And you thought I told you all my good stories… pull up a chair.
So, after my long, aforementioned first day in London, I headed back to the hostel to change clothes before a stag night on the town. (Which, for a guy like me means visiting romantic places to snap some photos, hoping that my unknown future-significant-other is alone as well, and not off spending a romantic evening with a soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend who is simply trying to get into her pants, and not her heart. How am I single?)
So, I strike up a conversation with one of my 5 roomies. (I’ll tell you about all of them in another post)
His name is Pier (pronounced Pierre, but spelled like ‘Navy Pier‘… to which he explained to me 3 times… with hand gestures.)
Pier hails from Italy. He grew up in a small town just south of Naples. He has descent English, especially when you consider that he is self-taught. I was impressed.
As for his accent. Think of me making fun of somebody from Italy who is trying to speak English… and you’re almost there. Actually, think of Balki from the TV show Perfect Strangers. Only he doesn’t call me “Cousin Larry”… he calls me, “Lan… Don.”
Anyway… on to the story.
After peeling through his artwork that consisted of eyeballs, two-headed monsters, and unecessary female nipples, I decided to ask him if he wanted to go grab a bite to eat. He was excited, said yes, but instisted that we eat cheap.
Absolutely. Let’s roll.
Sidenote: If you know me, you know that when I travel, I usually try to eat the local flavor as much as possible. (ie – steak in Ft. Worth, salmon in Seattle, deepdish pizza in Chicago, etc.)
So we set out, and being based in Piccadilly Circus we have almost everything you can think of right outside our backdoor. Sushi, Thai, you name it, we got it.
Right off the bat Pier asks, “Do you like Indian food?”
My ears pearked up, I smiled and said, “Love it! Do you?”
“No.” says Pier.
Well, thanks buddy.
We continue walking when we pass a convenience store, kinda like a 7-11, only without the gas, when I hear Pier mumbling the words written on the window…
“Food… Beverages… Candy… Bread… BREAD?!?”
Oh, crap.
“Lan Don, they have bread!” shouts Pier… in the middle of a crowded sidewalk.
I then had to explain to him what the store was, and that a $2.00 Pepsi and a day-old donut wasn’t what I had in mind for dinner.
He sighs… slightly saddened… but then he rebounds by suggesting we make a right… into Chinatown. Chinatown baby! I freakin’ love Chineese food. Not neccessarily the English flavor I was hoping for, but it will suffice.
“Yes!” I say, “I freakin’ love Chineese food… do you?”
“No.” says Pier… back to square one, where Pier begins to suggest that we check-out the menu of every restaraunt on the street, only to make a squeamish face everytime I ask him if he wants to eat there.
So here I am, alone (with Pier) in London… on Valentine’s Day… at night… picking out a restaurant… oh crap… people probably think we’re gay.
With the gay icing on the cake, I tell Pier that it is his choice. We will eat anywhere he likes, no matter the cost.
Just as I do this, his eyes light-up, and a smile runs across his face as he stares about a block down the street.
“McDonald’s”, he says with a softened tone.
So off we went. Pier and I on our Valentine’s Day dinner, sharing a window table at McDonald’s in Leicester Square .
I had a cheeseburger. He had a ‘Filet-o-Fish’ to which he kept referring to as a “Fish Cheeseburger.”
Afterwards he suggested that we take a walk around the square, to which I made up a complete lie in order to have a few moments to myself to reflect upon the entire situation.
I spent the rest of the night wandering amongst the coupled-lovers in the southbank of the Thames, strolling through Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus, taking a few photos along the way to make the most of Valentine’s 2006. A good Valentine’s Day, but a good story to tell as well.
…oh, what a night.
