Your Mama Don’t Dance and Your Daddy Don’t Rock and Roll

Well it finally feels like summer I said to myself as I stood outside my office building having a smoke. It really felt like a beautiful summer day, on the cusp between the end of summer and the start of school. A few good looking men walking about, a few pretty women as well as the skinny types with legs as thin as my wrist, walking on too high heels. Half the office was out today, some working from home, others attending classes or waiting for Verizon technicians to show up. I’ve been instructed to keep a close eye on the attendance of some of my co-workers which puts me in an unenviable position of ratting someone out.

Yesterday I got a phone call from someone I didn’t expect to hear from again, yet oddly enough I thought we’d cross paths somewhere in Manhattan one of these days. It was a call from Gerri Delaney whom I worked with from 2001-2002. We worked the front desk together at Staffmark, a staffing agency on east 40th Street, in the same building as Marvel Comics as well as Jerry Seinfeld’s accountant. Gerri and I worked together during 9/11 and though I was let go from the company in July 2002, when the first anniversary came up I gave her a call to see how she was doing. Her reaction over the phone was, ‘why are you calling me?’. It was an odd call and it effectively killed our friendship which was distressing to me.

Bill couldn’t understand the fact that I make friends via work and usually keep them for a while. He doesn’t do that it seems. I explained that if it wasn’t for work I’d never have made such good lasting friends like Harpy and Pedro, as well as Julio, all of which I’ve been friends with for about 20 years.
So it seems Gerri found my number while cleaning out a drawer and just gave a call to see if it was still mine. She still lives with her husband Jimmy and their son Terry in Stuyvesant Town, a few buildings away from where Bill’s parents live. That would be one place I figured I’d cross paths with her, the rest would be somewhere in midtown. Sketchy plans were made for an after work drink, plans that could easily be forgotten or or perhaps even canceled.

I took off from work tomorrow, officially. Even set an out of office message on my emails which I just checked to see if was working properly and it is. Yet another job well done for me! I wandered through Bryant Park on my way home, witnessed the death of hip hop in the form of a white guy in his thirties with his baseball cap on just crookedly enough, baggy workout pants and an over sized hoodie. Got my attention but not my camera. Also saw some skinny thug poseur trying to look intimidating while rapping on the sidewalk. That was fun to watch, though it wasn’t his intention and also not worth taking the camera out of the bag.

Looking forward to not waking up at 6:00AM tomorrow morning. It’s the little things and in this case, the minutes, that count in life sometimes.

Here’s some pics.

7AM