Jason Rodriguez - The Moose in the Closet: Long Island: Night in White Satin

Long Island: Night in White Satin

Back-to-Back stories! Aren’t you guys hooked the fuck up?
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After MH’s contract went over budget by 10-million dollars the whole thing sort of fell apart. TAO’s money got ramped down and eventually disappeared – we got the stop-work order from MH and never looked back. They just couldn’t afford to pay us anymore.

So that contract was dead and I moved on to bigger and better things, mainly firing canons and mortars in the desert.

A couple of months after the contract ends Roger from MH contacts me and tells me there’s a marketing opportunity at some company in Rhode Island (who we’ll call RI) and he wants me to go with him to sell our portion of the now dead contract.

I had no desire to go but my boss thought it was a good idea so I make plans to go.

Now, the area we’re going towards isn’t really accessible by anything but cars and I still didn’t have my license. I couldn’t rent a car, in other words. The plan that we came up with had disaster written all over it but it was really the only option available to my non-driving ass.

Roger lived in Connecticut. At the end of his day on Wednesday, he was going to swing by JFK and pick me up. I was going to go with him to his house in Connecticut, spend the night there, and drive to Rhode Island with him early the next morning.

If you think that sounds bad, it gets worse.

Roger and I have nothing in common. He’s easily late-50, big guy – so much ear hair that he could braid it. He’s essentially the stereotypical dad. Our drive to Connecticut is excruciating (and puzzling, he made that commute everyday). We get to his house and it looks like the Cleavers live there it’s so fucking homely. His wife is this older, chipper woman that’s dressed like “Housewife Barbie”.

I get introduced and the three of us sit around the table and drink lemonade – she has these horrendous crocheted coasters for me to put my glass on top of. There are religious pictures and stuffed ducks all over the house. It’s just seriously freaky. Roger’s telling me all about his son who cuts down trees for a living and you almost get this vibe that he’s viewing me as what he wanted his son to be.

Seriously. Fucking. Freaky.

I finish my lemonade and Roger tells me about the festivities we have planned for the night.

Church School!

You see, he teaches a bible class. So I had to sit in on his class. Afterwards, we hung around because members of the church brought various foods to eat. So I got to munch on some sausage and peppers with a bunch of Jesus freaks who insisted on knowing whether or not I’ve accepted Christ as my savior.

I just told them “yes”. I love me the Savior Christ.

So, after the riveting two hours spent in a church basement I went back to Roger’s house. They were watching TV in the living room, the news – it was the only TV in the house. I watch with them for a little bit, they ask me if I’d rather watch something else and I decline repeatedly. With my luck one of the characters on a TV show I put on would say something about sex and Roger and his wife would perform a fucking exorcism on me.

I want to back-track a second and remind you all about something – this guy has been trying to recruit me for over a year. This whole night was likely part of his plan.

I decide to go to bed – it’s like 8:30. They show me to the guest room and…

…that’s right, white satin sheets. I wanted to ask if they had, you know, cotton sheets, but it wasn’t worth it. But seriously – who really uses satin sheets? And who puts them in the guest room? I thought the stuffed ducks were as tacky as you can get, but white satin sheets in the guest room takes the cake.

So I stick to the sheets all night, drive with him to RI the next day – a horribly long drive complete with traffic. We get there, meet some people and sit down for this supposed marketing opportunity.

Well, they spent about three hours marketing their products to us and ten minutes listening to us. It was a fucking joke – a complete waste of time. Anyone with half a brain would have seen that there was no opening to market anything to these guys.

I left that building pissed off. I told Roger to drop me off at the nearest Greyhound terminal – the guys at RI tell us where the closest one is, it’s only ten minutes away. I get out of his car and call my boss, tell him I won’t be in on Friday and they’ll still reimburse me for my airfare. I take two buses but finally get to Boston and spend the weekend with Robin. I have some fun and then fly back home on Sunday. On Monday I tell my boss off, saying he should have looked into this marketing opportunity more. I tell him I’m done with this project and with Roger.

Later that Christmas I get a card from Roger. That’s the last I ever hear from him.

Labels: travel

Long Island: Night in White Satin

Friday, June 02, 2006

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