Originally this blog, appropriately titled "Life in a Nuthouse", was to primarily be about the comings and goings of people and activities in The Post Bar. You can get a little background by scrolling through some of my original posts. Of course, over the past thirteen months of writing, just like everything in life, things have changed. What started out as life behind bar drifted down other avenues, from my search for a new job to friendships coming and going to living with a devil-cat. But, like a deep rooted, lifelong friendship, life at the post always crept back into an entry or two every month or so, from talking about mice and the icy temperatures in the bar to photo essays.
My physical time spent at the Post started to dwindle several months ago. I just became bored with the drab walls and dangling electrical cords trying to snake their way into the neck of my beer bottle. Unfortunately, however, spending less time in a place where so many of your friends gather you begin to see how important a dive like that is as a sort of common thread that tie the friendships together, at least from my perspective.
Case in point: I went to the Post this past Saturday to visit with the regs and catch up on things only to discover the clientele consisted of a stranger, myself and a few of the rodents scurrying under the non-working baseboard heaters. The bartender informed me that Stephen, the most popular bartender, was fired the week before for a seriously dumb-ass reason with no other justification other than the manager's jealousy of his own downspiraling popularity with the patrons. This firing led to a massive boycott against the establishment with most of the regulars. There are several regulars who read my blog and, to be honest, I kinda felt slighted not to have been informed of such major news and the way everyone banded together behind a fired bartender, it made me feel like I was left under the heading of "out of sight, out of mind". I know that's not entirely true, however, since it's my understanding that several regs have oftentimes wondered where I've been and how I was doing when I showed up at the bar after a several week absence. According to one: "We didn't even know if you were alive or dead!" That's kind of a hurtful thing to hear, considering that nearly everyone has my phone number, yet no one called. I just put on a brave face and fake smile and say: "As you can see, I'm here and I'm fine.", but in the back of my head I'm thinking: geez, I can slip in the tub or fall down the stairs and no one will know until the smell of a rotting corpse drifts through the open window.
Sorry. As I said to my friends last night, my writings tend to lead more towards babbling.
Anyway, back to our regularly scheduled posting...
So, the bartender's fired, the group is protesting and other neighborhood bars are suddenly finding themselves busy with new patrons. When I ran into the group last night, they immediately pulled me aside and said that this would be a great thing for my blog. There will probably be a few more entries after I receive pictures from the upcoming make-shift memorial that is planned, but first, thanks to Ivan, here is the infamous "letter" to the owner. I've been given permission to post this letter and I'm quite honored to be one of the first people to read it. I've also taken the liberty of changing the names to protect the innocent (or stupid), but it won't be hard to figure out who's who.
A great deal of commotion surrounds the termination of Steven from The Post, and Timmy is relieved to have dismissed him. However, you have been presented with only one side of the story. As a businessman, you are entitled to hear the entire truth before you can make an informed decision about his future status. First and foremost, it should be noted that the only reason Steven opened the bar late on Sunday, July 23rd (which precipitated this whole situation) is because the bartenders from the previous night were remiss in their responsibilities and did not clean up. The bar opened approximately 10 minutes later than usual so that Steven was not forced to make drinks while still scrubbing toilets.
Granted, Steven may have ranted to Timmy in an inappropriate manner about the conditions of The Post. His concerns, however, are motivated by a genuine desire to accommodate his clientele. For example, the bar has not been repaired from the flood and fire damage it suffered years ago, there is no heat in the bar during the winter months, and mice run rampant on the floor. These are all legitimate grievances that have yet to be addressed.
What you probably don’t know, are all of the positive contributions Steven has made to the bar.
For example:
* Sunday Lunch and a Movie — on Sundays, Steven regularly prepares light fare to accompany a current movie. (These expenses come solely out of his own pocket, and draw a substantial crowd.)
* Potluck Luncheons — in order to foster a sense of camaraderie among the patrons, Steven will e-mail or telephone patrons and encourage their participation in these special events which also bolster sales tremendously.
* Football Sunday — like Sunday Lunch and a Movie, Steven prepares food (again, at his own expense) offers door prizes, and fosters a sense of community among patrons during football season. This special consideration makes everyone forget the lack of heat during the winter months.
* Birthdays — Steven keep a running tab of all patron birthdays and provides cake and food to celebrate each patron birthday throughout the year (at his own expense).
* Holidays — Steven will also decorate the bar in an appropriate manner for each holiday season (yet again, at his own expense).
Granted, Steven does have his shortcomings. But then again so does Timmy of which you are probably not aware:
* Timmy does not show up on time consistently
* He disappears from the bar for periods of up to 30 minutes alerting clientele, “Someone watch the bar for me; I’ll be right back.”
* He is discourteous to anyone he does not consider a “regular.”
* He has been derelict in his responsibilities (as mentioned above), and does not leave a clean bar for the morning shift
Does Steven have his faults? Absolutely. However, the positive contributions he makes to The Post, far outweigh any minor flaws in his ability to draw a crowd and serve his clientele. To lose Steven would be a grave mistake as his client base is responsible for a substantial amount of income which the bar generates. Furthermore, it seems foolish that a petty disagreement on Timmy’s part is cause for his termination.
My recommendation would be to make Steven a daytime manager who reports directly to you and retain Timmy as an evening manager. More importantly, numbers speak for themselves and it will become apparent in the weeks ahead that the bar will lose more than it will gain by Steven's termination — both in revenue, and patronage.
As I stated above....more to come as I receive.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Monday, July 24, 2006
The "Flood" Gates of Hell ...
It came without warning. It came with great ferocity and strength. It came and came and came...
No, I'm not talking about the hottest stud in the latest porn movie. I'm talking W-A-T-E-R!!!
I sell high-end furniture in an 18,000 square foot facility covering two floors in Philadelphia. It's a well respected establishment with a long history of contemporary furniture, rugs and accessories. We've been written up in magazines, newspapers and are even credited in many shows on HGTV, as well as furnishing the "Real World Philadelphia" house. It's a great old building with high ceilings and an expansive view from the front door, interrupted only by the duel rows of massive columns that hold up the six floors of loft condominiums upstairs. Much of the character of the interior (as is the case in many loft apartments in the neighborhood) is the old industrial look; exposed pipes snaking the cieling, worn down hardwood floors and other such amenities and flaws that remind you of an industrial age gone by. The original hardwood floors on the main level, for example, are forever stained with grease and grime from the original occupants. For decades the building was some sort of factory and signs can still be found, including a ten foot high rusted piece of machinery in the back storeroom. And, although you would never notice by looking down the length of the 300 foot room (but very noticeable when you're up on a ladder changing the overhead spots) the floor actually slopes and is about a foot higher in the rear of the room than the front door. I've learned that, whatever was made in that building 70, 80, 90 years ago, the only way to clean the floors was to start from the back and hose it down, allowing all the water to wash out into the street. But, as with many great old buildings, there are great old problems that come along with it.
The lower level (or basement) is about 7,000 square feet and, although the ceilings are much lower and there's no natural light, we've managed to make the best of it with some brightly colored walls, textured fabrics and vibrant area rugs to break the monotony of a drab painted cement floor. As with the upstairs, little has been done to comprimise the old industrial feel the building embraced. When the building was vacated and gutted, many of the pipes and electrical fixtures were left behind and, although decades since used, were always a reminder of what once was. Some pipes, mostly unused drain pipes from the upper floors were removed and the holes in the floor capped for all eternity.
Or so we thought...
The past days have been hotter 'n hell, with temperatures in the upper nineties and heat indexes nearing 110 degrees. It was only a matter of time before a much welcomed cold front would push its way through the city, bringing with it more bearable temperatures. But, as with any summer cold front moving in on an area soaked with humidity and firey temperatures, it could be quite unpredictable. This past Saturday was no exception to the rule. What was strange was how quickly everything changed.
It was a fairly busy Saturday and we were pushing towards the end of the afternoon. Each of the three salespeople were all with potential customers throughout the two levels. I was working on what was promising to be a very lucrative sale and showing a couple several options on leather recliners, dining furniture and rugs for a new addition they had just completed on their house. One co-worker was in the lower level showing fabric samples to a couple interested in livingroom furniture and the 2nd co-worker was showing off other items to someone who had just walked into the store.
The sales desk is about twenty or so feet away from the wall of glass that overlooks the street. I was looking up some prices on the computer and suddenly something felt out of place. I looked towards the bank of windows and then looked back at my client: "Did it just suddenly get dark?"
"They said we're supposed to get some bad storms today." The wife replied.
A few minutes later, I took the couple downstairs. As we reached the top of the stairs, a sudden blinding flash of lightening filled the brightly lit showroom, followed almost immediately by a clap of thunder so loud that, for a brief second, I thought all six floors of the condos above us were crashing down.
"I guess this is gonna be a bad one." I chuckled, as we made our way down the steps to the lower level.
A few minutes later, I was back upstairs looking up information on something else that peeked my client's interest. I heard the chime of the front door and looked up to see a young couple dashing inside. On the opposite side of the glass I could see rain like I haven't witnessed since Hurricane Floyd several years ago. Unstoppable, the rain poured down onto the city as if the dark sky was suddenly torn open, unleashing every drop of moisture it once tried to hold. Within seconds, I can see rushing water spilling up over the curb; whitecaps breaking against the tires of parked cars like waves on a rocky beach. A soft steady roar could be heard through the glass as the rain increased even more in intensity. I chuckled nervously, thinking of my basement at home and hoping that this was a fast moving storm.
A few minutes later (seriously, no more than five or six minutes since the rains started) my phone at the sales desk beeps and it's my co-worker down on the lower level: "Uhhh, Chris. We have a leak down here."
Thinking it's just a some condensation dripping from an air conditioning pipe, I casually ask: "Is it bad?"
"It's...uhh...it's coming up out of the floor."
"Oh shit!" I slam the phone down and head to the stairs. As soon as I reached the landing where the stairs turned, I stopped and looked around the floor. It didn't seem so bad. I did notice a trickle of water off to my left, travelling towards one of the drains in the center of the room. My co-worker was looking up at me and then back down towards the floor behind a chair. That was when I heard the strange bubbling sound. I rushed down the remaining steps and headed over towards the corner where he stood.
In the ground, where one of the capped holes from an old drain pipe was located, water was literally pumping up from under the building. As I watched in astonishment, the water rose around my feet, sweeping over the area rug and heading towards the center of the room.
"What the hell am I supposed to do?" I said to no one in particular. I've never witnessed water entering the building like this before, especially from a hole that was a good ten feet below street level and another seventy feet from the street!
"Okay." I finally said. And that was it. I thought a solution would come to me, but that was the only word out of my mouth. Mopping wouldn't work. Already there was about a half inch of water on the floor and it was pumping more violently, spewing up rust and debris that hadn't seen the light of day in probably twenty years. So far, only about 30 seconds had passed since I was on the step staring down.
I rushed off towards the back storeroom where the wet-vac was housed. I threw open the door...and stopped. The now familiar gurlgling/pumping of forced water echoed in the darkened room and, in what little light I had to see with from the doorway, it was evident that the drain in the center of the room was also pumping up water...and GET THIS: water was also pumping up out of the wash tub in the back corner!! I can see water spilling down over the lip of the fiberglass rim and splashing down onto the floor. I closed the door just as my co-worker came up behind me. I said the only thing I fealt was appropriate: "You don't want to go in there..."
I then heard the hissing. The sound scared the crap out of me. At first, I thought it could only be one thing: gas leak, but then, as I hunted down the source of the sound, a familiar gurgling accompanied the hiss. Across the other end of the room from where the water was bubbling up out of the ground like a newly found oil well (and has not let up yet), I discovered another capped drain. The metal cap was still tightly mounted over the hole, but water was trying to force itself up around the tiny crack around the edge of the cap. A small, managable pool of water formed around the cap and I moved away, thinking nothing much of it. I ran back upstairs to call my boss. Through a not-so-perfect cell connection, I desperately tried to explain the situation. He suggested using the wet-vacs in the back storage room until he arrived, but he couldn't understand the scope of the situation. Hell, I couldn't even understand the scope of the situation and I was witnessing it first hand.
Outside, the rain was still pouring. Inside, the water was still pumping. All in all, not fifteen minutes had passed since the rain started. I figured I should just call 9-1-1, but then I noticed a couple heading back downstairs. The couple I had been working with were up on the main level discussing dining chairs. I couldn't believe that things were continuing normally while I frantically ran from level to level like Chicken Little around the farmyard. I headed back downstairs and noticed yet another couple sitting on a sofa, mere feet away from a newly formed stream coursing through the center of the basement, looking through fabrics. I suggested to the other two salespeople that we should get these people upstairs.
From my vantage point, the front end of the basement looked dry, but I decided to check it out anyway. Boy, was I wrong. Another pipe, this one coming in from the outside, somewhere under the sidewalk in the front of the building, was orinally capped with cement. The cement chunk, about an inch in diameter and three inches in length, was lying on the floor about two feet away from the pipe, which was now spewing water out onto the floor. All I could do at this time was laugh.
The second drain (the one that was still capped with only a little bit of water bubbling around the edge of the metal disk) suddenly exploded with enough force to send dirt and rust fragments halfway up the side of a hutch standing next to it. Water quickly flooded that portion of the room.
About 30 minutes after the rains began, they ended just as quickly, along with the pumping of the water from the drains. It amazed me that, after only five minutes or less of a torrential downpour, the storm drains outside had gotten so completely filled with water that they started to back up into the buildings. After all was said and done, there was about an inch of water covering about 30-40% of the floor. There was nothing left for us to do except go home and wait for the water to drain again.
The next morning, I arrived about an hour early. My boss was already there with a shop-vac trying to salvage the rugs. Where there was cement exposed, only a few puddles remained, leaving behind small piles of rust chips and other dirt (including a crushed tin can that was so old, the label had worn away).
Worse things could've happened. Worse things have happened. But all in all, the only loss from the storm were about a dozen rugs and maybe an ottoman or two. We were open for business and, outside of the lingering smell left over from the carpets that had been hauled away, things were pretty much back to normal; a fairly busy Sunday...
No, I'm not talking about the hottest stud in the latest porn movie. I'm talking W-A-T-E-R!!!
I sell high-end furniture in an 18,000 square foot facility covering two floors in Philadelphia. It's a well respected establishment with a long history of contemporary furniture, rugs and accessories. We've been written up in magazines, newspapers and are even credited in many shows on HGTV, as well as furnishing the "Real World Philadelphia" house. It's a great old building with high ceilings and an expansive view from the front door, interrupted only by the duel rows of massive columns that hold up the six floors of loft condominiums upstairs. Much of the character of the interior (as is the case in many loft apartments in the neighborhood) is the old industrial look; exposed pipes snaking the cieling, worn down hardwood floors and other such amenities and flaws that remind you of an industrial age gone by. The original hardwood floors on the main level, for example, are forever stained with grease and grime from the original occupants. For decades the building was some sort of factory and signs can still be found, including a ten foot high rusted piece of machinery in the back storeroom. And, although you would never notice by looking down the length of the 300 foot room (but very noticeable when you're up on a ladder changing the overhead spots) the floor actually slopes and is about a foot higher in the rear of the room than the front door. I've learned that, whatever was made in that building 70, 80, 90 years ago, the only way to clean the floors was to start from the back and hose it down, allowing all the water to wash out into the street. But, as with many great old buildings, there are great old problems that come along with it.
The lower level (or basement) is about 7,000 square feet and, although the ceilings are much lower and there's no natural light, we've managed to make the best of it with some brightly colored walls, textured fabrics and vibrant area rugs to break the monotony of a drab painted cement floor. As with the upstairs, little has been done to comprimise the old industrial feel the building embraced. When the building was vacated and gutted, many of the pipes and electrical fixtures were left behind and, although decades since used, were always a reminder of what once was. Some pipes, mostly unused drain pipes from the upper floors were removed and the holes in the floor capped for all eternity.
Or so we thought...
The past days have been hotter 'n hell, with temperatures in the upper nineties and heat indexes nearing 110 degrees. It was only a matter of time before a much welcomed cold front would push its way through the city, bringing with it more bearable temperatures. But, as with any summer cold front moving in on an area soaked with humidity and firey temperatures, it could be quite unpredictable. This past Saturday was no exception to the rule. What was strange was how quickly everything changed.
It was a fairly busy Saturday and we were pushing towards the end of the afternoon. Each of the three salespeople were all with potential customers throughout the two levels. I was working on what was promising to be a very lucrative sale and showing a couple several options on leather recliners, dining furniture and rugs for a new addition they had just completed on their house. One co-worker was in the lower level showing fabric samples to a couple interested in livingroom furniture and the 2nd co-worker was showing off other items to someone who had just walked into the store.
The sales desk is about twenty or so feet away from the wall of glass that overlooks the street. I was looking up some prices on the computer and suddenly something felt out of place. I looked towards the bank of windows and then looked back at my client: "Did it just suddenly get dark?"
"They said we're supposed to get some bad storms today." The wife replied.
A few minutes later, I took the couple downstairs. As we reached the top of the stairs, a sudden blinding flash of lightening filled the brightly lit showroom, followed almost immediately by a clap of thunder so loud that, for a brief second, I thought all six floors of the condos above us were crashing down.
"I guess this is gonna be a bad one." I chuckled, as we made our way down the steps to the lower level.
A few minutes later, I was back upstairs looking up information on something else that peeked my client's interest. I heard the chime of the front door and looked up to see a young couple dashing inside. On the opposite side of the glass I could see rain like I haven't witnessed since Hurricane Floyd several years ago. Unstoppable, the rain poured down onto the city as if the dark sky was suddenly torn open, unleashing every drop of moisture it once tried to hold. Within seconds, I can see rushing water spilling up over the curb; whitecaps breaking against the tires of parked cars like waves on a rocky beach. A soft steady roar could be heard through the glass as the rain increased even more in intensity. I chuckled nervously, thinking of my basement at home and hoping that this was a fast moving storm.
A few minutes later (seriously, no more than five or six minutes since the rains started) my phone at the sales desk beeps and it's my co-worker down on the lower level: "Uhhh, Chris. We have a leak down here."
Thinking it's just a some condensation dripping from an air conditioning pipe, I casually ask: "Is it bad?"
"It's...uhh...it's coming up out of the floor."
"Oh shit!" I slam the phone down and head to the stairs. As soon as I reached the landing where the stairs turned, I stopped and looked around the floor. It didn't seem so bad. I did notice a trickle of water off to my left, travelling towards one of the drains in the center of the room. My co-worker was looking up at me and then back down towards the floor behind a chair. That was when I heard the strange bubbling sound. I rushed down the remaining steps and headed over towards the corner where he stood.
In the ground, where one of the capped holes from an old drain pipe was located, water was literally pumping up from under the building. As I watched in astonishment, the water rose around my feet, sweeping over the area rug and heading towards the center of the room.
"What the hell am I supposed to do?" I said to no one in particular. I've never witnessed water entering the building like this before, especially from a hole that was a good ten feet below street level and another seventy feet from the street!
"Okay." I finally said. And that was it. I thought a solution would come to me, but that was the only word out of my mouth. Mopping wouldn't work. Already there was about a half inch of water on the floor and it was pumping more violently, spewing up rust and debris that hadn't seen the light of day in probably twenty years. So far, only about 30 seconds had passed since I was on the step staring down.
I rushed off towards the back storeroom where the wet-vac was housed. I threw open the door...and stopped. The now familiar gurlgling/pumping of forced water echoed in the darkened room and, in what little light I had to see with from the doorway, it was evident that the drain in the center of the room was also pumping up water...and GET THIS: water was also pumping up out of the wash tub in the back corner!! I can see water spilling down over the lip of the fiberglass rim and splashing down onto the floor. I closed the door just as my co-worker came up behind me. I said the only thing I fealt was appropriate: "You don't want to go in there..."
I then heard the hissing. The sound scared the crap out of me. At first, I thought it could only be one thing: gas leak, but then, as I hunted down the source of the sound, a familiar gurgling accompanied the hiss. Across the other end of the room from where the water was bubbling up out of the ground like a newly found oil well (and has not let up yet), I discovered another capped drain. The metal cap was still tightly mounted over the hole, but water was trying to force itself up around the tiny crack around the edge of the cap. A small, managable pool of water formed around the cap and I moved away, thinking nothing much of it. I ran back upstairs to call my boss. Through a not-so-perfect cell connection, I desperately tried to explain the situation. He suggested using the wet-vacs in the back storage room until he arrived, but he couldn't understand the scope of the situation. Hell, I couldn't even understand the scope of the situation and I was witnessing it first hand.
Outside, the rain was still pouring. Inside, the water was still pumping. All in all, not fifteen minutes had passed since the rain started. I figured I should just call 9-1-1, but then I noticed a couple heading back downstairs. The couple I had been working with were up on the main level discussing dining chairs. I couldn't believe that things were continuing normally while I frantically ran from level to level like Chicken Little around the farmyard. I headed back downstairs and noticed yet another couple sitting on a sofa, mere feet away from a newly formed stream coursing through the center of the basement, looking through fabrics. I suggested to the other two salespeople that we should get these people upstairs.
From my vantage point, the front end of the basement looked dry, but I decided to check it out anyway. Boy, was I wrong. Another pipe, this one coming in from the outside, somewhere under the sidewalk in the front of the building, was orinally capped with cement. The cement chunk, about an inch in diameter and three inches in length, was lying on the floor about two feet away from the pipe, which was now spewing water out onto the floor. All I could do at this time was laugh.
The second drain (the one that was still capped with only a little bit of water bubbling around the edge of the metal disk) suddenly exploded with enough force to send dirt and rust fragments halfway up the side of a hutch standing next to it. Water quickly flooded that portion of the room.
About 30 minutes after the rains began, they ended just as quickly, along with the pumping of the water from the drains. It amazed me that, after only five minutes or less of a torrential downpour, the storm drains outside had gotten so completely filled with water that they started to back up into the buildings. After all was said and done, there was about an inch of water covering about 30-40% of the floor. There was nothing left for us to do except go home and wait for the water to drain again.
The next morning, I arrived about an hour early. My boss was already there with a shop-vac trying to salvage the rugs. Where there was cement exposed, only a few puddles remained, leaving behind small piles of rust chips and other dirt (including a crushed tin can that was so old, the label had worn away).
Worse things could've happened. Worse things have happened. But all in all, the only loss from the storm were about a dozen rugs and maybe an ottoman or two. We were open for business and, outside of the lingering smell left over from the carpets that had been hauled away, things were pretty much back to normal; a fairly busy Sunday...
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Poop Machine ...
.jpg)
While cleaning out C-Rex's litter box this morning, I couldn't help but start thinking of a song. With a little change of the lyrics, here it is. Enjoy...Sung to the tune of "Love Machine" by The Miracles:
Oh, yeah....
(I,I,) I'm just a poop machine
Ain't no cat who can pinch loaf like me.
(I,I )I'm just a poop machine
and I got some-one who'll clean up after me.
Every morning at dawn
I feel the urge coming on
and I just sneak away.
Into my little gray box
without a door or a lock
and I just let one lay.
It's amazing how much I eat
that my crap can be so complete.
From my dinner bowl I just peck
and then my sphincter muscles start to flex.
OOOOOOOOhhhh!!
(I,I,) I'm just a poop machine
Ain't no cat who can pinch loaf like me.
(I,I ) I'm just a poop machine
And I got some-one who'll clean up after me.
With just a kibble or two
I can produce so much poo
And it just blows my mind.
And at the drop of a hat
I'm a bowel-moving cat
like no other kind (push it push it baby)
And with the stink that I create
you always wonder what I just ate.
Don't think to much, just move the clump.
'Cause look out baby, here's another dump!
OOOOOOOOOOhh!
(I,I,) I'm just a poop machine
Ain't no cat who can pinch loaf like me.
(I,I ) I'm just a poop machine
And I got some-one who'll clean up after me.
La... La la la la..... La la la la.. La la
La la la la la.. La la la....
La la laaaaaaaaa
Push it push it baby, yeah......ah, ah
(I,I,) I'm just a poop machine
Ain't no cat who can pinch loaf like me.
(I,I) I'm just a poop machine
And I got some-one who'll clean up after me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)