Yeah... so, we smags kind of forgot about this blog... oops. ~ Smag-Lyd
Many changes since we last posted (a bajillion years ago). Smag-Joyce ran a marathon, Smag-Lyd got a new job within the same company, Smag-Alex found a nice boy and is now reppin' BK. Our smag-den has also grown to include Smag-Van! It's important to acknowledge her since she's part of the inspiration for this post.
Yesterday, Smag-Van and I went to a cheap sushi place in Astoria near our apt. When Smag-Van came back from the bathroom, she was trying really hard not to bust out laughing. "I think that guy over there thought that I work here..." A random white guy intercepted her on the way to our table and started to ask her a question. Oh the woes of being a smag, dressed in black, eating at an asian restaurant. Non-smags don't know what to do.
At least Smag-Van was confused for a waitress at a decent restaurant. My best case of mistaken smagdenity happened upstate (yeah, so it's not the city but whatever) at a crappo chinese buffet in Ulster County (pretty g...). I was walking back to my family's table with a plate full of crappy chinese food and probably a random dollop of mashed potatoes, when a middle-aged white guy stops me and asks me "Excuse me, ma'am, can I get a fork?"
I was so flustered because I didn't get that he thought I worked there for a solid 10 seconds of awkward dead time. I mean, I was holding a plate of food and probably picking at it, and wearing jeans and some slobby t-shirt (probably) - not the fugly vests over short sleeve button-downs... But I finally replied, "ohhh, I don't work here. But, like, there's a whole bin of them right over there." We were at a buffet. They're over there by the plates, old man.
I wonder if those people ever feel embarrassed. Smags-out.
