A Jewish Whorehouse

Hey guys, sorry for the few days of lag there, I was pretty busy this weekend and I didn't have the chance to sit down and write. I hate when that happens and I have to allot more time to this. I had a pretty interesting weekend. The rain in NY has been pretty much non-stop for the last, well, it feels like one million days. It'll never be dry again. Ever. By the time the puddles in this city are dry it'll be snowing. That will, of course, just make frozen puddles for small dogs and old people to slip on. Anyway, one story sticks out more than all the other ones this weekend so I'll have to tell it. There are some others which I'll probably write about tomorrow since I'm off, so stay tuned!

Throughout my travels I found myself in Williamsburg. The new SOHO, or so it seems. All the yuppies or rather, the children of yuppies, I don't know what you call them, let's just call them lazy emo schmucks, want to hang out because they are in BROOKLYN and therefore part of some sort of new group of people that break the bonds of Manhattan. Yeah. Like 3 million people did that for the last hundred years but whatever. Anyway, I pick up these 2 guys, about 25-ish, from some no-name bar and they want to go to Manhattan to meet their friend. However, they have a few problems. One, they have never been to NYC before. That is a problem in-and-of-itself. Two, they call their friend on his cell to ask him where he is but they can't hear him because of the extremely loud background noise coming from wherever this friend is. Three, their friends cellphone dies and they have no other way to contact him or know where to meet him again. The good news though was that before the phone died, my passenger THINKS he heard his friend say to meet him in the Jewish Whorehouse.
So naturally, the guy tells me the story and asks me if there are any Jewish whorehouses in NYC. Interesting question actually. I don't think there are! If there are I bet they keep them a damn good secret. My passengers are begging me to find this whorehouse and they'll tip me a lot of money if I find their friend.
So as I get across the Williamsburg bridge, our conversation turned from trying to find their friend to the theory of highly secret Jewish whorehouses and what services they might provide. How would they differ from the Chinese ones? Wouldn't the laundromat be curious about the sheets? Children dressing up like ghosts and those are eye-holes! I'm sure we could have explored this subject more, but I tell them to get back to the task at hand: trying to find this rogue Indiana dude who's only clue was the whorehouse. I determine that with the noise in the background and by the likes of the two in my cab that he's most probably in a bar. That's nice. There are about 17 billion bars in NYC. When I got to the Bowery it just clicked. I don't know how but it did. The Village Pour House! YES! This HAS to be it! It's a loud bar that would attract the likes of a drunk Indiana tourist and sounds somewhat like Jewish Whorehouse, given the cell phone quality, drunken state of the person speaking and the Indiana accent! I pulled up outside of it and told one of the guys to run inside to make sure. Voila! They found their friend on the first shot! They thanked me profusely and actually did give me quite a large tip, true to their word. About 200% to be precise. They were pretty funny and harmless guys so I'm very glad that I was able to help them out. However, I will never ever pass by the Village Pour House again without thinking about Jewish whores (not implying there are any, but the thought is interesting) and these drunken Indiana-guys. (I'm not anti-Semitic, it just happens that they said Jewish, so the conversation turned that way. If you're still offended, suck it up, because I don't care. Get a sense of humor.)

There are 8 million stories in the naked city. This has been one of them.