Not Chosen, Just Posin'

I just got a job with a Jewish magazine. I'm not Jewish. They think I am.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

One of the sales guys had to travel to an advertiser's office yesterday. The advertiser in question makes extremely expensive merchandise and the sales guy had to stop by to pick up a piece for an auction (also kiss a little ass).

The sales guy was surpised to hear that the advertiser's office was in the Bronx. When he got to the neighborhood he said there were little kids running around in the streets barefoot. "Man, I live at 125th and 3rd and this place was even more ghetto than my neighborhood." The sales guy realized that the address he had down was that of a residence, not an office. He knocked. Clearly they worked out of their house. No big deal.

A Hasidic woman answered the door and told him she couldn't shake his hand or invite him in because she's married. She went to speak to her husband, brought back the merchandise and then sent him off.

He found this odd and obviously, after hearing about it, I did too. Admittedly, at first I even thought that it was odd that the sales guy thought it was odd. I assumed that because the sales guy was Jewish, he would find this behavior normal. You know, seeing as how these are his peeps and all. It occurred to me pretty quickly that this was an ignorant assumption. The range of Jewishness (Frummness? Frumminess? Frumtasticicity?) is very vast I guess.

In Catholocism, some believers are more devoted than others, but that's about the extent of the situation. I'm pretty sure a whole religious war could take place just between the different "sects" (is that the appropriate word?) of Judaism.

I told the Manwhore this theory, not that he was interested, and he told me that he once saw some Hasidic guys beat down some guys who were talking trash about their hair. I assume that means that the Hasidics would win. On that note, at least the sales guy didn't say something like this.

Halloween Update: Last night was perfect weather for whorin'. I didn't see a single one. Maybe that's because I was in Chelsea? Hmmm. When I got to the office this morning, however, I found out that the Publisher's Wife had placed a giant bag of candy on the counter for all to dive into. I assume this means that she took her daughters out trick-or-treating, then stole all of their candy. Yayy for us. I don't like those little wenches anyway, but I do like candy!

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