An Overheard Special: Nowhere is Safe

I often say that if the word comes over of a colossal chemical disaster (or what have you), I would head to the nearby Dorothy Lane Market because a.) I would want to wait things out among all the exotic expensive cheeses and eleven-dollar jars of peppers and fresh anchovies and b.) because, as Lulamae said of Tiffany's, "Nothing very bad could happen to you there."

Or so I thought.

Went last night through the molten pig-iron heat to get some items (uh, watermelon, popsicles, guacamole, chips, a [cooked] chicken breast, some tomatoes and cottage cheese) and as I walked down the aisle by the expa/ensive deli case I was blindsided: heavy breathing 50-year old nebbish dude, who looked like he invented COBOL or something, says to his elderly-ish mother that he's ready and she says:

"Did you get your sandwidge?"

God help us all.