Chapter One: Morning rituals at Monkey house
I woke up earlier than usual--it was 9 am. The sun already shined through my little room in the Monkey house. I thought what an irony, in the State of New York, on Long Island, in Brookville village, where the real-estates are among the most expensive ones in the world, for the past three months I’ve been waking up in the biggest fucking dump. Horrendous! The Monkey house, or rather a little stinking building with nine rooms about fifty two square feet in size, three crappy bathrooms and over twenty souls in it was my everyday residence. The majority were Mexicans, but there were a few of us from Europe. To make it even worse the biggest shortage was the absence of girls who got the more comfortable accommodation outside the club. Fucking lucky! Even so, opening my window, with the first breath of fresh air I felt positive energy. The light summer breeze strokes my face - perfect awakening aphrodisiac. My window glanced at the eighteenth hole of a very fine golf course in the Tam O’shanter golf Club or how we “lovingly” called it- the Tam O’shit. It was a private golf club in which the members were well standing and rich Jews. Very biographical characters, from golf lovers, lawyers, pharmacists, free-masons to hard core business men. Since I belonged to the lowest rang in the club as a minimum wage worker I didn’t have much reason to be fulfilled or happy, but even though I thought: “Today is going to be a good day.” I wanted it to be a good day. After I glanced at the golf course which was orbed with old and high trees, I breathed in the fresh summer air and totally woke up with the morning sunshine. I sat down so I could light up a joint of excellent Purple Haze that Ulises scored for me from a local dealer. In the moment of lighting up my joint I heard my roommate voice.
-“You fucking motherfucker, I didn’t get any sleep again. You snore like a fucking tired whore! Fuck that rimes! You’re not the only one good with words you Bosnian bitch. And you’re smoking that shit in the room again?” He said as if he was angry
-“Fuck it Tito, I can’t help myself. Yesterday was a hard day. Fucking tables and chairs, Ulises killed me. I was working until two am; I folded and unfolded every piece. The snoring is just a side effect of a fucking hard day, it’s not my fault. And as for the joint, you know it’s part of my morning rituals.” I answered in a relaxed manner.
-“You and your fucking rituals! Tough day you say, you lazy man?! That what you get when you don’t want to lick some Mexican ass and you’re also lazy.” He teased me.
-“I don’t lick anyone’s ass, let alone Mexican one.” I continued at ease
-“That’s why you work like a dog, get tired and snore at night. Aside of that you also fart like a skunk, can’t you smell that shit? You farted up the whole room!!
-See, I don’t like licking Mexican ass, but I enjoy your food, as do you. That’s from where this “blessed” odor of digested tacos is coming from. It’s also your side effect brother; don’t blame it all on me.” I laughed.
-“Fucking Bosnian! You’re sick and have an answer to everything.” He said with his funny Mexican voice.
-“Yeah, that’s me, a fucking sick Bosanac (Bosnian)!” I answered.
-“You’re crazy, but still I respect you and have to admit you look a bit brighter than usual. Where’s that coming from?” He was surprised.
-“No particular reason.” I answered quickly.
-“Are you sure. Maybe you got some.” He laughed.
-“Very funny! If I did get some I wouldn’t be here smoking Purple Haze right now.” I said with a pinch of sadness in my voice.
-“Well, that’s true!” He said.
-“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I only need another two hundred dollars for my camera!? Or maybe I just want this day to be a good one. Who knows?!” I shrugged my shoulders while opening a bottle of Dos Equis beer.
-“You and your fucking camera, commercials and movies. The people at the club will never have piece once you get that shit.” He said while opening the closet.
-“Tito, stop bullshitting! You have to follow your dream!” I said back.
-“Yeah, yeah.. I’m going to follow my dream, and that dream is that I’m just now going to take a dump! Those fucking tacos have been haunting me all night. You get your shit together, don’t get too stoned, today is going to be a short, but fun day.” He said while taking his towel.
-“Short but fun?” I asked.
-“Yes, today is “Day for Men” and that means that all the men at the club will bring their friends, but their wives are banned from entering the club. You know that’s already a tradition at the club, fucking “Day for Men”. It’ll be fun!” He smiled.
-“But how can it be fun if women aren’t allowed in the club and it’s called “Day for Men”?!” I continued asking.
-“I said their wives are banned, not all women! You’ll see everything you fucking Bosanac (Bosnian)” He answered.
-“Okay, okay, I can’t wait! Go shit in peace you Mexican bastard! Make your dreams come true!” I laughed.
Three months earlier, when I just came to work at Tam O’shit, my roommate was an old Mexican called Julio. We never became friends because he didn’t speak English that much, hated movies, and loved bossing people around too much. I can understand that people don’t like movies, but in twenty seven years that he has spent in America, Julio never learned more than two hundred words of the English language. I can’t wrap my head around that fact. Besides that, the worst thing was that he acted like he was the owner of the whole fucking Long Island and not as one of the workers which would give him the chance to take advantage of his strange charisma and make new friends! Yes, I admit he was somehow charismatic despite his shortcoming, but he didn’t know how to work that in his advantage. That was Julio, an old Mexican fart desirous of power and control over others. After a month of living with him I moved in with Tito in his room and that change worked well for me. My English was a lot better than Tito’s even though I wasn’t much of a speaker. I was afraid to talk in English; it was some sort of an unexplainable fear! Putting aside that fear I could talk to Tito about the things I enjoyed like movies, music, basketball, and women, but most of our conversations were mainly reduced to short jokes in the form of curses which we created based on our nationality, appearance, things we liked, and lack of vocabulary. We used the word fuck because it gave us the chance to express ourselves in moments when we would simply block. I believe that most people whose native language isn’t English use the F word to ease their conversations, so we spontaneously used it in any situation without much hesitation. That word was our cure against the fear of English. To continue, Tito went to take a dump and I played the song Sunny Afternoon by The Kicks over my phone, smoking the rest of my joint and beer I took down my Canon camera poster off the wall and stared at it while daydreaming about shooting commercials and making movies. All sorts of foolish ideas came to mind, from commercials, music videos, to filming scenes from Hollywood blockbusters in the style of Tarantino, Scorsese or Nolan. As an example I’m going to bring up a fantasy of me filming a commercial for Nike with Tiger Woods. It was about a golf club. The scenario was very short, just around fifteen seconds of a fast, but effective commercial. Tiger hits the golf ball from the starting point of the eighteen hole, and strikes a hole in one. He pulls the golf ball out of the hole while pointing the Nike club at the camera and says: “He can do it! Can you?” Commercial ends. Similar daydreams were my everyday life, even though they sounded stupid and irrational from time to time they extensively amused me. These were my rituals with which I killed time until the Mexicans shit and took their showers, so I could do the same without all the noise and reek. The only difference was that today I was in a better mood than usual.
Chapter Two; Big Fat Breakfast
The cold shower sat on me like a slap to a fool! Luckily I was still high! It wasn’t that starting high that makes me euphoric and paranoid, but rather the mild high, the one that keeps a light smile on my face. I simply enjoyed trying out different stuff in that mild high state. The experience was great. Shaving, however, wasn’t one of those great experiences. After I washed my teeth, I decided not to shave again. The shaving thing has been going on for two weeks and now I’m pretty sure my food and beverage manager and my head boss, an Irish Carl O’Boyle, won’t let me work as a waiter anymore. He hated when workers had, as he called it, a “Russian beard”! In the heat of conversation, using gesticulation he would say that a full beard is complete bullshit or that I look like a filthy Russian. He tried to make a joke out of the situation. Fucking F&B manager! “Either I’ll have a full beard or no facial hair at all!” That was my attitude. I believe that attitude caused Carl to stop using me as a waiter. However, it didn’t bother me that I wasn’t working as a waiter, because believe it or not, the club rule was that waiters don’t get tips. Can you fucking believe it? In the United States where tips have greater importance than the ten commands, waiters in an elite club only get fake smiles. Like the club rules were written by Mister Pink from Tarantino’s movie Reservoir Dogs, who simply doesn’t believe in tips. The gents from the club paid their bills with checks. Un-fucking-believable! I knew about this club rule before coming to the States, but I didn’t give it much thought because I my motivation was a life experience, and not the money. Again, the fact that I wasn’t working as a waiter anymore didn’t bother me much, even thought that position requested minimal physical exhaustion. After I took a shower I went to my room to get ready for work and that famous “Day for Men”. Before Tito left he told me that today we weren’t going to work in our standard disgusting red T-shirts. For today we had to wear dress pants, black shirts, and ridiculous vest with a gold pattern on the front. We also had ties with matching gold fucking pattern. Yet we still looked like cheap service! Not even Wes Anderson could dress us funnier than that. After I slipped into my “cool” outfit, put name tag, checked myself in the mirror and said: “You’re a superhero, you’re Lazy-man!” I headed to the kitchen to grab some breakfast. From the Monkey house it took me about 30 seconds to the first club entrance. All I had to do was go down a couple of stairs, exit the building, make a few steps and I was there. The nearest club entrance was the entrance to the party hall. It was enormous and served for various parties like weddings, bat micvas, birthdays, auctions and a variety of parties the club management organized for the members. The parties always had a certain theme! I remember the “Fire Party”! The entire hall was decorated as a building in flames! Different visual fire effects were hanging from the ceiling, scattered wardrobes and cabinets were keeping them company, while large imitations of bulldozer tires added a dose of drama. It looked like the place was on fire. The party was finish off with male and female dancers dressed in fire fighting suits. Better to say that they were half naked, than dressed. Men were only in pants held by red suspenders, and the girls wore tight fire fighting themed shorts and bras. Seems like the goal wasn’t fire fighting as much as it was fire starting the half drunk and drunk members of the club. Everyone was having a good time, even us- the poor devils who just observed and served. On the other hand the hall served us and the rest of the workers within the complex. There we had breakfast every morning from 10:30! We had half an hour to eat as much as we could, because our work responsibilities would start as soon as 11 am. Once I smoked my cigarette in the table storage room that was in the basement within the Monkey house, I entered the hall which had five entrances. Two were located at the East and three on the West side of the complex. On the east side regularly only one entrance was used, especially by us, the workers living in the Monkey house and occasionally by the interior designers when they would carry in decorative material for parties. The first entrance on the West side led to a corridor that stretched to the club lobby. The second entrance led to the kitchen, and the third one towards two terraces that were positioned next to the eighteenth hole. I headed to the second entrance. Usually at lunch time in the hall there were a couple of “tens” and “fifteens” occupied by workers mainly responsible for the golf course maintenance and the waiters. Yet again, most of them were Mexicans! “Tens” and “Fifteens” were round, wooden, fold up tables which became my “best” friends since I was in charge of setting them up. Sometimes I would spend two hours dissembling, rolling, and storing them. A fucking hassle! Walking through the hall I noticed the majority of workers having breakfast. The rest probably finished already. I was the last one at breakfast almost every morning. That was a bad habit caused by another bad habit- getting stoned Ante Meridiem. Most mornings I would only have a few minutes to eat my food, which is not really good for indigestion. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a plate to get some food. There was no crowd. I sensed a strong burger sent, probably because I was still high and my sense of smell was heightened. I saw Carl twelve feet away, he was talking to Matt, a Housekeeping manager. I tried to avoid eye contact as I approached the food stand. Grabbing the burgers I heard Carl explaining to Matt something regarding the women, who were standing next to the coffee machine. When I thought I could avoid conversation and a few jokes at my expense, the fucking Irish started speaking to me.
-“Oh Darijo, you look like a bush. Not like the former president Bush, but like a lady’s bush! You know, like the past century, till the end of 90’s” Carl said through a smirk.
-“Good one Carl. Can I respond to that?” I asked calmly.
-“If you were in Matt’s place you could, but only if the response was incredibly creative! Otherwise you’d be suspended for a week.” He said proudly, showing that he was Matt’s superior too.
-“Come on Darijo, don’t get mad. Not everyone likes Brazilians’, especially with a few grey’s popping out.” Matt said while looking at Carl.
-“That was close!” Carl said quickly at the same time pointing at Matt.
-“Good one Matt. Since you’re already talking about women and mocking me, may I toss one joke?” I asked.
-“If it’s good and short, your breakfast eating time is running out.” Carl said.
-“Do you know what a woman is?” I asked.
-“No, we don’t” Both of them answered with a hit of curiosity.
-“Well, a woman is the decoration surrounding the pussy!” I said through a laugh.
- “You’re crazy.” Matt said.
-Good one, really good. You stunned me, now go stun me again by completing your today’s tasks really good as well. It’s a special day today. It’s “Day for Men”, like you probably already heard.” Carl said, sipped his coffee and left.
-“Okay mate, I should go to!” Matt said.
-“Wait, wait, what’s fucking “Day for Men?” I asked Matt.
-“Darijo, it’s a party where male members of the club bring their friends.” He said in a rush.
-“Yeah, yeah, I heard that part already, but what’s the catch with the women?” I asked again.
-“Women aren't allowed in! At one O’clock we’ll send the girls working with us home. Let them relax a bit, enjoy, stroll Manhattan. Today’s the day for men to enjoy a little by themselves. At two we’ll have hostesses and…” He said.
-“We’ll have?” I interrupted him inquiringly.
-“No, no, sorry. I meant the members and their friends will have hostesses. We’ll just make sure everything runs smoothly. No ride for us. He continuous.
- “Fuck, the idea already got me thinking…” I mumbled.
-“Got you thinking you’d get some?!” Matt added.
-“Yes.” I told him.
-“That’s hardly going to happen, mate. However, you’re going to eat all three burgers?” He asked.
-“Yes.” I answered nonchalantly, but firmly.
-“Three burgers! You’re a fucking Siberian long bearded bear.” He joked.
-“Yeah, at least I have hair. Yours aren’t growing yet; you look like Carl’s but in addition to hanging out of it.” I fired back at him.
-“Thanks for the inspiring words, makes my coffee immediately taste better.” Matt said sarcastically.
-“You’re welcome.” I said
- “You’re in a better mood today. Are you sick? Or did you get some?” He asked sarcastically.
-“And you’re the second person asking me that today. What the fuck is wrong with you people? If Darijo’s in a good mood he had had to get some!” I said pretending to be angry.
-“A month ago you said you haven’t had any in two months. That’s a long period. It can affect your psyche. I also noticed you going crazy when I mentioned the hostesses.” Matt said mockingly.
-“Fuck you.” I answered.
-“You should fuck something.” He continued.
-“Be careful or you’re going to be fucked!” I replied.
-“What? In three months of abstinence you became a fag?” He asked eyes wide open.
-“Yeah, of course. I’ll rape you!” I replied.
-“That sounded nasty! You’re sick. Man I’m joking around, no hard feelings. Since the day is great why wouldn’t be joke around a bit?” He cheerfully added.
-“You are right. The day is almost perfect.” I confirmed.
-“Maybe it will be perfect, you never know! Now, come on, eat in peace, and I’ll see you later.” As he said that he gave me a few taps on the shoulder and left the kitchen.
Carl and Matt were frequently together. The only difference between them was that one was the good guy and the other the bad one. Carl was the other one. That was simply one of his roles at the club. It seemed like all the wheels were spinning in the right direction. Carl was watching and commenting everything, even the things that shouldn’t concern him, like my height and appearance. Once he told me I looked like a hunched giraffe and that I have an unbelievably large proportion of my body from my hips to neck, just like a monkey. A fucking insecure, forty-year old fart. He was short and in a mid life crisis. I only commented him on his height and age, I couldn’t cross anymore lines. His job performance was flawless, observing all of us constantly under a microscope, and trying to get everything done with as few complaints as possible. There laid his power, I guess. If nothing we had to respect him out of pure professionalism. He compensated the fact that he had the bad guy role by providing us with drinks at the club bar when our shifts were over. He’d play bartender and poor us drinks while making us laugh. He started his career at Tam O’shit as a bartender. Fucking ass licker. Five years in Tam O’shit and he became manager. On the other hand, Matt was much more relaxed. He had a lower position than Carl at the club so he had to be a bit more relaxed than him too. You can notice his charisma when speaking to him. He carefully listened to every employee who had something to say, and when he would speak he would be very pleasant and positive. Although he tried to be “negative” and bossy, that attitude didn’t work for him. He simply didn’t have it in himself and looked hilarious. His secret weapon was motivating employees since the day would start by telling jokes in the kitchens. He had a sense of humor. Great guy. I barely noticed that the kitchen was empty. Usually the preparation of the food for guests would start at 11, but not today. That suited me today. At the kitchen exit while I was leaving and taking a big bite of the greasy cheeseburger, feeling blessed, a familiar Mexican voice was driving me crazy. It came for the corridor which led to the underground part of the club. Three seconds later a little Mexican, with a big belly and half-long dyed in black hair, which was mildly slicked-back on the side climbed the stairs. He was over sixty years old.
-“Darijo, grab those three bags with dirty table cloths and toss them in the washer after breakfast!” Julio shouted.
-“No fucking way!” I said nonchalantly.
Enjoying my cheeseburger I strolled to the first “fifteen”, sat down, put my headphones on and turned on a local radio station. Fatboy Slim’s fucking Lazy song was on. It was perfect to depict the state I was currently in. The enjoyment lasted a full three minutes. The song was over as I finished my cheeseburgers, and then Julio went to Ulises and spoke in an angrily manner while waving his hands all over the place. He probably took those dirty cloths out. That pussy is certainly going to complain about me. There’s a chance for this day to become dreadful. I’m going to work like a horse again. I’m screwed. Luckily I finished my big fat breakfast ‘cause I’ll need the energy.
Chapter Three: Lazyman