Dinner and a Show (Part 3)
I joined Huggy and Crosby for clean-up and the level of concentration remained epic. Some of the bigger items, like the soup kettles used simmer the sauce and cook the pasta were soaking and I dispatched them pretty quickly. The main items, like the stainless steel warmers and trays would remain in use for a while. Meanwhile, Crosby's i-pod was plugged into a port and soft music wafted from the counter beneath the window. Every once in a while he would stop and call attention to one of the artists. I can't remember any of the names.
I do remember gazing down at Crosby's torso as it bent over the sink while he scrubbed something and realizing that his tattoo was clearly visible beneath the white t-shirt he had stripped to. The dark gash was straighter than I had recalled, but, you could still see how finely detailed the draftsmanship was. There were little circular inlets and eddys, presumably all boat landings of some sort, all along the antique map he had chosen to carve into his skin. My childhood aversion to needles kicked in all over again.
When I mentioned it to him, he replied evenly, "That's fun." while continuing his work. ""That's fun" was his pet phrase of the day. Loosely translated, it meant, "It's a little unusual, but, I'm fine with it.".
We had washed and dried a fistful of serving utensils that we quickly stashed in one all-purpose drawer. Later, a matronly woman wandered in, asking if we'd seen her "tongs", easily identifiable by their initials. i wondered out loud whether she was talking about an engraving of some sort and she took it to mean that I was making fun of her. "No, I didn't have them engraved.", she retorted.
After we directed her to the sock drawer, she retrieved them and triumphantly waved them in the air.
Matron: See. These are the initials I was talking about.
I still didn't understand what she was talking about. It's possible she was pointing to something she had taped to the handles. As she was about to leave, she paused in the doorway and seemed to take in the scene for the first time: three guys washing dishes at close to 9:00 on a Sunday evening.
Matron: By the way, may I ask how old you all are?
To me, she was just a meddling woman of my own generation that I was preparing to ignore completely. But, to Crosby and Huggy Bear she was, of course, an older woman whose requests were to be honored to the best of their ability. So, the count off went something like this:
Crosby: 25.
Huggy Bear: 29 28.
Me: I'm 64.
At that point you could hear a collective gasp escape from the woman's general direction which included, by now, a few Intersection regulars.
One of the Women: You're joking, right?
[PAUSE]
When I said nothing in return, there followed a chorus of "YOU'RE SERIOUS."
Crosby and Huggy Bear stood by, slightly abashedly themselves, as if a curtain had suddenly been raised on something they had only been dimly aware of until then: that they had been caught secretly harboring an old guy. immediately took up the challenge by filling the ladies in on what they knew about my c.v.:
Crosby: He's a retired attorney.
The ladies still looked skeptical and looked to me for confirmation. Now, of course, they were confronted by multiple contradictions: I'm black, I'm supposedly old enough to be retired and now I'm claiming to be an attorney.
Matron: What kind of attorney were you?
I explained I was a tax collector for the City of New York. Mostly environmental infractions like trash and building code violations - but, essentially they're collected as if they were taxes. What ensued was a discussion of tax collectors in The Bible.
Matron: Oh, wasn't Saul a tax collector? You know. Until he changed his name on the Road to Damascus?
Crosby: Are you talking about Saul?
Matron: Wasn't he a tax collector?
Crosby: No. Remember? Saul was a Phillistine. He wouldn't have soiled his hands with anything like collecting taxes. I think you're talking about Zaccharius. Zaccharius was a tax collector.
I knew better than to dispute Crosby on the Bible. He had to study all of that in order to be confirmed. I had little to contribute to the debate other than an aesthetic point of information:
Me: I like the name Zaccharius.
The kerfluffle died down as soon as the women departed. Hyacinth poked her head in briefly to inspect whether the men were actually going to see things through to the last ladle. When no one budged, she announced that since there was nothing for her to do, she was leaving for the night.
The center island was wiped clean. The sink and surroundings were properly soaped up and wiped off. I had one more duty to perform and that was to gather up all the unopened bags of tortilla chips the lads had bought from Costco. When I got to the closet space set aside for the hospitality items, I ran into Hyacinth one more time: She supervised while I arranged the tortilla chips according to her specifications.
I do remember gazing down at Crosby's torso as it bent over the sink while he scrubbed something and realizing that his tattoo was clearly visible beneath the white t-shirt he had stripped to. The dark gash was straighter than I had recalled, but, you could still see how finely detailed the draftsmanship was. There were little circular inlets and eddys, presumably all boat landings of some sort, all along the antique map he had chosen to carve into his skin. My childhood aversion to needles kicked in all over again.
When I mentioned it to him, he replied evenly, "That's fun." while continuing his work. ""That's fun" was his pet phrase of the day. Loosely translated, it meant, "It's a little unusual, but, I'm fine with it.".
We had washed and dried a fistful of serving utensils that we quickly stashed in one all-purpose drawer. Later, a matronly woman wandered in, asking if we'd seen her "tongs", easily identifiable by their initials. i wondered out loud whether she was talking about an engraving of some sort and she took it to mean that I was making fun of her. "No, I didn't have them engraved.", she retorted.
After we directed her to the sock drawer, she retrieved them and triumphantly waved them in the air.
Matron: See. These are the initials I was talking about.
I still didn't understand what she was talking about. It's possible she was pointing to something she had taped to the handles. As she was about to leave, she paused in the doorway and seemed to take in the scene for the first time: three guys washing dishes at close to 9:00 on a Sunday evening.
Matron: By the way, may I ask how old you all are?
To me, she was just a meddling woman of my own generation that I was preparing to ignore completely. But, to Crosby and Huggy Bear she was, of course, an older woman whose requests were to be honored to the best of their ability. So, the count off went something like this:
Crosby: 25.
Huggy Bear: 29 28.
Me: I'm 64.
At that point you could hear a collective gasp escape from the woman's general direction which included, by now, a few Intersection regulars.
One of the Women: You're joking, right?
[PAUSE]
When I said nothing in return, there followed a chorus of "YOU'RE SERIOUS."
Crosby and Huggy Bear stood by, slightly abashedly themselves, as if a curtain had suddenly been raised on something they had only been dimly aware of until then: that they had been caught secretly harboring an old guy. immediately took up the challenge by filling the ladies in on what they knew about my c.v.:
Crosby: He's a retired attorney.
The ladies still looked skeptical and looked to me for confirmation. Now, of course, they were confronted by multiple contradictions: I'm black, I'm supposedly old enough to be retired and now I'm claiming to be an attorney.
Matron: What kind of attorney were you?
I explained I was a tax collector for the City of New York. Mostly environmental infractions like trash and building code violations - but, essentially they're collected as if they were taxes. What ensued was a discussion of tax collectors in The Bible.
Matron: Oh, wasn't Saul a tax collector? You know. Until he changed his name on the Road to Damascus?
Crosby: Are you talking about Saul?
Matron: Wasn't he a tax collector?
Crosby: No. Remember? Saul was a Phillistine. He wouldn't have soiled his hands with anything like collecting taxes. I think you're talking about Zaccharius. Zaccharius was a tax collector.
I knew better than to dispute Crosby on the Bible. He had to study all of that in order to be confirmed. I had little to contribute to the debate other than an aesthetic point of information:
Me: I like the name Zaccharius.
The kerfluffle died down as soon as the women departed. Hyacinth poked her head in briefly to inspect whether the men were actually going to see things through to the last ladle. When no one budged, she announced that since there was nothing for her to do, she was leaving for the night.
The center island was wiped clean. The sink and surroundings were properly soaped up and wiped off. I had one more duty to perform and that was to gather up all the unopened bags of tortilla chips the lads had bought from Costco. When I got to the closet space set aside for the hospitality items, I ran into Hyacinth one more time: She supervised while I arranged the tortilla chips according to her specifications.