Around this time last week i was pleased to note that i had managed to dodge the imminent onslaught of bad luck associated with Friday the 13th. Hadn't slipped on the icy streets on my way to work, didn't call my boss in an obscene state of intoxication, wasn't lying in bed with swine flu. Instead i was rocking at the local bowling alley, beating the boys hands down. In your face, ye superstitious dunces, psychic hotlines and Jason Voorhees!
Writing this a week later, i'm convinced that my foolhardy rebelliousness in the face of a universally unlucky day is whipping me back with some warped karmic vendetta: my personal score of bad luck hit me with a one week delay and several days worth of shit fortune (thanks Cthulhu, psychic hotline lady, or whatever other supernatural entity wants to take a bow at this point). And the manner in which it has been inflicted upon me, now that's some sinister, uncool stuff.
It started at work on Tuesday. I was starving, and when i could finally manage a quick break i raced to the deli in search of food. Finding a take away goat cheese caesar salad and a soda, i scamper to pay for it so as to have enough time to eat it in the remaining ten minutes of break time. I run back to the lunch room, tear off the lid and tuck into the salad. And realize something in my mouth tastes awfully fishy. I inspect the contents of the salad box more closely. Little pink tails can be seen lying on the caesar dressing-drenched bed of lettuce. Ugh. In my hurry to pay, run back and eat super fast, i'd picked up a box of prawn caesar instead of the goat cheese that was next to it. Balls. With less than ten minutes left, there's no way i'd have enough time to make it back to the deli, swap salads and have the time to eat, no matter how voracious an appetite i'd worked up. Weighing my options, i figure i'll pass out in the next four hours without eating, so i wolf down the salad, feeling a little sorry and more than a little queasy because of the mass of chewed up crustaceans floating around in my gut. Briny.
On Thursday my Father calls. He tells me they've made reservations for a big family dinner for Independence day Sunday. The restaurant is upscale, the meal is on them and the menu is reportedly a lavish Christmas buffet with all the trimmings. I'll forward the menu to you, check it out, he says. I check out the email attachment, scanning the extremely long list of Christmas dishes, and frown. I pick up the phone and get back to dad. Umm, dad, yeah, it's great, but there's nothing but fish and meat on the menu. Oh, well, Nina, i don't know what to tell you. I'm sure there's loads on it you can eat, like...the green salad and boiled potatoes.
Oh right, okay. Yum.
Today i was walking back from work in the wet, dark murk of Helsinki in November. Seeing as i was tired and it's Friday, i thought i'd make dinner easy and get a ciabatta sandwich from the recently reopened Gran Delicato, which is one of the nicest deli/cafes establishments in the neighborhood. Not bothering to consult the menu, i ask for the one with the brilliant, grilled eggplant. Coming right up, he says. I drool at the beautiful marinated olives while he makes my sandwich. I pay, head out into the rain and hurry home. And so here i am, changed into raggedy sweatpants and a hoodie, with an ice-cold coke and the newest episode of Grey's Anatomy, ready to kick off a chilled Friday night. I unwrap the sandwich, focusing on Owen Hunt rather than my food. I'm about to bite into it (the sandwich, not The Hunt) when i realize there's an offensively large layer of some kind of ham spilling out of the sides of my sandwich. WTF? Not again. (at this point Cthulhu is slapping his octopus knee with his giant tentacle and guffawing). I peel out the pinkish grey meat. The eggplant that i discover underneath looks wretched and measly. Sigh. I eat the sandwich, trying to focus on Dr. Hunt's rugged good looks instead of the metallic tang of my sad sandwich.
I get it, revenge is meat. Next year i'll carry around a rabbit paw when defying the gods of fortune.
ps. Gran Delicato rocks, though. Yummy sandwiches, hot drinks, deli goodness.
Kalevankatu 34 00180 Helsinki
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