I'd long been friendly with one of Manhattan's top corporate lawyers, who I'd bump into at food and wine events. He was a kindred spirit, with an earnest, chowhoundish appreciation for good stuff. We'd talk about getting together someday for a bite, but it had never happened.
One day, Chowhound needed legal help for something, and I contacted him. He told me he was too busy to take on the task, but could hand it to an associate, and perhaps we could get together to discuss this, killing two birds with one meatloaf, over dinner somewhere. I agreed, and he told me he'd pass me to his scheduling secretary. Just before leaving the line, he muttered something like "good luck". I wasn't sure if he was still talking to me, or if I'd just caught the beginning of his next conversation.
A sympathetic-sounding woman got on the line. It was mid-November. She told me that the next open dinner slot was on February 5th. I replied "No, no....I'm actually a friend, and this is just mostly about getting together for a bite." Her reply: "If you weren't a friend, the wait would actually be a lot longer."
That is "busy"!
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