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Aug 11, 2003 "Remember me? From the newspaper?" I say to a bunch of hot guys by the hot brick oven of a very busy, casual Italian restaurant. It smells delicious in here. "I remember, says the tallest of them. "You interviewed the mayor here. So what are you writing now?" "A profile. A long one. But the Compassion-less editor said do it fast or not to come back at all. Someone from this immediate area. Any ideas? Has to be someone interesting." They all look at each other for a minute. "But I also came here to eat dinner because I haven't eaten yet today." Laughing, I say,"Everytime I come here I order the grilled chicken salad.......but every single time, something happens and I have not once ever taken a bite...but tonight I'm starved...and it looks sooo good..." I am reviewing notes at the counter, when I suddenly notice a very handsome, dark, muscular guy in a blue T-shirt, standing directly in front of me. He says in a very, very, very strong New York accent, completely straight-faced, "I find myself to be very interesting." He even points to himself for emphasis. It is very hard not to laugh. But I realize it's a bold thing to say...and who knows, maybe he is serious, or maybe he is joking..and I don't want him to be embarrassed so I say...... "Yeah? Okay. Tell me." "Tell you what?" he says. "Why you're interesting." "I'm interesting because I find myself to be very intelligent." "Okay. What else?" "I tour Canada every year." "How long do you tour Canada?" "One week." "Oh. Okay. What do you do during your one week?" "Snowboard." "What else?" "I go to community college here in the city." "What do you study?" "Well everyone tells me what with my intelligence I should be a lawyer. But I dunno because who wants to study that?" He smiles. The guys in the back laugh. They all start calling out that they are interesting. My grilled chicken, which looks great, is ready now. So I excuse myself. I go to the table area, where it is busy and loud from talking and music. But the owner, a graying,fit man, appears at my table in a white outfit, with his hands on his hips. "They told me you're from the newspaper. I'm an expert in government," and he proceeds in a friendly manner to tell me about the mayor while the ceiling drips rain water onto my chicken. The owner says, "Excuse me...you might want to move that..." indicating my plate..."You know, the ceiling drip and all.." He leans over and says, "May I?" as he is scooting my plate out of the path of the drip, as if saving it for when I decide to eat the rain- water-chicken.. when he is done speaking. Behind a partition, I can hear a waiter joking in a purposely too loud voice.."You know that reporter was here today..If I had known that.." I wonder how he is going to finish that sentence, but I can't hear the rest because a tall, strong black man in a blue sweat suit and a gray duck hat has come over and kind of taps the owner, as if he's intending to take a turn dancing with me. Smiling, he says to me, "Is it okay if I live out of town? I'm interesting." "Thanks, but no, can't do out of town, " I say politely, but laughing. "Excuse, me...I whittle," calls out an extremely skinny male customer with glasses sitting two tables away from me. A timid guy with a burst of boldness and a good attitude... "Oh, thanks...that's good... where are you from?" "Ohio." "Can't! Sorry.Thanks though! He smiles and winks at me. I butter the bread, which the ceiling water has missed... and I have a piece of buttered bread poised at my open mouth.. when an engaging little Hispanic boy pops up in front of me. "Excuse me. I am interesting," he says to me laughing hard with a huge wad of gum in his cheek. "I bet you are. I can interview you. Sure. What can you do?" He thinks. Then he says, "I can eat everything on my plate. Can you write about that?" "Sure." "Great!" he says. "Start writing!" and he grabs my basket of bread and runs into the kitchen with it. And a balding waiter with a bow tie, comes immediately out of the kitchen laughing, saying out loud,"Great! The reporter is still here! I thought you had left!"Hey, eat your chicken, young lady..." he moves the plate up close to me. "Um. No thanks. It's um..um...it's marinating in the house secret sauce." Smiling at me he says, "I'd like to take you out to dinner," And laughing he says, "And you can interview me over dinner. I am very interesting, you know." I leave the restaurant hungry, but laughing. No interview. No food. But it was fun. From the open restaurant door twenty yards behind me, I hear a man calling out...."But I'm a very, very interesting waiter!..." .... Down the street,I randomly peek inside a place where I can hear music tumbling out the door. Inside is a great, great, loud band, playing to four people...yet playing all out..and the band members are being very engaging...as if it is a huge crowd. Two of the audience members look at me, because the door entrance, I now realize, is right beside the stage. I quickly shut the door. A man comes out after me though. A guy my age with blue eyes and a compassionate look. "Did you need something? Want to come in?" "You are? Um...The owner...or?" He tells me he promotes the band and he laughs at the small showing. Says they are nice people inside that they'd talked together a bit...that they were older people...and were having a good time so the band performed anyway. We sit together for a while on the front steps, talking. I tell him of my despair over facing the Compassion-less editor and how my deadline for a completed story is just a couple of hours away... and how I am without an interesting person and he smiles. He doesn't say anything about himself, though he has already intrigued me by his compassion and by his look. "We may only have four people in here, but they are; a five-time Emmy award-winner, an amazing holocaust survivor, a man who played with Bob Hope and traveled with him to entertain abroad..." Then he adds,..."And one of the most amazing people you will ever meet." He stands up and says,"I want you to come inside and see who it is." I walk inside with him..and there she is...standing up..... I really want to tell you who she is, but I need to go. Tell ya tomorrow. ------------ About the author: Chrissa Falcon is a newspaper reporter in the New York Metropolitan Area. Chrissa may be reached at ChrisFalconColumn@hotmail.com Comment on this column in the forum. Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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