Ban This!

Are you there, readers? It's me, Mrs. Tittle-Tattle. Recently, the monarch—I mean mayor—of our fair city has been on a mission to improve the health of New Yorkers by banning all kinds of toxic substances and behaviors, such as smoking cigarettes and drinking supersized sugary soft drinks. Now, don't get me wrong: I think smoking cigarettes and drinking supersized sodas is gross and bad for you, and I don't partake in either, but it's a slippery slope when the government intervenes in our personal habits. Yes, I understand that it's also about the cost of healthcare that we all bear when our fellow citizens become obese or diabetic. But still, the shadow of Big Brother is starting to enshroud this city like a giant black pashmina shawl—the kind that seems cozy and comforting but actually threatens to strangle you as you try to yank it out of the revolving door at Barney's.

    However, if public sentiment supports these kinds of bans in the name of better health, then I propose banning all things that cause stress, because we all know that stress is just as much a killer as obesity or secondhand smoke. And in New York City, there are probably more stress-related health problems than any other medical condition (I have no exact stats to back that up, but just go with me on this one, okay?). So why not ban all kinds of people who cause us stress, because God knows we must have more anxiety-inducing people than anywhere else in the world (I also have no stats on that one, but would you actually argue with me on this?).

     For instance, while obesity is clearly a personal health risk, if we're talking about causing stress to the rest of us, how about all those super-thin people in great condition? I don't know about you, but when I see women in fantastic shape walking down the street, with their perfectly sculpted soul-cycling butts and thighs, my blood pressure goes way up. "Those bitches!" I think, as my body starts to go into paroxysms of guilt and envy. Passing too many of these women in one day can cause the innocent onlooker to experience heart and stomach problems. It's like secondhand smoke, but the "smoker" is the smoking-hot body of someone else, who actually isn't being harmed by her own perfection, unless she is anorexic or something, and then that is a health risk, so there you have it! And of course our mental health bills go up too because we are so wracked with anguish over our own inadequacies. So to all those insanely gorgeous bodies strutting up the avenues, I say, "BANNED!"

    And how about those people in Starbucks who take 20 minutes to explain their overcomplicated orders, and then engage in a friendly chat with the barista about clean water in Africa and what classes she's taking this semester? While that clueless customer is trying to figure out how many sesame bagels he was supposed to order for the office staff, or the chatty executive is trying to make conversation or a date with the cute Starbucks gal, the rest of us are in stress central, about to pass out from caffeine withdrawal, hunger, and general annoyance. So to those chatty, complex-drink jerks, I say, "BANNED!"

    And while we've eliminated smoking from restaurants, why can't we get rid of rude restaurant patrons who ruin our overpriced meals for which we waited two months to get a reservation? Like that lady who leaves her giant designer bag, her iPad, plus her huge fur jacket that she is afraid to put in the coatroom on the banquette next to you and refuses to acknowledge that her pile of stuff is threatening to engulf you every time you move your elbow to cut into your steak au poivre. Or the obnoxious table of drunk hedge fund guys bellowing at each other and drawing all the attention of your waitress (who knows they'll give her a much bigger tip than you will), while you're trying to have a nice quiet conversation with your tablemate about your uncle's prostate procedure. Or the couple who take their two-year-old twins out for a fancy dinner because they are too cheap to get a sitter or they believe that it's important for two-year-olds to learn to eat grilled calamari, and they ignore the fact that the kids are screaming and throwing food at each other, some of which lands in your glass of Merlot. "BANNED!"

     This list could go on and on, but I just heard that the mayor is concerned about the public health risks posed by humor columnists. He's worried that readers will laugh themselves to death, and that would clog up the hospitals and morgues and create overtime for city workers who would have to clean up the bodies. So enjoy your midsummer reading while you can—because before you know it, to Mrs. Tittle-Tattle's potentially life-threateningly funny columns, Bloomberg just might be saying—you guessed it—"BANNED!"