My friend Hallie and I met up for lunch earlier this week. Orientation for her nursing job doesn’t start until after Labor Day, so, aside from dealing with wedding-related business, she is, as she put it, “free as a bird.”

We decided to go to what has fast become our usual place: the adorable new sandwich and smoothie place on Henry Street. Or maybe it was just becoming my usual place. With its homey charm, great air-conditioning, and comfy seating, it was the perfect take-some-work-and-get-out-of-the-house spot. It is hard to remember a recent day when I hadn’t gone in there – except on the weekends, when its homey charm, great air-conditioning, comfy seating, and brunch menu make it impossible to get a table.

As we walked over, I was already mulling sandwich choices – curried egg salad or summer vegetable? But on opening the shop door, the question was replaced by another: What are all these people doing here?

The adorable sandwich and smoothie place was packed. You would have thought it was a Saturday morning, not a sleepy, hot Monday afternoon.

“Why is it so crowded?” I asked the scruffy bearded Aussie who works behind the counter in my “I’m such a regular, I can dispense with salutational formalities” tone.

“Blame the Republicans,” he said with a shrug and a smile. “Apparently, no one’s leaving the neighborhood.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Hallie said. “I’ve put off any errands I have to run in Manhattan until after the convention.”

I conceded that I, too, had no intention of crossing a bridge or tunnel until the commotion ended.

“Are you afraid of politicians, protesters, or terrorists?” Aussie asked us good-naturedly. “None of the above,” Hallie answered. “I just can’t deal with subway hassles.”

“Same here,” I said. “Especially in August.” When one little thing can mean a 10-minute wait on a steamy platform, making you feel like you’re trapped in something out of Dante, or, even worse, stuck inside someone’s mouth, what was the point of chancing it?

“Preaching to the choir here,” said the counter guy, pointing at his faded T-shirt. “Even on a normal week, I try to leave Brooklyn as little as possible.”

As we scanned the seating area for a table, I wondered if, when the mayor had said this convention would be a boon to New York City restaurants, he’d meant the ones in Brooklyn. Still, this crowd had to be about something more than simply avoiding Manhattan. “Gillian,” Hallie called out, waving at a woman with sandy-brown hair and a Bazooka gum tank top. The woman waved back, and Hallie explained that they had worked together at a dot-com before it went belly-up. “She’s a graphic designer,” Hallie added. We made for the table where Gillian was

lunching with a curly-haired guy. Introductions were made all around – the guy was an Adam – and I noticed they were eating curried egg-salad sandwiches and realized that that was what I wanted. While Gillian and Hallie played two-minute catch-up, Adam and I made restaurant small talk – this is a great place (it is!), do you live nearby (yes! me, too!), and so on.

“I can’t believe how crowded it is today,” I said, looking around. “I guess everyone’s avoiding Manhattan.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Everyone I know is working from home this week. My entire office is basically shut down.”

So that’s what it was. I scanned the room and noticed the few lone lunchers were working off laptops or writing on yellow legal pads. They may have been casual in T-shirts and flip-flops, but there was no doubt about it: They had found the perfect take-some-work-and-get out-of-the-house spot.

“I thought everyone was going on vacation this week,” I said, because it was true of my office. All of my colleagues were off to Cape Cod or Fire Island. They had considered the convention and its correlated hassles as a fortuitous extension of Labor Day weekend.

Adam shrugged and said, “I guess if you’re right in the city. But when you live in Brooklyn, why bother? This way, I still have my vacation days.”

I thought people had used the convention as an excuse to get out of town; little did I know the town they were getting out of was limited to the borough of Manhattan.

It actually made a lot of sense: We were, after all, on an island off the coast of that island. Usually, I thought of Brooklyn – or, as least, my part of it – in terms of its proximity to Manhattan – “it’s so close to downtown.” But this week, I viewed it in terms of its distance – “I don’t have to deal with that hassle.”

A little while later, with no free tables in sight, Hallie and I decided to find another lunch place. The curried egg-salad sandwich would have to wait – possibly until next week. Saying our goodbyes to Gillian and Adam, we made to leave the adorable sandwich and smoothie place.

“Good luck,” Gillian said as we departed, noting there were waits at all the Smith Street restaurants.

With her tip in mind, we figured we’d head to the delicious Italian coffee and sandwich shop on Court Street instead, and, since they had no real seating area, eat our sandwiches back at my apartment. It was the kind of neighborhood place that had been open for years, and I found my mouth watering at the thought of their fresh mozzarella.

But when we got to the shop, its gates were down. “We’re taking our traditional summer vacation this week,” read the sign on the door. “See you after Labor Day.”