Sunday, 04 January 2004 | The Soup Nazi

The Soup Nazi was somewhat of a disappointment. As I'd been warned, the line wrapped around the edge of a Midtown block, composed mostly (I'd guess, based on the overheard conversations) of people who'd never been there. There was a group of us, maybe six?, plus Matt, who'd agreed to come along and ask confused/repetitive questions in order to purposely get jettisoned, so that the rest of us could hear the Soup Nazi say, "No soup for you!" or whatever the real-life Soup Nazi says in real life.

The line moved slowly. From the point I could see the menu, I had several minutes to commit to a soup choice, albeit one that I wasn't happy with. As I inched closer to the cash register (which is operated by the Soup Nazi himself), I repeated my choice in my head and held onto my money, which I'd readied by removing it from my wallet in advance.

The soup was expensive. The lobster bisque was priced at $11 a cup, which made my $9 cup of soup appear comparatively cheap.

I'm competant at ordering food, for what it's worth. My father, on the other hand, is not. He thinks aloud, changes his mind, and neglects to notice the proper order in which things should be said. He is (apologetically and obliviously) the customer who inspires the cashier to call the manager to help "undo" the numerical mess that's been entered into the cash register as a result of my father's indecision.

Despite my awareness, however, I was nervous that I'd mess things up for myself, that I'd somehow otherwise offend the Soup Nazi, that (ultimately) I'd be sent away hungry.

I easily blended into the machine, however. I ordered, watched him curtly wave the "waiting" line into a more compact unit, handed him my money, and stepped to the left, in accordance with a faint yellow arrow painted on the sidewalk. When I had my lunch in-hand and was standing far enough away as to not have it snatched from me, I felt somehow liberated. I peeked in my bag and discovered a few other food items: a log-like wheat roll, a piece of chocolate, and a random assortment of fruit.

My friends and I impatiently tried each other's soups on the subway platform. I didn't especially like any of them.

some pictures, taken on the sly:
the awning
Soup Nazi on the awning
line around the corner
the [incomplete] menu
the yellow arrow
the Soup Nazi
my lunch