When we last spoke, I had been out with Cousin Marie participating in a Dutch documentary. (Thanks for the calls and cards. Your support is encouraging.) Since then, we went out again and spent the better part of an early summer evening enjoying “Monologue Madness” at the Cornelia Street Café in the
I am (was) in
I was getting hungry and the entire food preparation staff was in the enormous below-grade kitchen making numerous tasty treats, but I wasn’t able to eat any of them. No one was allowed to eat anything until Massa Charlie inspected it for proper presentation. Unfortunately for me, Massa Charlie and I were never in the same place at the same time, and as soon as he blessed the presentation the food, the preparation staff threw it away and went back to the below-grade kitchen to make something else. I was reduced to nibbling on tiny bits of discarded food like a thinner and less frantic version of George Kostanza. But I’m getting ahead of the story.
(Just a little side note on the kitchen. The area of the kitchen is approximately 5,000 sf. For those of you who are dimensionally challenged, this is about the same area as two large suburban homes. This is a very large commercial kitchen by any standards, but quite Godzilla-like for
It seems that the well-paid and highly-trained union electricians placed the speaker wires on the wrong side of a wall. Richard needed to drill a hole in one cabinet, through a wall, and then through a second cabinet, after which he would need to snake a vinyl-coated wire hanger through the series of openings, somehow grab the wrongfully placed wires, tape them to the vinyl-coated wire hanger, and then pull them through the many layers of wood and sheetrock to the correct side of the wall. (I got tired just writing this.) This miracle of modern technology and old fashion American ingenuity was satisfactorily completed. I’m not the type of person who tends toward self-praise, but let me just say that I was involved in the process.
My first bit of involvement was, after Beer No. 1, to ask one of the art-hangers (more to come on these guys later) if I could borrow a tape measure. I could have sworn he said, “Sure”, but Tim (Massa Charlie’s lawyer) insisted that he said, “That’s not mine.” Next, we (read that as Richard) needed a 12”-long drill bit to be able to drill thru the two cabinets and one wall. Chip didn’t have such a bit so he went to Home Depot to buy one. First, I have no idea where the closest Home Depot is to the
Well, Richard appropriated a 6” bit and in order to complete the required task, we used a version of the Italian method of tunnel boring – start a hole at each end and drill until you meet in the middle. We carefully measured the distances from the first hole (conveniently drilled by others) to the side wall and then measured back to mark the approximate location of the second hole. The two holes were only about 12” apart as the crow flies, but you needed to walk halfway through the restaurant to get from one cabinet to the other. The fact that we both had cell phones could have made this whole process much easier, but we elected not to use them. I was starting to think that the Blue-Tooth in Richard’s ear was just a prop he used when he got tired on my drunken ramblings. (I was finished with Beer No. 2 at this point and, sad to say, was way past inebriation.)
Once we marched over to the other side of the wall, Richard asked me for the carefully measured dimension. I had a series of numbers written on a pad that I added and subtracted at random. Remarkably, my final total was completely different than his, so he traipsed back to the other side of the wall and measured again. I let him measure the second time by himself because I know what a control freak he is and also because I saw some tasty treats go by looking to be blessed. Richard came back just as the food disappeared around a corner. Since my brother was going to ignore my geometric aid, I told him that I was going to write a story to which he replied that would be very helpful.
While all this impromptu carpentry was taking place, there were many other interesting and mildly entertaining events occurring in and around the soon-to-be-opened restaurant. I’ll share some of these little vignettes with you now before you become completely bored with the “Tale of Two Holes”.
The modern dining experience does not just encompass the human senses of taste and smell and the sin of Gluttony. It also includes the sense of sight with regards to the visually pleasant presentation of the food. The technical culinary term for this is “Pretty Food”. An additional aspect of the modern dining experience also involves the sense of sight with a little help from the sin of Lust thrown in. It seems that the construction budget included several hundred thousand dollars for “art” work. I used the quotation marks because as a layman and general all-around Philistine, I don’t know where art ends and “art” begins.
What I’m talking about are the two or three dozen black and white photographs, handsomely-framed and covered with museum-quality plexi-glass. (Does the fact that they’re black and white make them art? Can someone help me out here?) The scenes depicted are rather plain and non-descript. Some are actually photographs of paintings. (Does this little ploy make them “art”?) What all of these photographs have in common, aside from their lack of color, was that they had computer-generated images of naked women and/or parts of naked women superimposed on them. These weren’t just regular women or even full-busted Russ Meyer-esque vixens. These women were transparent and resembled women made from blown glass or ice sculptures that have melted slightly. They also reminded me of mannequins since none of them appeared to have nipples. Oh, I forgot to add that all of these computer-generated, transparent, robotic, mannequin women were holding equally transparent wine glasses. (Are we now completely in the realm of “art” or is this just clever product placement?)
Some of the photographs had just one or two of these fanciful creatures and others had many. One of the more interesting (bizarre) photos showed a picture of three Renaissance-era women picking up pieces of a broken vase with a very futuristic transparent female foot escaping from the upper right-hand corner. The women in the painting were apparently unaware of the presence of the fleeing foot. I thought that was odd.
The designer in charge of the location and placement of these photos was a very short, dark-haired female who was undoubtedly spawned from a line of gypsies or carni-folk. She resembled a tall forest elf. Although this attractive, impish woman did not have the features normally associated with a midget, she is almost height-deficient enough to be considered for the role of Mrs. Tom Thumb should the cinematic need for that particular character ever arise. She was accompanied by a tall, muscular, head-shaved, thug/assistant who appeared to be of Eastern European descent. (This tends to confirm my gypsy theory.) What he lacked in charm, he made up for in malevolence.
I watched this unlikely duo for a while and after polishing off Beer No. 3, I summoned the courage to confront the would-be Mrs. Thumb about the lack of color in the photographs and alluded to my concern that Massa Charlie was being gypped. (No pun intended or achieved.) She gave me that superior, confident, over-educated, sober smirk that short people are so good at, and walked away. Her assistant, the thuggish Junior (short for Telly Savalas, Jr.) gave me a death stare. As God is my witness, I would have kicked his ass if he was 6 inches shorter, 50 years older, and had MS. He better count his lucky stars.
I continued wandering around making small talk with the hired help. During my somewhat limited travels, I spied the Project Manager working at a computer. As he finished doing his Project Manager work, he pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer and cleansed his hands. I felt like the cameraman in a National Geographic special watching a rare mammal in his natural habitat. I pondered this strange ritual and realized that this was what was wrong with this country. We’re getting soft. Anyway, I made my way back to Richard who had, by this time, drilled two holes in either side of the wall. The next step was to find a vinyl-coated wire hanger and snake it though the holes. Richard went to look for such an object and since I had nothing to do, I crawled inside one of the cabinets and examined the hole. I poked at it with my pencil and started to feel like Tim Roberts in “The Shawshank Redemption”.
While curled up in the cabinet, I continued playing make-believe and grabbed the drill and pulled the trigger a couple of times. Before I could make my mind up between “Star Wars” and the “Magnificent Seven”, Richard came back and asked me to put the drill down before I either hurt myself, damaged something, or hurt myself and damaged something. He used a few $%^&$#@!’s, but I won’t repeat them here. I guess he felt bad for yelling at me, so he put some Bob Dylan into the sound system for me. This worked for a short while, but after a few songs, the speakers shut down. It seemed that Sol (Richard’s soon-to-be former assistant) purchased the wrong speakers. Richard told me that he gave Sol the exact specifications and model numbers for very expensive and high-end speakers, but for some reason the soon-to-be-unemployed Sol bought a Hasbro Surround Sound model that was on sale at Toys-R-Us. I thought it was an honest mistake, but what do I know. (Can we get a one-way ticket to
Richard convinced me to get out of the cabinet and I did. My exit coincided perfectly with the temporary placement of a small tray of partially eaten food on a nearby table. Finally, something to eat. The fates must have been smiling on me because just as I was getting ready to pull off the cap of Beer No. 4 with a pair of needle-nose pliers, Tim came by and brought me a bottle opener. I told Tim that was very helpful, and unlike my sarcastic brother, I really meant it. Tim told me not to lose it because it wasn’t his. I wish he wouldn’t have told that because it made me feel particularly bad when I was in the Port Authority getting ready to return to the mainland and I realized I still had the bottle opener and threw it away. My bad.
The time of reckoning had finally arrived. Richard had the vinyl-coated wire hanger all straightened out and he went around to the other side of the wall. My assignment was to get back in the cabinet and try and grab the end of the vinyl-coated wire hanger when he snaked it through. I was looking forward to getting back into the cabinet, but a little disappointed when Richard took the drill with him. After a few minutes and the requirement for a second drilled hole, the end of the vinyl-coated wire hanger magically appeared. As instructed, I pulled it through and started calling Richard on the phone letting him know that I had it. By them time I dialed his number correctly, he was standing next to me asking me to get out of the cabinet so he could tape the wires to the hanger. (By now we all know it’s vinyl-coated.)
He taped the erroneously placed wires to the hanger, went back to the other side of the wall and pulled them through. Our work was not over yet because Richard in his impatience, had wrapped the wires around a support bar of the cabinet. The wires had to be re-pulled through the hole, unwrapped from the support bar, and re-taped and re-snaked. We took our respective places on either side of the wall and as Richard was pulling from his end, I was pulling from my end. I must have forgotten who was supposed to be doing what because Richard came around from the other side and asked me what the $%^&$#@! I was doing. I replied that I didn’t know so he explained the process again. Well, to make a long story even longer, the wires were pulled and exited from my little clubhouse, and mosey’d around the restaurant.
By sheer accident, I happened to be passing by the thuggish Junior and heard him explain to one of the restaurant employees that the plexi-glass covering the pictures should only be cleaned with a shammy cloth. I was pretty sure that the Sham-Wow would work, but given my previous almost-altercation with the too tall, too young, and disease-free Junior, I kept that valuable little nugget to myself.
A little later Chip came back, smiling and bit-less. He asked to borrow my pencil, but then failed to return it. Not being one to take real or imagined insults or slights lightly, I went over to the construction drawings (also known as blueprints to some people) and started drawing “smiley” faces inside the larger O’s and circles. These really stood out because since Chip clipped my pencil I was forced to use my red pen.
Nothing much else happened worth repeating (assuming that all of the above had been worth repeating) except that when Richard and I were walking toward the Port Authority, we saw two guys break-dancing. This is something I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was almost like watching a lost civilization come back to life. We watched them strut and spin and jump for a short while and then we left, but not before leaving a very generous tip to the two would-be drug dealers. We hoped that our two dollars would keep them on the straight and narrow. Richard and I said good-bye at the corner of
Anyway, it was a very nice few hours and since I work in the basement by myself, have litle human contact for most of the day, and have developed a whole series of different voices that I use to converse with myself, I’d thought I’d share this little slice of my life with you. If you enjoyed this, great. If not, well, I know where you live.
Take care and I’ll talk to you later.
Cousin Robert
Aka Robert Femenella
Aka Bob Femenella
Aka Coach Bob
Aka Connor Fleming III
Aka Oz the Great and Powerful
Aka Bert Allene
* The title of this little story was taken from something Richard said when he was complaining about the quality of the work or something like that. I kind of liked the way it flowed, but can’t for the life of me remember the context of the conversation. Sorry about that.
Geniuis! Pure genius. Bravo!
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