With Hesitant Stride - A Blog Novel - Excerpt 12
Finally, done shopping, we continued on our way to lunch. After that we hit the stylist and took in a movie, one of those indie films with lots of character interaction, all staged without any obvious special effects. It even had the obligatory 'small town funeral procession' subplot. We both had a good cry over the heroine's main love interest dying, leaving her to find the strength to carry on.
On the way home we stopped by Pick Up Stix takeout. I love their Szechwan shrimp, while Jimmie prefers their Spicy Sweet and Sour chicken and both of us can devour their house-blend fried rice. By ten o'clock I was well-fed and sleepy; quite happy to lay my head down for a good night's rest.
***
Work, what else could I possibly say. I've always been content with my job. There have been times that were frustrating or tedious, but who hasn't had work days like that? However, the next week dragged. My supervisor wanted report after report breaking down what my and my co-workers' jobs entailed, complete with detailed descriptions of each task as well as the average time spent each day on each task. After I got the reports designed and tabulated, she asked for style changes 'to make them more comprehensible'. When I asked who would see them, she muttered something about only needing them for the purpose of setting up the training schedules. Once delivered, including each specific design change she had requested, she complained they weren't clear and needed to be re-formulated to include different calculations with, naturally, more style changes.
Of course, this entire process took up most of the first three days in the work week. Never mind that, we were all lectured, said lecture delivered in a severe tone, in a three hour 'productivity issues' meeting, for not getting our work done in a timely fashion. Several of the office assistants felt so put out they took personal time off. Which threw more work onto those of us who did not.
I managed to see Richard for all of 15 minutes during a lunch break on Thursday. Three things happened: he expressed sympathy for our suffering; apologized that the supervisor was being so demanding - and I discovered his people didn't need half the information included in the reports; and we set a date for Saturday. We were going to San Francisco for fun at Fisherman's Wharf, dinner and theater. Not just theater; he had bought tickets for "The Mikado". I had never seen "The Mikado" and one of the playhouses chose to stage it as their 'Gilbert and Sullivan' piece. Hooray! I'd seen both "Ruddigore" and "The Pirates of Penzance" years before while I was in college and thoroughly enjoyed both. By the end of the week I needed a break, and the date, more than my paycheck; my sanity was on the line.
Saturday dawned too early; my mind still encompassed the frustration and anger I had stored up through the week. Jimmie sensed this - probably because I snapped at him over the quality of the bagel he had toasted - and suggested we go for a brisk walk. It was exactly what I needed. I power-walked my way through the anger, several times walking circles around him as I vented all my tension through a lovingly detailed description of my supervisor's every fault. I had just enough time to freshen up and pack a small bag before Richard pulled up. Jimmie hustled me out the door and made me promise to tell him all about it when I got back. By then, Richard had placed my bag right next to his in the trunk.
It was clear to me that Richard had been as overworked during the week as I had. The trip down, both of us worked hard to keep from commenting too harshly about the week's mix-ups and conflict. Instead, we concentrated upon discussing our favorite Gilbert and Sullivan scenes. By the time we passed over Golden Gate Bridge and into downtown San Francisco, we had each shed the last vestige of tension.
Even this late in the year, Fisherman's Wharf was crowded. We had to park almost two blocks away. Still, there's an energy in the district, part the huckstering of the street performers, part the enthusiasm of the tourists, part the exuberance of the seals crowding onto the docks below. The salt sting and essence of crab added to the heady perfume, raising my spirit and overflowing my desire to have fun.
"Where should we go first," he asked. "I haven't been here for in at least two years and I don't remember what we can find."
"I thought we would stroll down Embarcadero until we came across something. Or, we could catch a tour of the Bay."
"I've never done one of the boat tours. Are they interesting? We should have time as it's only 9:30."
"Let's head over to their office, it's right over there," I said as I pointed to our right. We watched the street mimes, ate hot, fresh sourdough from Boudin Bakery, stuffed with fresh-caught crab, caught a trip around the Bay on one of the Red and White Fleet tour ships, had our faces painted by one of the artists on Pier 39 and window-shopped at all the kitschey tourist gift shops. I had my picture taken with a giant boa constrictor draped over my shoulders and both of us smashed a penny into a Fisherman's Wharf medallion. By early evening, we were looking forward to dinner.
Richard had taken me at my word and had left it to me to find a place for us to change. As I directed him down Embarcadero to Harrison and then to 3rd, he glanced over at me but kept quiet. My directing him to pull into the driveway at the St. Regis Hotel came as much a surprise to him as I had planned.
"In here?" he asked. "You booked us a room here?"
"Sure. It's convenient to the theater we're attending and the restaurant you selected. As late as we could be out, I decided we should have a place to crash at rather than try to make the drive home. I hope you don't mind."
"Well… no." He seemed flustered. "I hadn't thought quite that far along. I mean… I realize we needed a place to change before this evening… It's just that…"
"I'm not trying to corner you into anything, Richard. We're checking in here because it's convenient and I've always wanted an excuse to stay at the St. Regis." He still had concern and apprehension scrawled upon his features. "Besides, it's my treat. You're paying for our entertainment, after all."
"Okay. Still, I'm not used to my 'date' paying, especially on the first date."
"But this is the second date," I said as we walked to the check-in desk. "Hi, I'm Elaine Hardesty. I have a reservation for tonight."
"Yes, Ma'am. We have you in 804," the desk clerk replied. "Do you plan to stay longer, perhaps for the weekend? If so, we can give you an attractive rate." As I shook my head no, he handed me the key and waved a bellhop over who collected our bags. "Danny here will show you to your room. Please enjoy your stay here at the St. Regis."
While no suite, the room had every possible amenity, including the complimentary chocolate mints on the pillows. But we didn't spend much time there. I grabbed my bag and plunged into the bathroom to change; Richard just long enough to see where I was headed before grabbing his own bag, bringing it to the bed. By the time I had gone to the potty, changed into my dinner clothes and freshened my makeup, he had put on a very dapper black single-breasted suit over an exquisite, shimmery white shirt and navy tie, which held a pattern of delicate maroon fleur-de-lis.
"Wow! You look… stunning. Makes me glad I chose this suit." His words fed my happiness, as did his slow, approving scan. Having a man notice how I look always made me feel appreciated and desired.
"My, you look handsome, too. Care to swap rooms?"
"Certainly, my chin could use a bit of a touch-up," he said, hoisting an electric razor from the bowels of his bag. Soon I heard it's hum emanating from underneath the bathroom door.
He exited just as I picked up my cashmere duster; he lifted it from my hands, opened it for me to insert my arms and settled it upon my shoulders. Turning towards him I caught a glimmer of… anticipation, eagerness? I wasn't sure, but whatever it was appeared to echo the feelings mumbling in me, quivering deep inside my belly. I hadn't felt these in some time, and I wasn't sure I was ready to follow through on them. "Are you ready?" I asked, deflecting my nervous train of thought, placing the choice in his hands.
He coughed. "Um… Yes. Let me just grab our tickets and we'll be on our way. Here they are."
"Where exactly are we headed," I asked as we headed to the lobby.
"I believe you mentioned you'd never seen The Mikado and so I found that the Lamplighters Theater happens to be showing it this year. From what I gathered at their website, they specialize in Gilbert and Sullivan productions." After we got into his car, he punched Lamplighters' address into his GPS system. It popped up a display of the route and we pulled away from the drive. "Hmmm… It's only about six blocks from here. Shouldn't take too long to get there."
"I've heard about these. Aren't you supposed to be able to have it talk you through each and every turn?"
"Yes," he said, punching a button on it's panel. As we approached the next intersection, we heard the locator tell us to turn right. He punched the button again which made a three-dimensional image of the street appear instead of the street map. "But I prefer to watch the screen and follow the flashing prompts. I've got the latest version and it has maps for every major US city and most of the smaller towns, as well. I only get lost when I want to."
Within minutes, he had navigated to the theater. We found a parking spot nearby and went inside.
On the way home we stopped by Pick Up Stix takeout. I love their Szechwan shrimp, while Jimmie prefers their Spicy Sweet and Sour chicken and both of us can devour their house-blend fried rice. By ten o'clock I was well-fed and sleepy; quite happy to lay my head down for a good night's rest.
***
Work, what else could I possibly say. I've always been content with my job. There have been times that were frustrating or tedious, but who hasn't had work days like that? However, the next week dragged. My supervisor wanted report after report breaking down what my and my co-workers' jobs entailed, complete with detailed descriptions of each task as well as the average time spent each day on each task. After I got the reports designed and tabulated, she asked for style changes 'to make them more comprehensible'. When I asked who would see them, she muttered something about only needing them for the purpose of setting up the training schedules. Once delivered, including each specific design change she had requested, she complained they weren't clear and needed to be re-formulated to include different calculations with, naturally, more style changes.
Of course, this entire process took up most of the first three days in the work week. Never mind that, we were all lectured, said lecture delivered in a severe tone, in a three hour 'productivity issues' meeting, for not getting our work done in a timely fashion. Several of the office assistants felt so put out they took personal time off. Which threw more work onto those of us who did not.
I managed to see Richard for all of 15 minutes during a lunch break on Thursday. Three things happened: he expressed sympathy for our suffering; apologized that the supervisor was being so demanding - and I discovered his people didn't need half the information included in the reports; and we set a date for Saturday. We were going to San Francisco for fun at Fisherman's Wharf, dinner and theater. Not just theater; he had bought tickets for "The Mikado". I had never seen "The Mikado" and one of the playhouses chose to stage it as their 'Gilbert and Sullivan' piece. Hooray! I'd seen both "Ruddigore" and "The Pirates of Penzance" years before while I was in college and thoroughly enjoyed both. By the end of the week I needed a break, and the date, more than my paycheck; my sanity was on the line.
Saturday dawned too early; my mind still encompassed the frustration and anger I had stored up through the week. Jimmie sensed this - probably because I snapped at him over the quality of the bagel he had toasted - and suggested we go for a brisk walk. It was exactly what I needed. I power-walked my way through the anger, several times walking circles around him as I vented all my tension through a lovingly detailed description of my supervisor's every fault. I had just enough time to freshen up and pack a small bag before Richard pulled up. Jimmie hustled me out the door and made me promise to tell him all about it when I got back. By then, Richard had placed my bag right next to his in the trunk.
It was clear to me that Richard had been as overworked during the week as I had. The trip down, both of us worked hard to keep from commenting too harshly about the week's mix-ups and conflict. Instead, we concentrated upon discussing our favorite Gilbert and Sullivan scenes. By the time we passed over Golden Gate Bridge and into downtown San Francisco, we had each shed the last vestige of tension.
Even this late in the year, Fisherman's Wharf was crowded. We had to park almost two blocks away. Still, there's an energy in the district, part the huckstering of the street performers, part the enthusiasm of the tourists, part the exuberance of the seals crowding onto the docks below. The salt sting and essence of crab added to the heady perfume, raising my spirit and overflowing my desire to have fun.
"Where should we go first," he asked. "I haven't been here for in at least two years and I don't remember what we can find."
"I thought we would stroll down Embarcadero until we came across something. Or, we could catch a tour of the Bay."
"I've never done one of the boat tours. Are they interesting? We should have time as it's only 9:30."
"Let's head over to their office, it's right over there," I said as I pointed to our right. We watched the street mimes, ate hot, fresh sourdough from Boudin Bakery, stuffed with fresh-caught crab, caught a trip around the Bay on one of the Red and White Fleet tour ships, had our faces painted by one of the artists on Pier 39 and window-shopped at all the kitschey tourist gift shops. I had my picture taken with a giant boa constrictor draped over my shoulders and both of us smashed a penny into a Fisherman's Wharf medallion. By early evening, we were looking forward to dinner.
Richard had taken me at my word and had left it to me to find a place for us to change. As I directed him down Embarcadero to Harrison and then to 3rd, he glanced over at me but kept quiet. My directing him to pull into the driveway at the St. Regis Hotel came as much a surprise to him as I had planned.
"In here?" he asked. "You booked us a room here?"
"Sure. It's convenient to the theater we're attending and the restaurant you selected. As late as we could be out, I decided we should have a place to crash at rather than try to make the drive home. I hope you don't mind."
"Well… no." He seemed flustered. "I hadn't thought quite that far along. I mean… I realize we needed a place to change before this evening… It's just that…"
"I'm not trying to corner you into anything, Richard. We're checking in here because it's convenient and I've always wanted an excuse to stay at the St. Regis." He still had concern and apprehension scrawled upon his features. "Besides, it's my treat. You're paying for our entertainment, after all."
"Okay. Still, I'm not used to my 'date' paying, especially on the first date."
"But this is the second date," I said as we walked to the check-in desk. "Hi, I'm Elaine Hardesty. I have a reservation for tonight."
"Yes, Ma'am. We have you in 804," the desk clerk replied. "Do you plan to stay longer, perhaps for the weekend? If so, we can give you an attractive rate." As I shook my head no, he handed me the key and waved a bellhop over who collected our bags. "Danny here will show you to your room. Please enjoy your stay here at the St. Regis."
While no suite, the room had every possible amenity, including the complimentary chocolate mints on the pillows. But we didn't spend much time there. I grabbed my bag and plunged into the bathroom to change; Richard just long enough to see where I was headed before grabbing his own bag, bringing it to the bed. By the time I had gone to the potty, changed into my dinner clothes and freshened my makeup, he had put on a very dapper black single-breasted suit over an exquisite, shimmery white shirt and navy tie, which held a pattern of delicate maroon fleur-de-lis.
"Wow! You look… stunning. Makes me glad I chose this suit." His words fed my happiness, as did his slow, approving scan. Having a man notice how I look always made me feel appreciated and desired.
"My, you look handsome, too. Care to swap rooms?"
"Certainly, my chin could use a bit of a touch-up," he said, hoisting an electric razor from the bowels of his bag. Soon I heard it's hum emanating from underneath the bathroom door.
He exited just as I picked up my cashmere duster; he lifted it from my hands, opened it for me to insert my arms and settled it upon my shoulders. Turning towards him I caught a glimmer of… anticipation, eagerness? I wasn't sure, but whatever it was appeared to echo the feelings mumbling in me, quivering deep inside my belly. I hadn't felt these in some time, and I wasn't sure I was ready to follow through on them. "Are you ready?" I asked, deflecting my nervous train of thought, placing the choice in his hands.
He coughed. "Um… Yes. Let me just grab our tickets and we'll be on our way. Here they are."
"Where exactly are we headed," I asked as we headed to the lobby.
"I believe you mentioned you'd never seen The Mikado and so I found that the Lamplighters Theater happens to be showing it this year. From what I gathered at their website, they specialize in Gilbert and Sullivan productions." After we got into his car, he punched Lamplighters' address into his GPS system. It popped up a display of the route and we pulled away from the drive. "Hmmm… It's only about six blocks from here. Shouldn't take too long to get there."
"I've heard about these. Aren't you supposed to be able to have it talk you through each and every turn?"
"Yes," he said, punching a button on it's panel. As we approached the next intersection, we heard the locator tell us to turn right. He punched the button again which made a three-dimensional image of the street appear instead of the street map. "But I prefer to watch the screen and follow the flashing prompts. I've got the latest version and it has maps for every major US city and most of the smaller towns, as well. I only get lost when I want to."
Within minutes, he had navigated to the theater. We found a parking spot nearby and went inside.
posted by Derek A Benner | 12:18 PM
2 Comments:
Bravo, you were visited with simply brilliant idea
Yes, I *do* occasionally have one. Not often. But do feel free to check out my other novel snippets.
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