Here, Dana gives us another reason why there’s nothing sacred in NYC – especially the Pope – when you’re running late for brunch.

Stop on by her blog, Party in the Back, for all the 80’s hotness of a young Olivia Newton John and the current event sexitude of Lewis Black.

The Pope (robes, vestments, pointy hats and all) is in New York this weekend, speaking at the UN, visiting churches, shaking hands with important people, saying mass at Yankee Stadium, and generally spending a weekend in New York doing Popely things. This is an historic visit to the States, and many people are up in arms about the fact that this Pope, unlike John Paul II, seems reluctant to actually apologize for the (shit tons of) indiscretions in American parishes between priests and young boys. He claims to be ashamed, but he just won’t say sorry. So everyone’s feathers are falling out all over the place and while many people don’t want him here, most are pretty curious to get a look. He is the freakin’ Pope after all, the holiest of the holy human form representatives and proof to us on earth that God, if nothing else, has a fabulously flamboyant taste in capes and robes.

But this isn’t about the Pope.

In order for the Pope to travel from Papal Point A to Papal Point B in NYC today, the city decided to close off Park Avenue for many blocks in both directions, so that he could travel uninterrupted uptown on the downtown side of the street. The City of New York doesn’t just “close off streets” whenever and for no reason, usually it has to be something pretty big that’s happening. I heard several people say that the closing of such a big street as Park reminded them of 9/11. So for the City of New York to decide that something is worth closing the street off for, it probably trumps pretty much anything that’s going on in your day.

Some people don’t see it that way.

So Park is closed and I’m on the North West corner of 70th and Park waiting to see the Pope ride by in his limo (not the Popemobile—shafted!). Once the cops knew that the procession was going to come by within the next fifteen minutes, they stopped letting people cross Park on either side. Many people when told they couldn’t cross simply obliged or asked where it was they could cross. But then there were the others, those important only to those, who tried desperately to cross the street despite the fact that it was closed. When told they couldn’t cross, and had to wait until the Pope procession passed, they began the dramatic readings of their life stories. “But I’m only going over there.” “But I live on the other side of the street.” “Look at me, I’m not a threat, I just have to get to a meeting.” And my personal favorite, spoken by a woman using a single tissue to shield her head from the sun’s rays, “I’m late for lunch on that side. I’m hungry. My friends are waiting.” Who the fuck do these people think they are? I’ll tell you who they aren’t. The Pope. And that’s pretty much the only person who was allowed in the street besides cops. But that didn’t stop them as they nattered on, wrapped so tightly in their day to day they’ve become selfish, ignorant and annoying larvae, completely unaware that their oh-so-important schedule means absolutely nothing to the bigger picture. It got to the point that I wished that one of them (lady with tissue, please please) would just have gotten so tangled in themselves that they bucked the idea of dealing with the cop, and as the procession drove by just tried to hail the Pope’s limo as if it were a cab—if only to witness the car stop, the Pope roll down his window, lean out to the lady and say, “No Brooklyn.”