Monthly Archives: April 2011

I Want You With Me

And today is Thursday, a day off. A day with an interview scheduled as well. I went to bed a little bit earlier and I slept a little bit better than the night before. The night before, though I was tired I couldn’t sleep and Bill, despite wearing a mouth guard, was snoring. Last night Bill wore the sleep apnea mask so that worked out well, a quiet evening.

Bill and I reviewed my paperwork and everything seemed to be in order. He left this morning, with an encouraging kiss and words of support, leaving a nice note on my computer screen this morning, ‘Knock It Out the Box Bubee!’ He calls me Bubee, I call him Ubee. Yes I know, Bubee usually means Grandmother in Yiddish, but since neither of us is Jewish we use it for our own use.

Plus my mother called me Bubala a few times when I was growing up and according to the Urban Dictionary, it’s a Yiddish terms used by Grandmothers to call children. The modern usage of the word can be extended to any person that is considered darling and close to one’s heart. Neither Bubee or Ubee made the Urban Dictionary cut.

I slept a bit and was awoken by my cellphone ringing at 7:30. I missed the call, it was from a former co-worker from my Wanker Banker days, Christina. We spoke the other day and I was supposed to call her back at 7PM that night, but I totally forgot about it.

I hadn’t seen here since maybe 2008, 2009. She was between jobs then and I guess she has something now. She might be looking to me to help her out. I wish I could. I headed out this morning earlier than usual and Bill gave me a heads up, saying that there may be tunnel traffic or overcrowded buses since there was a problem with the trains and more people than usual could be riding.

I was just happy the power did not go out again like it did with the previous interview a week or so ago. I rode the bus, reading the New Yorker since I had to return the Keith Richards autobiography yesterday. I have no idea how it ends, and I hope it turns out well.

When I was getting off the bus I ran into 2 Hoboken friends, Alice and Carol. I hadn’t seen any of them in a while and it was good to see them. Carol hopped in a cab and Alice told me of her adventures with Genesis P. Orridge and Psychic TV.

We parted ways at 6th Avenue and 41 Street and I walked through Bryant Park on the way to the Chrysler Building. At 42nd & Fifth I thought I could beat the light and gingerly stepped off the curb. That is when my left knee acted up. I almost wrote gave out, but I was able to hobble across the street, my pace greatly diminished and every step I took, produced a grimace on my face.

Still I had to get it together and I had a few minutes to collect myself. I decided to sit in the Grand Hyatt and review my paperwork and also to get off my feet for a few minutes. Ironically, the Grand Hyatt is where Der Fred used to work, where he would always yap in my ear about how he could get me a job there, that is until Der Fred was let go from his position.

I sat in the lobby in a comfortable yet awkwardly deep chair and reviewed my papers. After a trip to the loo and deciding not to pay $4.00 for a cup of coffee, I headed out again, limping across Lexington Avenue.

I made it up to the 26th floor where I was supposed to meet with Wendy. Instead, Jamal came out and interviewed me for a half hour. Even though there wasn’t nearly enough coffee in my body, I think I aced the interview and answered the questions properly and also asked a few questions which seems to be the way to go. Asking questions shows an interest you see.

It was over in about a half hour and I did my best to conceal my limp and my discomfort. Once on the street I called up Bill who asked me to stop by on my way back to the bus terminal. I told him it might be a while since I jacked up my knee.

Sure enough it took a lot longer than my usual pace and I sometimes found myself following someone else with a leg problem and also cursing out tourists who would step in my path. I caught up with Bill who got me into his building and let me use his loo. And I really needed to at that point, body clock all out of whack you see.

After that, a slow walk to the bus terminal, and I felt like Hyman Gross, looking for an escalator. Luckily the escalator to the gate was working and I rode it up. Missed the previous bus by 7 minutes so I stood and read the New Yorker.

Standing isn’t a problem, it’s getting up after sitting down which is the problem. Oh and walking too. Right now living on the top floor of a 5 story walk up is not as easy as it was yesterday. I took some Advil, laid on my bed with my legs stretched out on the wall and tried to sleep but sleep was not forthcoming.

I did make an appointment to see my doctor at 4PM today and it’s almost 3:00 now so I might want to get moving soon. So I made it down 4 flights of stairs and was early for the doctor’s appointment. That worked out fine since he saw me 15 minutes earlier than scheduled.

I stood in his office since sitting down then getting up is the problem, the getting up part. He had me sit on the table and roll up my jeans above my knee. I offered to drop the trousers but he said there was no need. He had me stand up and then realized that yes it would be better if I dropped my pants.

“Yes, your knee is swollen,” and he gave me a prescription for Naproxen to reduce the inflammation and so far it’s worked somewhat. Still a pain to negotiate stairways and curbs. I’ve been using a Shelaleigh that my father used to have, which I also leant Bill years ago when he jacked up his knee. So I’m learning how to use that.

It’s been one of those days.

I Want to Be Free

Another day, another dollar, or something less than that I suppose lately. It’s a Wednesday and once again I find myself at the cigar shack. Life is great with Bill, my rock, the love of my life.

Right now, Bring on the Night is playing by the Police. It’s just Calvin and myself for the next hour, then he heads home and I figure out how to balance and reconcile the register with whatever transactions might have taken place.

The day has been not so bad, once again though I find myself trailing in the sales department, all through the luck of the draw and I’m all sixes and sevens and nines. Tomorrow is a day off which is something to look forward to.

The cigar shack is getting ready for an inventory this Sunday, which is something that I’m dreading though it probably won’t be that bad. My only previous experience doing inventory was when I was working for Harcourt Brace Jovanovich and if it wasn’t for the canonization of my mother I probably would have been fired.

And justifiably so. Counting books, counting cartons of books all without the use of calculators. The non-use of calculators probably helped with the decision to get rid of certain people who simply couldn’t add and I was one of those people.

I was partnered with Lou Nagy, a gruff forklift operator with a mouth like a sewer and a pot belly to match. He was funny and also crazy and the fact that I wasn’t killed while being sent up hundreds of feet in a ramshackle contraption is basically a miracle.

Inventory meant overtime and that meant good money in the late 1970’s early 1980’s. I mainly recall inventory before the introduction of Julie Diemer and Andy Johnson and Noel Walls and the departure of Dave Manzo, Paul Lo Presti and John Vasichek.

Just had an arrogant yet cute bull of a man who seemed to be getting upset with the fact that couldn’t read his mind regarding the cigars that he had wanted to buy. I did eventually set him off on his way with cigars I would like after he showed me a text message he got from Elizabeth Marvel swearing that she would do anything he wanted since he hasn’t steered her wrong yet.

Perhaps a rendezvous is on the books for the Cigar bar a few blocks from this cigar shack. 20 more minutes with Calvin is on the agenda then another hour for me solo. I could have sworn I hit at least 500 words so far but no, not really.

Still below 450 which is disappointing somewhat. Time to put this away before Calvin returns from his beer run.

Now Calvin has split and I am solo. 20 minutes before I can close the cigar shack and count the money. Janet Jackson’s When I Think of You is playing. Really sweet song. Almost at 500 words.

Actually less than 14 words are due. Now less than 4.

And just as I was about to close, an old handbag of a woman walks in. She is wearing hipster glasses which makes her 70 something self seem ridiculous. She pulls out a bottle of Lampe Berger and asks if she can exchange it for a bottle that doesn’t make her want to vomit.

It seems her husband bought it for her and she is not one for the Ocean Breeze. I ask if she has a receipt and she doesn’t. I explain that any exchanges must be done within 14 days of the purchase and must be accompanied by a receipt.

She complains that she’s a regular customer and doesn’t deserve to be treated like this. I explain that I’ve never seen her before and she responds that she doesn’t come here, her husband does and she doesn’t smoke cigars.

I figure I have a minute left and don’t need her post-menstrual aggravation so I let her do the exchange, while mentioning that I could lose my job over this. The aging hipster decides on some bullshit and she’s relatively happy, flaky thighs and all.

Her horribly hen pecked husband shows up all smiles and I merely say, ‘Have a good happy’ and show them to the door as I watch her explain to her humbled and hobbled husband what just transpired.

I get the job done, everything balanced, ride the bus home with Hyman Gross once again and now I am home with Bill. Day off tomorrow. Happy about it.