the uncovered turkey to the garbage and the man ass; not the one about my distaste for your quiz-loving ways. Which of the following statements best describes your reaction?
Option #1: That’s disgusting. I’m horrified and outraged!
Option #2: Girlfriend, please. The fact that our food isn’t more disgusting is part of what’s wrong with America right now.
Option #3: What kind of ungrateful bitch accepts a ride in a service elevator and uses the trip to get a bunch of overworked and underpaid Whole Foods employees fired?
Option #4: Mass-produced meat is evil.
Option #5: People with strollers are evil.
Option #6: Mmmmmm. Turkey.
Option #7: Other.
If we use Gothamist readers’ comments at a barometer of New York City sentiment, here’s what your reaction says about you:
What you said: Girlfriend, please. The fact that our food isn’t more disgusting is part of what’s wrong with America right now.
What your reaction says about you: You are really fucking New York, as indicated by your complete acceptance that garbage and ass rub are a part of life in this town and your desperate clinging to the idea that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. The lion’s share (32 percent) of Gothamist commentors agree with you, and they say completely awesome things like, “Get over yourselves. The reason people have so many allergies nowadays is because we’re too goddamn clean. Believe me, everyone could probably do much better with a hookworm or two in our guts.”
What you said: What kind of ungrateful bitch accepts a ride in a service elevator and uses the trip to get a bunch of overworked and underpaid Whole Foods employees fired?
What your reaction says about you: You’re also really fucking New York, as indicated by your staunch defense of the people who cook food for us so we don’t have to cook food for ourselves. Fifteen percent of Gothamist commentors agree with you, using words in awesome new ways and referencing history: “Whole Foods does this woman a solid, and she starts acting like she uncovered the lost 18 minutes from the Nixon White House. Absurd.”
What you said: Mass produced meat is evil.
What your reaction says about you: You might be New York. But you could just as easily be any large, liberal-leaning, coastal city in America. There’s a good chance you’re also kind of annoying. Eleven percent of Gothamist commentors agree with you, but I haven’t quoted any of them because I find their remarks tiresome and buzz-kill-y.
What you said: People with strollers are evil.
What your reaction says about you: You’re probably New York, and you’re definitely awesome. Eight percent of Gothamist’s commentors agree with you, and they provide weary synopses of what really probably happened here: “Stroller’s SUV-like girth and unforgiving 4-inch-wide bubble wheels, combined with mom’s inflated sense of entitlement result in horrific discovery of ass-rubbed turkey carcasses, as well as countless New Yorkers being forced off the sidewalk and into oncoming traffic.”
What you said: Mmmmmm. Turkey.
What your reaction says about you: You’re high. And you’re in good company: Seven percent of Gothamist’s commentors have blinders on for everything but that turkey: “I don’t know about you, but I would eat the shit out of that turkey. Looks good.”
What you said: That’s disgusting. I’m horrified and outraged!
What your reaction says about you: Who knows where you’re from, but it sure as hell ain’t New York. Seven percent of Gothamist commentors feel this way, and let me tell you something: This city would rub its ass all over you, season you with some garbage, and then eat you alive. As one of the commentors who thinks clean food is over-rated puts it, “Food and garbage. You can’t have one without the other.”
What you said: Other.
What your reaction says about you: You’re New York, and you’re probably my kind of funny. You’re like the 20 percent of Gothamist commentors who looked at that picture and thought stuff like, “It’s more the cut-off crocodile head on the paper covering the turkey that concerns me,” or “I defy anything in New York, dead or alive, to avoid ass rubbing.”
The piece de resistance was this comment, which wrapped every hilarious reaction to this picture into a tight ball and knocked it squarely out of the park, like one of those fucking Texas Rangers: “I’ve been reading Gothamist for awhile now, and I have to say this article made me register. Whole Foods does this lady a favor, and now this is what Whole Foods gets? Here’s a newsflash: You want clean food? Buy it and cook it at home. It’s unbelievable how people bitch about everything, even favors. What’s worse is she saw that pile of trash, and she allowed her baby to sit next to it. For what? To get her organic cereal and soy milk? Go back to Kansas!” That’s the kind of perfection that brings tiny little tears of joy to my eyes.
Seriously people. Read the comments at the end of the linked Gothamist post. They’re awesome in more ways than I can count.