“There’s a million stories in the naked city....”
I went to The Dory, a local bar on Shelter Island, to celebrate my 400th column last week. I had their incredible stuffed clams. Jack Keiffer, the owner, always makes them with clam pieces big enough to actually see. I was knockin’ back Shirley Temples with three cherries like there was no tomorrow - because danger is my middle name....
I love meeting new people. Ed and Dave, were the two new people I met at The Dory that night. They were both very handsome and both too sober to go home with me of their own free will....damn! They are contractors, and as I do with nearly every one I meet, I asked them to tell me a funny story.
Ed related how he had this guy that worked for him once upon a time. I don’t recall the guy’s name so I’ll call him James because I hate the name James, it’s a bad luck name for me. All the James’ I have ever met have been bad luck for me and created havoc in my life. I finally decided a few years ago that God created the name James just for me, as a way to tag and identify men I should avoid. When I meet men named James, I picture them surrounded with orange caution cones, then I get away from them as fast as I can. I don’t know if Ed’s worker was named James, but he might as well have been because he was bad news.
So back to the story. Hard worker, reliable, all was well with James it seemed, until one day. One day James had a minor electrical problem so he called Ed on the chance that Ed had enough electrical knowledge to solve the problem, which it happened he did. James was so thrilled that he made Ed his expert for everything. He called Ed for every problem he had, great and small; electrical, plumbing, computer, women, choosing lotto numbers, everything.
We’ve all known someone like that at least once. Someone who has made us their expert and annoyed us to death with the minutiae of their lives. Killing them is out of the question because they are usually pretty social and someone would actually miss them. It’s impossible to hand them off to anyone else once they’ve latched onto you like a lemora, so that's out. You don’t want to hurt their feelings, but in the end you have to tell them that you have a brain tumor that grows from the sound of their voice, or move out of state in the middle of the night.
Yes, James drove Ed to distraction. But one night was the coup de gras. James had purchased a statue of the Madonna for his mother. The statue was in the yard and James was having trouble getting the Holy Mother to light up, so who did he call? Ed. Ed the all knowing.
“Did you check the wiring, James? Is it frayed anywhere?”
“No, wiring’s good.”
“Are the connections wet? Are the plugs laying in damp grass?”
“Nope. Plugs are above ground. Everything’s dry but she’s still not lighting up.”
“Okay, did you check your fuse box?”
“No.”
“Alright. Go to the fuse box and just to be sure, slowly flip each switch back and forth.”
“Okay, but hang on, I gotta put new batteries in my flashlight.”
“Is the fuse box is in a dark location?”
“No, all the lights are off.”
“All the lights in your house?”
“No, all the lights on the block. I called the power company a little while ago, power should be back on in a few hours.”
I can’t relate the words Ed spoke to James next. But it was a string of profanities that melted the wires. The diatribe ended with Ed telling James never to call him again. Then, right at the end of Ed’s yelling - the Madonna lit up in the yard! Ed told me, “I couldn’t believe it! The guy took it as some kinda sign that I was his mentor for life!”
Never mind the naked city. There’s a million stories right here on the naked island...
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