Fulfilling my civic duty, Law & Order style.

When I turned in my prideful Jersey driver's license for a New York version, I knew there would be repercussions. Less than six months later, my number was magically drawn out of the hat for jury duty. Ugh.

Today was day one of what I quickly learned was a two day process. Mandatory, firm required vacation? Sure, Bloomy & Co. I'd love to spend my days off from work with you. I'll get to the details about NYC jury duty tomorrow because today I want to tackle another great NYC legend - Duane Reade's namesake.

Duane Reade, really BK?

Heck yes, loyal readers. Today is devoted to the filthy, cramped, not-so-cheap-but-convenient-as-all-hell drugstore chain. You need to understand that New Yorkers have a love/hate/loathe relationship with Duane Reades. They never have sales. The aisles are skinnier than SoHo models. Many of them have quirky subterranean levels. Hate them I may, but I depend on them. New razors, Chase ATM (clutch!), or birthday card for Johnny, DR is my default. Check out NY Mag's old article about the mystery surrounding DR.

While spending my lunch hour wandering around downtown, I found myself at the crossroads of the great mystery - why is it called Duane Reade? There I was, waiting to cross the street to grab a slice of pizza, when I noticed this street sign:



What the? Scouring the area it all quickly made sense. To my left was the answer:



I must admit that I always pictured Duane as some rich dinosaur of a businessman who mastered the game of overcharging for Q-tips just enough to keep you and me going back for me. It turns out that the pharm was named after the original warehouse's location on Broadway, tucked nicely between Duane Street and Reade St. Now you know.