-In this column I have often written about the awkward situations I find myself in, and the strange thoughts I find myself having.  But nothing compares to the inspiration I receive from observing people as they go about their daily routines.  From the guy on the corner who magically appears selling umbrellas the second it starts raining, to my roommate Brian who claims he can tell the difference between 1% and 2% milk just on sight, New York’s cast of characters is both diverse and hilarious.  And I’ve been taking notes.  So here’s my official “Who’s Who” guide to my friends and foes…

-Five of my closest friends are in medical school.  Here’s all you need to know about med school kids.  They disappear for six to eight weeks at a time.  During that time, the only human contact they have is with lab partners, Domino’s deliverymen, and cadavers.  When med school kids reappear, it is without notice.  They just randomly show up at the bar one night, get drunker then everyone else, then pass out and disappear again.  Med school kids also have no concept of money.  However, I don’t really blame them.  If you’re already close to a quarter of a million dollars in debt by the time you’re twenty-three, I guess it’s OK if your mom pays your cable bill.

-Three of my best friends are fraternal triplets.  I’ve known them for most of my life and even went to Penn with two out of the three (hey, nobody’s perfect right?).  I think one of the best parts about being a triplet is that you have built-in wingmen.  All you have to do is go out with your brothers and you’ve already got two accomplices to help reel in the ladies.  Since they don’t look extremely similar, many times when I go out with all three of them people don’t believe me when I tell them that they’re triplets.  I never understood this.  What do you think I’ve got some sort of racket going where I go from bar to bar with three unrelated kids and pretend that they’re brothers?

-I am fascinated by bathroom attendants.  To me, this is a sign that the economy is so bad we’ve been reduced to just making up jobs.  Let’s just say, for argument’s sake, that I really do need baby powder, condoms, six varieties of mints, and twenty different kinds of cologne every time I use the bathroom.  I certainly don’t need all that stuff handed to me.  And I definitely don’t want to tip this guy every time I take a piss.  It’s like a urinal tollbooth in there.