RUDIMENTS, pt. 519
(live and learn)
A simple, fragmentary type,
that's always been me. Anyone
else who makes something
more, or less, out of that
stands only to lose. Messing
with an old shit like me is a
bit of a gamble: I have little
to lose, care for nothing much,
and am able to shoot well from
the proverbial hip, if need be.
I'm at the end of a long rope
now, and the only thing left to
hang onto is that knot at the
end; that's me.
-
I was thinking today, and
realized I'd come up with
a perfect example of a joke,
or whatever it is, that only
works as you 'hear' it, and
does not work visually, if
typed: (A doctor walks into a
bankruptcy court, and nervously
says 'I have no patience left.')
The thing is, when you SAY
it, it works. (I tried it out). But
if you type it, the difference
between patience and patients
kills it. The point too is the
'bankruptcy' reference, which just
has to slide in. 'Oh well; just an
aside, something that I was
thinking of. Some things are like
that. Another time I was in
Brighton Beach, NY - it's an
old enclave, now very Russian.
Outside of one of those large
blocks of apartment buildings,
I was walking along the street
there at the sidewalk and this
woman, maybe 30-35, was at
the building, begging. She'd
swarm the sidewalk and get
right up into people's faces, for
money. Everyone I saw had
ignored her. I saw it all coming
at me, so I gave her whatever
I could quickly grab from my
pocket - 4 quarters, some dimes
and nickels. She took it, but at
that instant, as well, she went
off. I don't know what caused
the effort, or if it was recurrent
or what; but in half-Russian
and half-English she began to
scream and harangue me, loud
and mean. Freaked me out, so
I just retreated. But I often think
of that moment, still trying to figure
out, 10 years later, what the heck
was up with her. How it's really
impossible to judge people, and
how - maybe too - no one's
worth giving 10 cents to, there
seemingly always being a risk
of something. Certainly, no
gratitude. But then the giver
(me) has to ask himself, 'what
did you expect? Something back?
That's not true giving, is it?' It
all goes into making he world
a real mess of a confabulation
to have to try and deal with.
If I'd bought her a meal, and
brought it over on a tray, she'd
have probably stabbed me
with the knife. I always liked
that old, Latin phrase - used
mostly in legal situations, law
and courts, and all - 'Cui Bono?'
Who stands to gain? To whose
good is this?
-
I was certainly, speaking of
cui bono, never the beneficiary
of much of anything. If the
Lazy Susan ever got to me,
by the time it came around the
the gravy bowl would be flying
off right into my lap anyway
because some fool had spun
it too fast.
-
Phew! some people have
always simply made me
too nervous : those hi-falutin'
types always ready to snap.
One time, at St. George Press,
I had a customer, mentioned
here previous, who had a
really swank, Fifth Avenue,
second-floor hair salon -
windows looking down on
the street, all things very
well-appointed and expensive.
Two guys ran it; swoosh.
I'd known them a while, and
in turn every so often some
strangely high-attired type
from some other NYC or
Fifth Avenue business would
want me to do their work too.
One of them one day, to my
surprise, calls me up, and she
says she's taking a train out,
to St. George Press, to see
me and get started with me
setting up her new business
for printing: Billheads,
letterheads, envelopes,
cards, flyers; all that. I
said, (gulp!) OK, and we
made arrangements for me
to pick her up at Metropark,
(the large, corporate train
depot about 2 miles off).
In the interim, just knowing
what was about to happen
was enough to unsettle me.
I could already tell she was
the haughty type, nose a bit
in the air. Working with the
lowly likes of me was surely
going to be a comedown for
her. I got ready. (I actually
do forget her name now).
-
She arrived : all six-feet of
her, impeccably attired, nice
cloth everything, perfect
threads, expensive leathers,
million dollar hair and eyes.
She'd not even blinked (nor
winced) upon seeing me,
just said I'd come with the
highest of recommendations,
from those hair guys. She
was all perfect in like a
Jackie Kennedy kind of way,
except, (face it) she was
working for a living so she
wasn't THAT grand. Not like
Cos Cobb, CT. independently
wealthy and all. We actually
did hit it off; she made repeated
visits, and I went there too. Her
business name was Ivy Vacance,
the store. It had to be pronounced
perfectly (they're always this
way) 'E V Vakahnce' - no other
way, and not certainly with any
of the gross American tongue,
like ivy vacancy or anything.
I never even knew what it meant,
actually, or what she was trying
to say by it as a store name. No
matter - she was punctilious
about all the usual stuff : paper
selection, ink colors, logo design.
Maddeningly so, but we never
quarreled and she always paid.
Compared to Fifth Avenue
prices, we were probably a
printing steal to her anyway.
She had been the Lord & Taylor
Window Display Manager or
somesuch title, for some years,
along Fifth Ave., down below
the Library. Now she was
going to be uptown, in the
Fifth Ave. 50's - an entire
other clientele - chattering
tourist types, holiday shoppers,
rich dowagers and all that.
Fabrics, clothing lines, boots,
gloves, scarves, etc. She
always kept me on the edge
of my seat - nerves and
anxiety. My little cubby-hole
of an office area was as
marginal as could be,
crummy and not really
'designed.' I had some of
my paintings up around,
on the walls, so that helped
a bit, but the rest was all
printer's crap, job samples,
reference notebooks,
and files. A real junk-heap.
Once or twice I had these
ladies come in, again New
York people, who'd get all
aghast at the state of the
office and waiting area -
they'd be wanting, or
looking for coffee service,
or donuts or something,
and there'd be remarks on
how little money was
obviously spent on office
and amenities. I'd just
sit there, and my boss
guy, the owner, would
come in babbling to
them (he hated these
sorts of customers,
fancy or fussy was NOT
him in any way) about
'that's how we keep our
prices so low for you!'
It was OK, but sometimes
got awkward. Especially
after the times I'd go to
them, at their NYC
location and see how
they did things. It was
like a catered-lunch
feedbag just walking in
these places : bowls of
this or that, tea and
coffee. People sitting
around waiting, on
expensive furniture,
and with glass tables
too. Whew.
-
Outside of church places,
the big NYC church coat
drives and mission places,
the most expensively (that's
funny actually) done-up
place I ever went to was,
along Fifth Ave, the offices
of Air France. I was doing
their printing for a while.
It was all very nice - high
and mighty French girl types,
and the rest. One time, I
drove in with a station
wagon-rear full of boxes of
completed letterheads and
envelopes and all. It was
crowded, I was running late.
Rather than bother, I parked
out on the west side, in the
40's, far-off, where it got
pretty barren. I had a hand
truck, and I loaded it up
with maybe 1/3 of the
order, and figured I'd make
a few trips, etc. The first
trip went fine (this was in
the mid 1980's). I was
coming back with the
empty hand cart, (I forgot
to mention it was a
windy day), and I started
seeing all this crap blowing
around everywhere, along
the gutter, along the street.
I bent down to pick one up
and - holy shit! - it was
my stuff. As it turned out,
someone had popped the
vent window, (I saw it on
the ground), opened the car,
and went at the boxes, probably
thinking it was jewels or some
good stuff left off by a Jersey
jerk thinking it was safe. They'd
gone through everything, just
throwing it all around, probably
in anger when they saw it
was just paper stuff. Anyway,
envelopes and letterheads and
things were everywhere. I was
totally frustrated, but not angry,
just in realizing I'd been beat. I
had made a completely, dumb
mistake, without even thinking
about it. I closed up shop, not
even trying to retrieve things.
I eventually (big traffic) got
back to the office (had re-affixed
the popped-out vent window)
and said everything had gone
fine, they loved it so much they'd
entered, already, a re-order. The
entire mess was done over in a
week or two, and properly UPS
shipped in. I buried the billing
and the paperwork, and no one
ever knew the difference. Us
cheap guys know how to
live and learn.
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