Monopoly: Ivy Noodle

It’s Saturday night in New Haven. The Q-Pac bus has finally left and the only evidence of the night’s debauchery is the smattering of beer bottles and cigarette butts lining York Street. The guy you were hoping to hook up with has gone home without you, and you’re texting your friends to see what else is going on. Enter: Nothing.

But, you’re hungry. You look down at the slightly swaying numbers on your Movado watch, and you realize it’s been over six hours since you last ate. No wonder the sounds coming from your stomach can be heard all the way up at the Div School.

What to eat, what to eat? You’re craving Ivy Noodle, and know it’s going to close in about fifteen minutes. So you sprint across the awkward Broadway/Elm makeshift skate park and slide into the harshly-lit restaurant with the other members of the late-night crowd.

“Hi can I see a menu?” you say while waving to the man (or woman) taking the orders.

You know the one I mean: white hat, perpetual scowl on his or her face. The one with a beard of four extra-long hairs. And some sort of boob. The one who seats guests with a flick of his/her hand.

No reply. The chickerdude turns and fixes its black-eyed gaze on you.

“Ok. I guess I’ll just have the pan-fried vegetable dumplings. To go.”

“What?” Shehe says in its high-pitched voice, while deftly fielding orders from other customers.

“The veggie dumplings … please?” you ask for a second time.

“We don’t make that,” Peengina barks, turning to the cooks and shouting in rapid-fire Chinese.

At this point, you want to say: “Now hold on one second there, Madame Sir. That guy just left with an order of dumplings. The man in the kitchen is making some more right now. I’ve ordered vegetarian dumplings from this place hundreds of times. What’s the issue, androgynous, Ms. Whiskers?”

But you don’t say a word — you can’t. And you don’t want to make a scene. And you’re not even drunk at this point. You’re sober and hungry and cold. If you’re lucky, one of your friends will text you right then: “Dude we r back in suite. We have pizza. Cme!”

Enter: Nothing.

Comments

  • alum ’04

    Wow, racist, sexist, and messed up class/labor politics in less than 300 words. Yale’s neocolonial presence in new haven does it again.

  • yale12

    agree with #1. seriously, ydn? how did you let this go to print?

    oh wait, it’s scene. that explains it.

  • baffled

    weird just weird, i hope this article trails you for the rest of your life YDN writer!

  • Guy who understands stuff

    This is funny. alum 04 and yale12 are stupid and don’t understand when funny stuff is funny.

  • Yale’13

    I agree with #4, this article is witty and hilarious. And have you ever been to ivy noodle?