Rant: The Waverly Diner

Here, I'll complain about an "iconic" diner.

You know which diner I'm talking about. It's on lower Sixth Avenue, near the West Fourth stop. Many of the businesses in this area seem to have disappeared; I can remember a Barnes and Noble, and an Urban Outfitters, and a Banana Republic, and a Duane Reade, and I note, each day, they're all "no longer."

The Waverly Diner has clung to the rope of life--perhaps because everything is ludicrously overpriced. It's brutal. If you want a BLT and a side of fries, you will pay almost twenty dollars. Twenty dollars! There's nothing notable about the BLT; standard diner-issue spit-up-resembling cup of "cole slaw," standard limp, aged lettuce. There's an excessive amount of bacon, as well, which is maybe the way that the owners justify the high price.

(I have to admit that the French fries are admirable--crispy and golden and fresh. It pains me to state that.)

The Waverly, like any diner, attracts eccentric characters. Yesterday, I watched a man who resembled Junior Soprano wheezing alongside an oxygen tank; several young Greek men gathered around him, and their butt-cheeks hung off the cushions, because Junior Soprano's luggage was rather absurdly strewn all over the prime butt-cheek real estate. I decided I was watching a weird display of power and of fawning, calculated, favor-winning behavior, like something from "The Borgias."

There's often at least one example of this particular scene, at the diner: A straight man gives a long, unsolicited speech about a given workplace, and a young woman listens patiently and occasionally makes a false, encouraging noise. As if in gratitude for the encouraging noise, the straight man then says something gross and mildly flirty. The gross thing is meant to be a reward for good behavior. The straight man can't actually bring himself to ask a question: That would be a bridge too far.

There are shrieking teenagers. Since we are in the vicinity of NYU, there's often a young gay man with a female bestie, and the topic of conversation, there, might be intersectionality or the future career moves of Roxane Gay. The NYU conversation is always very, very animated, and it's never really a dialogue; it generally resembles two parallel speeches, as if toddlers were playing in a sandbox. Playing with Roxane Gay.

High above the patrons is a sign: "One of the top ten diners in America, according to TIMEOUT!" But what are the criteria for that ranking?

The aisles are packed and uncomfortable; the toilet resembles something from the set for "Little Shop of Horrors."

Is longevity an excuse for subpar standards? And an excuse for fleecing one's patrons?

These are somewhat loose, disorganized thoughts, but it's the Christmas season, and I'm perhaps tired and cranky. I acknowledge it's possible to have differing thoughts about the Waverly. But I'm not backing down. Let the sacred cows fall. Pack your lunch; eat out in the outer boroughs, if you must. It's time to take a stand.

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