In 2003, I tried to figure out the difference between a bench and a seat

I hadn’t been a columnist for long when the first injustice crossed my desk. July 2003 is when I went to fight for the rear ends of hoagie eaters everywhere ...

When is a bench not a seat? The answer can be found at Bossio’s Deli in Lawrenceville. Outside the deli sits a lone bench, wood and metal. Two can comfortably sit on it.

You could grab a turkey sandwich, or perhaps a bag of chips and a Snapple, and park yourself on this fine bench.

You could sit there and relax, read a book, maybe even strike up a conversation with other fellow deli-searching souls.

But while you sit on this bench and do all these bench-sitting things, keep this in mind: It is not, according to Lawrence Township, a seat.

Just ask Chris Budzinski, Lawrence’s municipal engineer and zoning officer.

“A bench is not outdoor seating,” he said. “Anything else?”

He didn’t sound too thrilled to be talking to me, but yes, there was other things, other questions. And we’ll get to them later. For now, let’s just explore how this bench came into being.

Some weeks ago, Gino Bossio, along with his nephew, Al Bossio, decided to jazz things up at their delicatessen.

So they went outside, moved back the concrete parking barriers, and placed a pair of plastic tables and a half-dozen chairs outside the door.

Their intention -- just so we’re all on the same page -- was for people to sit down.

“All we wanted to do was create a more familyfriendly atmosphere,” said Al. “Like Main Street Lawrenceville.”

(Main Street in Lawrenceville, home to a handful of restaurants, many of which have outdoor sidewalk seating.) So the Bossios put out the tables and chairs. And people took to them -- including a certain newspaper columnist, who enjoyed more than one meal at the plastic table. A week or two passes. And then Budzinski rolled through. “He told us we weren’t zoned for outdoor seating,” said Gino. “And then he said it was a safety issue.”

Apparently, the township was worried a car would careen wildly off Route 206, make a 90 degree turn, plow over the concrete parking barrier, and squash an innocent Italian hoagie eater.

Put more simply, and in Budzinski’s words, it was a “public safety hazard.” This flummoxed the Bossios. “I understood that we were not zoned for it, and I’ll follow whatever the township laws are,” Gino said. “But a safety issue? By that theory, you could get hit just by walking out the door.”

And, he noted, you can get hit by cars zooming down Main Street in Lawrenceville, otherwise known as Rt. 206, where outdoor seating -- in chairs, at tables -- is allowed.

That argument fell flat, and next thing you know, the tables and chairs were removed from outside the deli.

But -- and this is where things get squirrelly -- they were allowed to put a bench out there.

In fact, according to both Al and Gino, they were told they could put out as many benches as they wanted.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Gino said. “If a car jumps the cement barrier, they’ll hit the bench just the same.” He’s right. For while it’s a handsome bench, there is no protective casing surrounding it, no steel cages, nothing. It’s just a regular old bench. Made for sitting. Right? “Outdoor seating is not allowed,” Budzinski said. But what about the bench? As Budzinski stated earlier: “A bench is not outdoor seating.”

My brain was having trouble with the math. “Don’t you find that odd?” I asked. “No,” came the reply. “Not in the township’s mind.” To recap, then: According to Lawrence Township’s “mind,” a bench is not made for sitting.

Seems like the township’s mind is a wee bit addled, because this bench, without a doubt, was constructed with only one goal in mind: As a place to sit.

And as for safety, the bench is no farther away from the concrete barriers as the tables and chairs were.

Of course, and as any fool can see, the chief difference is that while the chairs were made for sitting, the bench -- everybody together, now -- was clearly made for not sitting.

“What a lovely bench,” one might remark upon passing it. “Shame it’s not for sitting.”

So today, weather permitting, I plan on eating my lunch on that bench. Not as a show of solidarity for the Bossios plight. Nope. It’s because I feel bad -- really bad -- for the bench. Imagine what a lonely life it would be if you were a bench, and some zoning officer, well within earshot, said you weren’t made for sitting? Now that would be a horrible fate. Horrible.

Jeff Edelstein Columnist