Like anyone else, I feel sorry for myself a lot of the time. Especially when it comes to work. But something happened to me recently that practically guaranteed that I would never feel sorry for myself again . . . at least when it comes to my career.
Here’s the background:
Although I think I enjoy my job a lot more than most, there are times when I slip on my rubber pants and piss and moan about how hard it is to teach seminars; how unbearable all of my writing deadlines are; how my consulting clients just won’t listen to me.
I’ve been known to curl up on my hotel bed in the fetal position for hours, like a big, fat, hairless Truman Capote, wallowing in whiny self pity.
I had one of those bedwetter moments last week. I taught an in-house seminar on Monday in Dallas, then had to fly to New York City to do the Advanced Writing and Editing seminar on Thursday and Friday. That’s three full seminar days, two travel days, and four flights in five days.
On top of that, I had to make three print deadlines for Ragan while I was running around. Which meant working on planes. Which meant working in hotel rooms instead of drinking room-service bottles of wine and watching movies in my down time.
My GOD, I felt like one of those ice guys in the Depression who had to haul 75-pound blocks of ice up seventeen flights of stairs, day in and day out. I was working so hard, in my own warped mind, that I was making Sisyphus look like a Sissy Puss.
So anyway, the seminar in New York ended, and Mark Ragan—the greatest boss anyone could ever hope to have—tells Jim and me that we should stay an extra night, have a great dinner, and then go see Spamalot on Broadway!
(I’m fairly sure that this sort of thing never happened to those ice carrier dudes, so I’m already loathing myself for being such a screaming crybaby).
So we meet in the hotel bar, have a martini, then go outside to get a cab. Only it’s pouring rain outside. I mean, pouring. So of course, this being New York, there are no cabs.
But there was a “bike cab” available. You’ve probably seen these; all of the big cities seem to have them these days. They’re like rickshaws . . . only instead of the “driver” pulling the passenger on foot, he rides a bike.
Well, one of these bike cabs pulled up to where we were waiting, and offered to take us wherever we wanted to go. The problem, of course, was that the “cab” on these bike cabs is built for two people.
Specifically, these cabs are built for two very small people who have already been sexually involved, and as such don’t mind if their intimate parts rub up against each other.
They are not built for two big, straight men. Which means they really aren’t built for three straight men. Which mean they really, really aren’t built for three straight men when two of those men (Jim and I) are, how shall I say this nicely . . . fat.
But we had no choice. We had to get to the theater district, and walking in the pouring rain wasn’t an option, and going back into the gift shop to buy umbrellas wasn’t an option, because real men don’t go back into “gift shops” and buy “umbrellas” . . . so we were stuck.
And when the bike-cab guy—who was very, very skinny, and who spoke with some kind of heavy Eastern European accent—kept insisting that he could take us, we finally gave in.
I piled in first. Then Mark got in behind me. Already, people on the sidewalk were laughing at us. It’s the closest I have ever been to Mark’s private parts, and I’ve been kissing his ass for 13 years.
Then Jim got in. Now people on the street were howling with laughter. Jim had to sit fully on top of Mark, and half on top of me. His mustache was tickling my ear. Mark’s hand was dangerously close to my groin. His other hand, as far as I could tell, was buried between Jim’s ass cheeks.
It was like something out of the Three Stooges, if the Stooges had ever had a three-way homosexual orgy.
And off we went. This poor immigrant man could barely set the cart in motion. He was giving it all he had, but he probably weighed about 150 pounds soaking wet . . . which of course he was. And he was pulling 680 pounds of fat man meat through a driving rainstorm so we could get to the theater on time.
He could barely do it. I still can’t believe he didn’t have a hernia. Maybe he did. I could have sworn that at one point I saw one of his testicles roll out the bottom of his pants and skitter to the curb.
That’s when I had my epiphany.
I remember thinking, as I watched this man labor through the rainstorm at about two miles an hour, that I had probably just earned more in one day, for talking, than he earned in a month for pulling fat-ass tourists around New York City.
That’s when I vowed to never complain about my job again.
Just as I had my epiphany, the unthinkable happened. A shot rang out. Or at least it sounded like a shot. And as soon as I heard it, our rolling gay orgy carriage veered sharply to the right. You can guess what had happened: We had blown a tire. Our driver wrestled the cab over to the curb, got off the bike, and let out a cry of anguish.
Of course, by this time we were almost at Broadway, so we hopped out, Mark paid him, and we ran through the rain to shelter. Actually, we ran through the rain to this incredible Italian restaurant where we had duck risotto and Florentine T-bone steaks as big as my ass.
But before we got to the restaurant, I made the mistake of looking back. And I saw this man, this hard-working immigrant man who probably sends most of his money back home to Latvia or wherever he was from, standing in the street, the rain streaming off him, staring at his broken livelihood.
I was barely able to choke my risotto down.
If I ever complain out here again about how hard I have it, someone remind me of this story . . . not that you’ll have to, I hope, but just in case.
Comments (34)
I suppose we travel, Steve, not only for the work, but also for the surprise. The road is a cruel mistress, but Cervantes has Don Quixote observe that the trail is better than the Inn.
When I was teaching with and for Larry Ragan, a lot - like, 50 times a year - he gave me two valuable pieces of advice. One was: "You've gotta be ready to talk for eight hours on two consecutive days. Stop smoking or stop teachng."
The other was: "Your legs will go first. Jog." We used to - on Lake Shore drive: 6, 10-minute miles at 6:00 a.m., for a couple of years.
And if you do that, you can drink all the martinis you want and eat all the duck risotto in Manhattan and never gain a pound.
I read once that a major league catcher loses five pounds in a nine-inning game. What's your sense of the calorie burn for a two-day workshop?
Patrick
Posted by patrick williams | July 26, 2006 12:00 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 12:00
You had me at skittering testicle
Posted by Laurel | July 26, 2006 1:31 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 13:31
Man, I have to stop reading Corporate Hallucinations at work. I just about peed myself trying not to laugh out loud at this one.
Greg
Posted by Greg Marsh | July 26, 2006 2:21 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 14:21
Greg:
I have a set of rubber pants you can borrow if you want to keep reading at work . . . I don't need mine anymore.
Patrick: I once tried to fool myself into thinking that when I was teaching, I didn't have to work out before or after, and I could eat and drink whatever I wanted to, because the seminar itself was all the exercise I needed.
40 pounds later, I've realized that MAY not be the case.
Laurel: the idea of a skittering testicle is an interesting one, no?
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | July 26, 2006 2:59 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 14:59
Greg -- as one who is about to embark on a lot of business travel, thanks for giving me something to remember.
(huh huh... he said "testicle.")
Posted by Ike | July 26, 2006 3:06 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 15:06
Wow, I wish I had been there to see that! Sorry to hear you got caught in that awful NY rain on Friday. Don't feel bad - I got caught too. Imagine walking around drenched on posh Madison Avenue; you should have seen those wet little poodles!
Those rickshaw guys are great. I hired one for a video I did last fall. They work really hard.
It was great seeing you guys last Thursday. I'm still recovering from whatever it is we were drinking that night!
Kelly
Posted by Kelly Kass | July 26, 2006 3:07 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 15:07
Steve---skittering gonads will always draw a crowd. For some reason I was getting a visual of a straw hat & cane on the little feller, kind of shuffling off stage a la Bugs Bunny "Oh we're the boys of chorus we hope you like our show, we know you're rootin' for us, but now it's time to go-o-o-o-o-o-o!" right into the storm drain. I should never have tried to quit caffeine (a whole month now)--- the hallucinations are a mite unbearable.
Posted by Laurel | July 26, 2006 3:12 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 15:12
Kelly!
What the hell WAS that Greek moonshine they gave us? I can still taste it. And feel it.
But what lamb . . . oh, what lamb. Maybe the best lamb shank I've ever had. What was the name of that restaurant again? And where was it at? That has to be a staple.
And thanks for patiently sitting through my argument with Mark about Catholicism. That must have been incredibly boring for you. And a little awkward, since it was so obvious that I was right about everything, and he was wrong.
Did that make you feel uncomfortable?
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | July 26, 2006 4:36 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 16:36
Steve, the sad thing is that you'll probably get more nasty letters about eating lamb shank than you do about skittering testicles. :-)
Posted by Robert J Holland | July 26, 2006 4:43 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 16:43
Robert:
I should have covered all bases and wrote about skittering lamb testicles.
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | July 26, 2006 4:48 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 16:48
Well, I tend not to suppress laughs, and boy did I get some looks today. "What are you laughing at now?" "You dont want to know."
I had to weigh in here with the fact that Osso Buco (braised lamb or veal shank for you hillbillies) is about the best thing ever.
Try it at Onda in the Mirage the next time you are in Vegas. You won't regret it.
Posted by neruda | July 26, 2006 5:25 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 17:25
Nerudes:
(I feel that we now know each other well enough that I can shorten your name into a nickname):
You are correct, sir. Osso Bucco is among the aristocrats of all entrees. If it's on the menu, I order it.
This Greek place was fantastic. I told the waitress that I didn't even want to look at the menu . . . just bring me the best lamb dish in the house, and she brought this shank out that melted in your mouth. And she chose this terrific bottle of Greek wine to go along with it . . . oh . . . oh . . . I fell in love a little bit with her that night. Just a little bit.
God, I love eating in New York City.
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | July 26, 2006 5:39 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 17:39
Steve,
Perhaps your driver wasn't Latvian, but rather he may have been Denmarkian!
Seriously, though, you bring up a good point about perspective. It's like the conflict in Lebanon. The senseless debate about whether it's World War III or simply a regional conflict. Well, if you ask the poor Lebanese or Israeli peasant who's house was just blown apart by a missile, it's armageddon either way and simple linguistic games are of no use.
We're blessed to lead the lifestyles we do and it's unfortunate that it takes seeing someone in less-fortunate circumstances to realize that!
All the best,
Jay
Posted by Jay Menard | July 26, 2006 5:49 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 17:49
Steve,
The restaurant is called Molyvos (7th Avenue and 55th Street). Hey, since we're giving them a nice advertisement, do you think we'll get a complimentary order of lamb next time? If we do, we'll have to say "shank you very much" - no pun intended of course!
As for the argument, it just added to the entertaining evening. What's a good meal without a debate every once in a while?
P.S. Loved the comment you wrote on my blog!
-Kelly
Posted by Kelly Kass | July 26, 2006 11:33 PM
Posted on July 26, 2006 23:33
Whenever I want to bitch about moronic stake holders, editorial asshats or some other minor inconvenience in my ultra-modern life (What do you mean you forgot to charge my iPod honey? How the f$%K can I listen to that Gnarls Barkley song now while I write that piece on Sarbox? My entire day is ruined I should just go home sick), I like to think of my Grandfather.
Like most folks born at the beginning of the 20th century he came of age during the depression and he had to make ends meet through some very creative measures. Those creative means came in the form of numbers running through Jersey City using my Aunt’s baby carriage, “borrowing” the prototype car from some Elvis Presley movie and charging people .25 a ride, and other stuff my Dad is still afraid to tell me even at the ripened age of 31.
While those were all supplemental measures to send my Aunt to college in 1958, and My Dad seven years later (I’m told that blue collar kids getting a free ride to college was rare back then), his primary gig was as a dock worker in Port Elizabeth, New Jersey. By the time he was my gray haired Grandfather he was a shipment checker. This was how we were the first house on our block to have a VCR in 1978. But before he had that cushy gig, he spent almost thirty years prior toiling in the bowles of shipping vessels scraping...asbestos from the hulls. Needless to say he died of cancer in his mid 60’s.
If the worst I thing I get from this job is carpal tunnel and an occasional headache I think I’m pretty dam lucky.
BTW – How was Spamalot? My wife and I were torn between that and “the Wedding Singer”. We opted for 80’s goodness instead of the knights who say ni.
Posted by Rob Patey | July 27, 2006 6:46 AM
Posted on July 27, 2006 06:46
I think I'm going to name my rock and roll band "The Skittering Testicles."
Posted by t2ed | July 27, 2006 6:51 AM
Posted on July 27, 2006 06:51
Wait a second - you didn't help change the flat caused by the extra weight or offer to reimburse the poor man for the expense? Tsk, tsk. My mom would have you find the guy and pedal HIM and his clients around for a week to make up for it.
Does this plot remind anybody of an Indian movie classic - damn, I can't remember the name of it. Anybody? You might have just doomed a whole family to life on the streets just so you could get to the theater on time!
Posted by Suzanne Salvo | July 27, 2006 7:18 AM
Posted on July 27, 2006 07:18
Suzanne, you horrible woman. I was JUST getting over the guilt. How dare you make me feel guilty from your palacial Italian villa? (Suzanne is one of those great people who chucked it all and went and bought a villa in Italy. I love her. I hate her.)
Rob: First, Spamalot was unbelievably great. I'm only a marginal Monty Python fan, and I've never laughed so hard at a show----and I saw THe Producers with Nathan Lane and Mathew Broderick.
Regarding your Grandpa . . . it's just amazing to me the lives people led in that generation.
On the way home from New York, Mark was reading the NY Time obituaries out loud to me to try and distract me from the fact that I was flying straight sober (it was a morning flight; never again).
And a couple of the obits were from "regular" folks . . . or so you would think. Then you start reading it, and you get to things like, "When he was 18 he joined the Green Berets and had a major role in liberating thousands of POWS from Japanese prison camps, then he came home and became an accountant."
Or "He joined the 181st airborne division and made more than 200 paratrooper jumps behind enemy lines, broke his leg two days before D Day, charged Normandy beach in a wheelchair, took out a machine gun nest with his toothbrush at the battle of the bulge, and when the war was over he returned to his job as a carpenter, and never talked about his experiences in the war."
If I had just been passing BY normandy on my way to a tavern, and happened to GLIMPSE part of the invasion, I would have bragged about it the rest of my life. These people fought in it and never talked about it.
Greatest Generation, indeed.
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | July 27, 2006 8:36 AM
Posted on July 27, 2006 08:36
I also have an easy way to keep from feeling sorry for myself (which I am of course as prone to as Steve) about idiotically minor things - I do volunteer work of recording talking books for the blind. Whenever I am the slightest bit tempted to whine I remind myself: You can SEE doofus! So shut up and get back to enjoying the blessed life of prosperity and obnoxious excess that you are living.
I also responded out loud to the skittering testicles (and let's not even discuss the "man orgy")! Thank GOD I'm working from home today - I couldn't EVER have explained that to a non-communicator type-person.
Posted by Kristen | July 27, 2006 8:40 AM
Posted on July 27, 2006 08:40
Forget "My Name Is Earl." I'm anxiously awaiting "My Name Is Steve." Now THAT will be a list worth redemptive acts.
Posted by Robert J Holland | July 27, 2006 9:04 AM
Posted on July 27, 2006 09:04
Steve wrote: "On the way home from New York, Mark was reading the NY Time obituaries out loud to me to try and distract me from the fact that I was flying straight sober."
Does that even work? Wouldn't reading obits make you think about your mortality, and the possibility of dying a miserable death in a fiery crash? Flying straight sober indeed.
Posted by Eileen | July 27, 2006 10:57 AM
Posted on July 27, 2006 10:57
Steve wrote "Suzanne, you horrible woman. I was JUST getting over the guilt. How dare you make me feel guilty from your palacial Italian villa? (Suzanne is one of those great people who chucked it all and went and bought a villa in Italy. I love her. I hate her.)"
ATTENTION ALL CLIENTS OF SALVO PHOTOGRAPHY
Steve Crescenzo is a lying SOB. I am currently slaving over your images and swear - some day your prints will come.
Palacial? Obviously you have not been reading my blog. And your sleeping spot on the 'villa' floor is now seriously in jeapardy.
Posted by Suzanne Salvo | July 28, 2006 6:24 AM
Posted on July 28, 2006 06:24
"Some day your prints will come?" NICE!
I humbly offer the following:
Mohandas Ghandi walked barefoot everywhere, to the point that his feet became quite thick and hard. He also was quite a spiritual person. Even when he was not on a hunger strike, he did not eat much and became quite thin and frail.
Furthermore, due to his diet, he had very bad breath. Therefore: he came to be known as a super-calloused fragile mystic plagued with halitosis.
Posted by Neruda | July 28, 2006 8:49 AM
Posted on July 28, 2006 08:49
Note to self; look into business possibilities in San Francisco to start the first “Rolling Gay Orgy Carriage Tours” See the beautiful Golden Gate Park in style with Pleasure. In the result of a skittering testicle and additional charge of $100 will be added for each skitter.
I made my wife read this one and the kids came upstairs to se what the hell was wrong with her because she was laughing so hard.
Posted by AN | July 28, 2006 9:12 AM
Posted on July 28, 2006 09:12
Steve,
You had me at "It’s the closest I have ever been to Mark’s private parts, and I’ve been kissing his ass for 13 years." Hysterical.
By the time I got to "rolling gay orgy carriage" I could hardly contain myself. You have got to start doing some standup!
Glad to hear Spamalot was fun--I'm going to see it while in Toronto at the end of August.
Sonya
Posted by Sonya | July 28, 2006 12:35 PM
Posted on July 28, 2006 12:35
Steve,
680 pounds of fat man meat? I thought you said Jim and Mark were in the cab with you.
Loved the story. It made me realize that no matter how bad things are at times, it could be worse. I could be you.
Cindy the offer to help on the books is still out there. Call me.
E!
Posted by eliot | July 29, 2006 5:55 AM
Posted on July 29, 2006 05:55
Steve,
My co-worker and I were the ones laughing at the three of you getting into that bike. We attended the Advanced Writing & Editing workshop in NYC on July 20 & 21. I used my camera phone to snap a picture of the three of you jammed into the bike. Unfortunetly I haven't been able to figure out how to get the picture out! We had both been to the bar and had martini's too so that made this sighting even more funny.
Enjoyed the workshop and am looking forward to attending another one of you seminars. The best part, by far, was the three of you in that bike. At least now I know - the rest of the story!
Thanks,
Carol
Posted by Carol DeLory | August 3, 2006 10:19 AM
Posted on August 3, 2006 10:19
Carol!!
That picture must never see the light of day!!!
Thank for having drinks with us . . . the New York Group was great. Stay in touch!
Steve
Posted by Steve C. | August 3, 2006 2:16 PM
Posted on August 3, 2006 14:16
I will pay cash money to see that photo - email me and I will use my evil computer geek ways to see that this photo is properly distributed.
Bwah-ha-ha-ha - I can see it now...me in handcuffs having just perpetrated the latest email worm "Fat Man Meat" and it's various forms "Skittering Testicles" and "I can't kiss your ass from here"
Posted by Rebecca (token IT Goddess) | August 4, 2006 12:48 PM
Posted on August 4, 2006 12:48
Rebecca and Carol:
I will pay money too!! You have got to figure out a way to distribute that photo!!
Must see the rolling gay orgy carriage in all its glory!!
Sonya
Posted by Sonya | August 4, 2006 8:16 PM
Posted on August 4, 2006 20:16
Knock it off, Sonya . . . or I'll publish that photo I have of you from San Francisco . . . the one of you with the oysters, the body butter, and the midget.
And Rebecca . . . please do not use your IT skill for evil. Enough people use their IT skills for evil . . . stay on the good side.
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | August 5, 2006 6:33 AM
Posted on August 5, 2006 06:33
No slandering, Steve!! I've never been to San Francisco!
I just wanted to see if the actual picture lived up to the hilarious mental image you painted for all of us! Very Trains, Planes, and Automobiles-like..."Where's your other hand?" "Between two soft pillows." "Those aren't pillows!!!"
Posted by Sonya | August 5, 2006 12:16 PM
Posted on August 5, 2006 12:16
funny story? yes, from your perspective. i can't believe you guys didn't pay for the man's tire! shocking.
Posted by Richelle | August 15, 2006 7:01 AM
Posted on August 15, 2006 07:01
Great post! I help manage a pedicab (bike taxi) company in Denver - Mile High Pedicabs. I can't remember ever reading such a descriptive recollection of a pedicab ride. And rarely do I hear stories from the passenger's perspective.
This was way too funny. I read this to my partner and we laughed and laughed because we could relate to your predicament as well as the driver's. He's driven a pedicab for 3 years, while I'm not much of a cyclist so I represent the passenger.
I went ahead and posted this on our pedicab blog so other drivers and operators could enjoy it.
By the way, my partner Greg really appreciated the skittering testicle. And as soon as I started reading about the gunshot, he knew it was a blown tire.
Thanks again for the great story!
Posted by Tez | February 7, 2007 11:51 PM
Posted on February 7, 2007 23:51