Yesterday Robin approached Joan and apologized for Wednesday's blow-up. "Sorry about yesterday."
Joan replied with a lukewarm, "Sure. Okay."
To which Robin said, "Okay? That's it? Okay?"
"What do you mean 'that's it?' What the fuck do you want? You were acting like a bitch."
"I'm the bitch? You're the bitch . . ."
Anyway, it basically was a replay of Wednesday.
At this point, I feel Joan is a much to blame as Robin. Robin is mental defective. We all know this. Joan, however, is perfectly reasonable under most circumstances. Unfortunately, she has decided to regress back to her youthful thuggish street-life ways (she was raised in a fairly rough and tumble housing project in Trenton) and is now standing on some street-corner definition of honor. Robin cannot be forgive or ignored because she has dissed Joan.
I hate this "code of the street" crap.
It isn't just Joan; Mike and John, two old school Arthur Avenue Italians do the same thing. You'll ask them to perform a task that is part of their job description and they give you this, "I'll do this one thing for you, because you're a good guy, you're on the level." And you half expect them to go: "I will push this data to the live site; but, one day, I may have a favor to ask of you." It makes you want to say, "It isn't a favor padroné – it is you job, so just do what the company is paying you to do you delusional cube drone."
Ironically, in all these cases, the girl playing at being a gangbanging rapper and the two gents who think they're in the Sopranos, the people pulling this crap regularly claim that they are justified in their actions because they're "real," they're authentic. Unlike, say, a dude who, while performing the tasks of a white collar office worker, behaves like a white collar office worker.
Wonderfully, this bullshit is always aimed at their fellow drones. If some assistant gets canned because bean counters in accounting decided everybody can shoulder just a little more work, without getting a little more pay, you don't see Joan up in the face of Linden, head of accounting, screaming, "Oh no you didn't!" It only comes out over the petty crap.
Joan needs to let it drop.
Last night, May and I went to this nice Italian joint on 5th Ave.
We ordered a nice bottle of sangiovese. The wine list said it would be the '01 vintage, but they actually hit us with the superior '97 vintage, same price. Nice folks.
We put in an order for a cheese sampler for an appetizer. I ordered the polpettone and she got the risotto with quail.
After we finished the appetizer, May was looking at the wine label and said, "This wine is older than our relationship. But it's been here, just waiting for us to come and drink it."
"Speaking of waiting," I said. "I was waiting for the perfect moment to do something clever with this, but I realized that's just stalling, so I'm going to do it right now."
I offered her a ring and asked her to marry me.
She said yes.
So that worked out.
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