As you all know, Bosley and I are the epitomes of awesome. As such, we deserve nothing but the best in the areas of living, dining and otherwise. This is why it came as such a shock when we entered a lovely Indian restaurant and received glares from all that were inside. We were instructed to take our seats at a designated table in the glaring sun. We took it upon ourselves to relocate, the sun was too much for out delicate almond eyes and fair epidermis. We moved to a table which was filthy with streaks of unidentifiable substances, the waiter promptly shooed us away. We moved to a third table, by this time, having the eyes of everyone in the restaurant upon us. Normally, this would be an honor and the norm, however unlike most times, their looks were not those of admiration. After a hardy meal of unidentifiable fare, the check was brought to us. It occurred to me to cast my eyes around for a sanitation inspection grade. Not that I was suspicious of the establishment, but merely to amuse myself. I looked at the front door and my mouth dropped in shock. This joint had received a *dare I say it* B!!!!! Immediately I informed Bosley. She grabbed her mobile and dragged me outside.
You see, here in Gotham, the sanitation department has taken it upon themselves to throughly inspect each eatery and grade it either with an A, B, or C. A was obvi the best grade one could receive, but were not at all rare. Nearly all of the establishments that I've set foot in had received an A (however, this is understandable). Only the dingiest receive B's and I can't imagine what one could do to receive a C.
Bosley dialed 311 and went through the usual procedure. City and state, live operator, press the button. "Hello, I am inquiring about a grade a restaurant received for its sanitation." The man paused, "Oh... let me put you through to the department of health and hygiene." Obviously they had never received a call such as this. Bosley waited on hold in the freezing cold of early March in her fishnet tights. I, too was wearing tights. "Hello? How may I help you?" Bosley repeated herself. "Oh..." The woman had the same response - nothing short of a deer in headlights. "Let me put you through to someone else." Bosley waited through the elevator music once more. When a third man answered, she repeated her question once again with a bit more zest. The man paused, "I can give you a website." "No," Bosley replied. "I do not have access to internet at the moment." The man replied in a forceful tone, "Well, I can't sit here and explain every reason why a grade was given. Thank you have a nice day."
Now Bosley's voice was dripping with annoyance as she bade him farewell and hung up.
Unsatisfied with Gotham's department of hygiene, we had no idea how long we had to live. With this, we found our way back to the establishment, pondered whether we should ask upfront what they did to receive a "B", and eventually left. A taxi was quick to pick up us up as we left for my flat back in the tan district. We logged on to the site given to us by the stoop A (aka department of hygiene work monkey)- there was absolutely no listing of restaurants. The only bit of information we could come across was an empty form which the inspectors would later be obligated to fill out. On said form, there was a section below food temperature which pertained to something about improper sewage disposal. This is where we decided to leave our research, afraid to see what we would discover. We felt a bit of ourselves die that day, a considerable amount of our tanness was lost on in the abyss of the lower east side.
