N.Y.C. Forecast: July 2010
"Smoking her Newport 100's in her worn cotton dress and flip-flops..."
My old boss looked a lot like NBA legend Darryl "Chocolate Thunder" Dawkins
"I feel like my soul is empty. My blood is cold and I can't feel my legs."
Perhaps its best I’ve waited till now for this excerpt since only now is New York experiencing the kind of heat we had back in July when I quit my job. Well over a month ago, but just like today the temperatures were 95-plus. Over 100 on the dank subway platforms, ensconced in the airless humidity and foul sweat as though I were a tampon stuffed up the twat of a Spanx-wearing crackwhore infected with syphillis. ...Cccan’t breathe!!
Nope--doesn’t get hotter than July; that’s what Stevie would tell you and everyday that infamous month of 2010 was more humid than the last. Until finally that Thursday which blew ‘em all away.
My first appointment was up in the Bronx. Not even 10:30 in the morning and New York already hit 90. The Dominican woman I had to meet was on the 5th floor of a walk-up near Elder Avenue. I knew she wouldn’t have A/C, but held out hope until the end. 'Til she opened her apartment door and I saw that pathetic, lone window fan that didn’t even take up the whole sill. (heavy sigh).
No A/C and no English. Not much that she’d reveal anyway. Smoking her Newport 100’s in her worn cotton dress and flip-flops as she filled the kitchen with second-hand smoke that swirled ‘round the cheap table and clung to my clothes like a malevolent spirit.
How much they gonna give me? she asked with a conspiratorial smile as she blew out the hot smoke, “...’cause I think I feelin’ worse today.”
She knew how to say that much.
There was some bad mojo in that apartment. Some kind of voodoo. That Caribbean woman never broke a sweat, yet I walked out the door drenched in perspiration. Spent and confused, as though my soul had been emptied. I staggered back to my office and its A/C like a lost man in the desert seeks solace from a mirage. A/C. P-p-p-please. I’ll do anything.
I returned to work on time for my unit meeting--no one argues that. Not even my old boss. Someone had to be last in his office and it happened to be me. There were (5) of us, but only (4) chairs, so what was I supposed to do?
But I can’t re-hash that now. No one close to me can stand to hear it again. It’d just be you and me reader if I bring it up one more time. That’s what I’ve been assured by family and close-friends alike, so the story of that meeting will have to be a future post.
But I can tell you I wasn’t wrong. Not by a longshot. It wasn’t just the heat (as has been alleged by some). There’s a proper way to treat people. A way you must treat people--especially people who work hard for you and make you look good. Who help you succeed and who believe in team.
“What did you make of what happened in there Cindy?” I asked my co-worker afterward. She’d been at the meeting and I wanted some perspective. “You think I overreacted?”
“Honestly Lodo?” she asked as she looked up from her chair with timid eyes, “...it was weird.”
“It was weird, wasn’t it?!” I asked.
“Yeah,” she emphasized again, in a reassuring manner, “...but was it bad enough where I would have quit?”
“What?!” I interjected “you don’t think I should be seriously offended?”
“I didn’t say that Lodo,” Cindy answered as she slowly retreated from me in her cheap office chair, “...I’m just saying. What're you gonna do now?”
* NOTE: Due to the length of this post, I'm going to split it into some additional parts. Next post should be sometime over the weekend. Thanks for reading!!
8 comments:
What?! I (we) have not heard this story and you're leaving a big chunk for the context of this series out. Perhaps it will all come together in the end as you continue processing but I for one am curious as hell.
I fear this whole post is a train wreck Ava; yet its probably also an accurate representation of where my NY life's been at this dreadful summer. Really appreciate your reading. Will it all come together? Hard to say. Just started my new job and lo and behold--90+ days the whole freaking week! Ugh! Can't breathe, let alone think. Or write!
"A tampon stuffed up the twat of a Spanx-wearing crackwhore infected with syphillis." You are the wordsmith Lodo. And I argee with Ava, give us a little context. We have not heard the story a hundred times, we have never heard it at all. Oh and by the way, good post.
Thanks a ton Willie. Its gross when a man is needy, but for this one...I may have needed that.
In regards to explaining what happened, that's a tough choice. A Sophie's Choice between my family and closest friends who I'll need forever and my readers who don't need me for a second yet still choose to support me. I have to say, my sister and my friend Rules were particularly adamant. Hell, they'd rather hear me talk about meeting Jeff Beck again. Or hear me complain about my trial verdict from (2) years ago--and no one wants to hear me go off on that again!!
All I can ask of you is to trust me. For now I have to get past that day--but if you're genuinely interested, I'll explain it in a future post.
hmm...I don't know if I agree with the others. I think it's fine to leave the scene-in-question out of the story. We know you were offended, we know there was a conflict...our imaginations can fill in the gaps. Actually, now that you've left it out, I would never fill it in. It's the H.P. Lovecraft ethos of insinuation. It's probably why I liked the ending to the Sopranos: There's no way that whatever they decided happened at the end could compete with my speculations.
Whatever the case, I hope you're making sense of your situation. I wish you the best of luck.
Thanks Spence. And I like the new pic!
By no means did I mean to put you in a Sophie's choice conundrum. You've just been talking around this for some time with the suggestion that the story will be told and between that and the serial posts, it just messes with me in a 'Who shot J.R." kind of way. :-) I agree the story can stand on its own as Spence suggested, just whining because I can.
Ha! Ava, the fact that anyone would say anything has me ecstatic. What's that saying? The opposite of love isn't hate, its indifference. So say what you will--just say something!
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