Pieces (of Ass)
Really, it's not what you think.
On Tuesday, I went to Dodger Stages to watch a play. Sara had those invitations and she felt that I qualified more to go with her than the gay friend of her with whom she usually goes to the theater.
So here am I, on Tuesday night, sitting on the second row, watching those hot chicks doing their Sex-and-the-City-type monologues. It's not really a play. There is no plot. Each girl come on stage one after the other, often in a sexy outfit (different kind of sexy with every girl -- the lesbian pom-pom girl, the sophisticated brunette, the playboy bunny blond etc.) and they tell their stories in a smart, sarcastic and funny (sometimes moving too) way. Oh yeah, and there's also this petite blonde who acts like a brainless-ingenue European young woman, it's hilarious. The book says that the actress has spent some time in Europe, which is probably where she picked up her very good French. She does her monologue at 100 words/second in this language while an obviously inaccurate translation is displayed on the screen.
After that I went to see my boss at the restaurant. I haven't really worked there since I took the GRE test. After that, I was busy doing my application (those fucking transcripts are still somewhere between France and the US, nobody really knows and it drives me crazy!!!). But my boss owed me money. I am not a money-driven person. Really, all I want is enough to pay the rent, food and books. But I have two rules that I cannot go against. I never borrow money. And never let someone not pay back the money he owes you (of course, I'm not talking about friends here).
The second rule seems tough like that. But it's actually that I'm a very nice and understanding person and when I deem that I've been waiting too long it means that you would be flirting with the fish in the East River if it was the Mafia that had lended it to you. I'm too nice too long. But when I decide that it's over now, you better walk the line.
So after the theater I go to see my boss and I am the lucky recipient of his two-hour ranting about how bad business is etc. So right away I know he doesn't have my money. Rent time is only a few days away, I've been waiting for that money (my tips) for almost two months, I gave him a 2-day notice so really la moutarde me monte au nez, as we say at home. After two hours of his bullshit (he was supposed to have a friend come here to give me the money) I tried to explain it to him that in business circomstances, I really hate to have to ask twice for money I've been waiting for. He says that, well, you don't do what you like in life and maybe NY will teach me something etc..
I said, "You don't understand. But it's OK. You think you know me, that's all."
And I really really take it hard upon myself not to pick up that bottle in front of me and smash it on his head, jump over the counter and kick the shit out of him.
Instead, I tell him that I am not going to come here ten times for nothing like that (I've seen that happen often with other waiters or his partners). Tomorrow I come here, and my money better be there too.
I went back home and started reading. Sent a casual email to my cool lawyer. And out of boredom created a profile on Friendster. Not thinking much about if.
The next day I was amazed to find several replies to my profile and more came in as I started replying to the first ones, wondering if it's gonna be possible to keep up or if I'll need to hire a secretary soon.
I went to pick up a check at my ex-work place for reading manuscripts in French for them. Then I went to the restaurant. I knew right away that he didn't have the money. I stood at the counter, saying nothing, while he was talking and talking and talking and swiping the floor and cleaning this and that. Avoiding everything. Me, talking about the reason I was here, eyes contact, his dead-end situation. I really thought I was going to have to "talk" to him. And then he must have got some of my bad vibes because we went in the basement and he signed me a check.
Now I can pay my rent. No matter how bad the situation is, I make it a point of honor of putting the rent money on the table every first day of the month. If it sounds stupidly cocky to you, then you've never been in shit deep enough yet.
That night, I went to meet this Friendster cool girl at Bar Tabac. We have a deal that I will teach her bass or guitar and she'll teach me turntables and scratching, which sounds really great. Also, I know that New Yorkers have this polite attitude of saying "we'll definitely see each other again" which you can safely translate as "yes, but no." So we'll see. At Bar Tabac, there was this band playing swing/jazz. The musicians dressed as 1930s swingers. There was this magic moment when they made this (free) cover of "Bei Mir Bist Du Schon". I love this song and I immediately turned around towards the band, flashing my smile #34 bis and two of the musicians nodded at me like "we understand each other, man." The band plays every Wednesday and I'll go there again soon.
On Tuesday, I went to Dodger Stages to watch a play. Sara had those invitations and she felt that I qualified more to go with her than the gay friend of her with whom she usually goes to the theater.
So here am I, on Tuesday night, sitting on the second row, watching those hot chicks doing their Sex-and-the-City-type monologues. It's not really a play. There is no plot. Each girl come on stage one after the other, often in a sexy outfit (different kind of sexy with every girl -- the lesbian pom-pom girl, the sophisticated brunette, the playboy bunny blond etc.) and they tell their stories in a smart, sarcastic and funny (sometimes moving too) way. Oh yeah, and there's also this petite blonde who acts like a brainless-ingenue European young woman, it's hilarious. The book says that the actress has spent some time in Europe, which is probably where she picked up her very good French. She does her monologue at 100 words/second in this language while an obviously inaccurate translation is displayed on the screen.
After that I went to see my boss at the restaurant. I haven't really worked there since I took the GRE test. After that, I was busy doing my application (those fucking transcripts are still somewhere between France and the US, nobody really knows and it drives me crazy!!!). But my boss owed me money. I am not a money-driven person. Really, all I want is enough to pay the rent, food and books. But I have two rules that I cannot go against. I never borrow money. And never let someone not pay back the money he owes you (of course, I'm not talking about friends here).
The second rule seems tough like that. But it's actually that I'm a very nice and understanding person and when I deem that I've been waiting too long it means that you would be flirting with the fish in the East River if it was the Mafia that had lended it to you. I'm too nice too long. But when I decide that it's over now, you better walk the line.
So after the theater I go to see my boss and I am the lucky recipient of his two-hour ranting about how bad business is etc. So right away I know he doesn't have my money. Rent time is only a few days away, I've been waiting for that money (my tips) for almost two months, I gave him a 2-day notice so really la moutarde me monte au nez, as we say at home. After two hours of his bullshit (he was supposed to have a friend come here to give me the money) I tried to explain it to him that in business circomstances, I really hate to have to ask twice for money I've been waiting for. He says that, well, you don't do what you like in life and maybe NY will teach me something etc..
I said, "You don't understand. But it's OK. You think you know me, that's all."
And I really really take it hard upon myself not to pick up that bottle in front of me and smash it on his head, jump over the counter and kick the shit out of him.
Instead, I tell him that I am not going to come here ten times for nothing like that (I've seen that happen often with other waiters or his partners). Tomorrow I come here, and my money better be there too.
I went back home and started reading. Sent a casual email to my cool lawyer. And out of boredom created a profile on Friendster. Not thinking much about if.
The next day I was amazed to find several replies to my profile and more came in as I started replying to the first ones, wondering if it's gonna be possible to keep up or if I'll need to hire a secretary soon.
I went to pick up a check at my ex-work place for reading manuscripts in French for them. Then I went to the restaurant. I knew right away that he didn't have the money. I stood at the counter, saying nothing, while he was talking and talking and talking and swiping the floor and cleaning this and that. Avoiding everything. Me, talking about the reason I was here, eyes contact, his dead-end situation. I really thought I was going to have to "talk" to him. And then he must have got some of my bad vibes because we went in the basement and he signed me a check.
Now I can pay my rent. No matter how bad the situation is, I make it a point of honor of putting the rent money on the table every first day of the month. If it sounds stupidly cocky to you, then you've never been in shit deep enough yet.
That night, I went to meet this Friendster cool girl at Bar Tabac. We have a deal that I will teach her bass or guitar and she'll teach me turntables and scratching, which sounds really great. Also, I know that New Yorkers have this polite attitude of saying "we'll definitely see each other again" which you can safely translate as "yes, but no." So we'll see. At Bar Tabac, there was this band playing swing/jazz. The musicians dressed as 1930s swingers. There was this magic moment when they made this (free) cover of "Bei Mir Bist Du Schon". I love this song and I immediately turned around towards the band, flashing my smile #34 bis and two of the musicians nodded at me like "we understand each other, man." The band plays every Wednesday and I'll go there again soon.
posted by Cecyl at 4:47 PM
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