Tuesday, 10 March 2009 | The recession diet

There's a woman who lives near my apartment, just next to McDonald's on Atlantic Avenue, a big, ugly, sprawling street that cuts Brooklyn in half. Todd and I recently had the pleasure of meeting her while waiting at the crosswalk a few steps from her door. She's a kind of a caricature of a person -- she's in her 70s? 80s?, has wild gray hair, an angry face, a flowered nightgown, and black rubbery othropedic shoes. She's the sort of woman who inspires little kids to make up rumors about a neighborhood witch.

It was she who approached us. From behind us, we heard her bark, "Get me a hamburger!" We turned around to see her peeking out of the doorway of a modest brick apartment building. "Get me a hamburger. From the McDonald's," she clarified. We tried to pretend we didn't hear her, or didn't understand, but she wouldn't give up. We continued to wait on the curb, willing the traffic light to turn in our favor. "Hey! You! Get me a hamburger!" She persisted, and after a long uncomfortable minute, Todd and I gave in.

A few moments later, when we showed up at her door with a McDonald's lunch for her, we were met with grumbling about the cardboard drink holder, the lid and the straw. "I don't need this," she said, clearly annoyed, as she began peeling the accessories away from her soda. "I don't know what you need," Todd softly reasoned. "We only just met."

I think she did offer us a perfunctory thanks before she closed her door, but no money to cover the bill. Since then, from time to time, we've seen her scowling head poking out of her doorway, scanning the street for her next victim. Apparently she's established a real fine business model for herself. These days, we travel on the opposite sidewalk.