OTAS, you found it

NEW YORK FUCKIN' CITY--Though we are at war, human rights are suffering, genocide in Uganda, malaria in the far-east, I have found that the most productive place to put my philanthropic dollars is in the Metropolitan Opera (another phrase I’ll reflect upon in Hell).

It’s paid off. The General Manager of the Met is retiring this season. Those unfamiliar with opera should note that this is actually a great changing of the guard: The General Manager is responsible for securing the artistic talent that defines the great opera houses, none of which come close to the size of the Met. And a great gala honoring him was put together, starring the greatest divas and divos alive today. I got an invitation.

So I ordered some (expensive) tickets to this exclusive, black tie event and am happy to say that the tickets were in my mailbox when I returned from my business travels. I almost pissed on myself.

I ordered four, with commitments from my mother, Max and Rita to go. When I called my mother about it she actually screamed “Ahhhhhh! Holy Shit!”. Max was totally excited (very unlike him) saying “this is a once-in-a-lifetime event!” and promptly arranged a dinner for the four of us at the swank Café des Artistes afterward.

I can't wait.

CHARLESTON, SC --This trip is beginning to wear. Flying around call-center-land and trying to determine what makes a good Customer Service Representative or a good Debt Collector is not all that difficult: Hardscrabble, with some street smarts, good on the phone and has some basic computer and math skills (but not too smart) no education, no options. . . that’s our ideal recruit. Boring, blindly committed, articulate, likes routine – someone who’s basically a fucking machine – that is a good CSR.

I, though, have a week to figure this out along with perhaps one of the most annoying people I’ve ever met. Raquel will be lucky to come out of this alive.

It’s not that she’s mean, per se. She’s just irritating, young, and a little too brazen for my tastes. She’s also on the neurotic side, interruptive, explaining everything ad nauseum, fussing over all the details, and Depression-era stinginess. Of course, she wants to do everything with me.

But enough of that: I would write more about it but I don’t even want to hear it myself.

Meeting people in the field has been a great experience. I’m finally understanding the business better and getting to know the people who run it, who seem really cool people (many of which I would not mind hanging out with on a casual basis). Call center employees are a cool lot, believe it or not.

But I’m missing home and like-minded people (Raquel is not one of them) and, most importantly, being able to control my surroundings. Being stuck here with Raquel and being pushed into meeting tons of people, meeting after meeting, then having to come back home to Raquel is like some sort of cruel joke.

CHARLESTON, SC –Had to take two flights from Columbus only to arrive at an overbooked hotel, which required me to move to a flea-bag hotel, bad Chinese food, and Bud Light. I’m getting irritable and Rachel is beginning to work my last good nerve. Life could be better.

The Bud Light is helping.

I can’t wait to get back to New York and stop listening to the amazed south-Midwesterners and Southerners talk about my filthy city with all its rude people (never mind that I don’t talk about their empty city, with nothing but SUVs, shallow culture, and big hair). I have the dignity to keep my mouth shut and nod my head. Mediocrity is endemic –I’m not going to be the one to point it out.

COLUMBUS, OH – Having been charged with a number of activities that actually require me to understand how we operate our business, I’ve been sent to one of our call centers in Columbus, after which I’ll be sent to Charleston to review a report I have yet complete. It’s all quite fun.

It’s amazing what the difference in service is here. They actually appreciate your business at restaurants, fill your glass, and take some time to explain the menu (instead of just expecting you to know the cuisine or chef), etc., etc., etc. And I have to say it is a nice change of pace. New York can be somewhat hardcore.

I’m traveling with my new direct report, Rachel. I thought it would be a nightmare to spend a week with a co-worker. . . if you recall last spring I spent over a week in Connecticut with one of the most disgusting people (who, mind you, wanted to hang out with me all the time.) . . . but she’s actually been, well, almost pleasant. Though there’s a week left of which anything can happen.

Enough about work. . .

Neena was in form Chicago and I decided to introduce a little celebrity into my life by seeing Three Days of Rain starring Julia Roberts. Great actresses, it is said, have a presence. They drift on the stage and command the attention of the audience. The first stars of the big (silent) screen, ironically, were the opera Divas that Hollywood turned to for its first casts.

Nowadays, it’s the other way around. Better known, Hollywood stars are sought out by theaters for its casts, primarily for box office reasons (which there is nothing wrong with, I might add). What the theater-going public has found is that many great screen actors do not make great theater actors and vice-versa: this was certainly the case with Ms. Roberts. Little more than a tall, thin, and good-looking woman, she commanded little attention and provided little insight into her characters. She was, simply, bad. To be fair, the show is still in previews and things could be pulled together by the time things open next week.

But all was not lost: Uptown, there was a action going on.

I had tickets to the Opera to see an all-star case of Le Nozze de Figaro. So after a day of enjoying the warm weather in Central Park, Saturday night we put on our best duds and went out to the Met.

Though the opera took us well into early Sunday morning, we enjoyed every moment of it. This opera is one of the greatest works of art. . . funny, yet profound – and music that just sucks you into the plot like none other. It was also nice going with Judy, who soaked it in with sincere interest.

If the arts just focused on talent, rather then celebrity, the world would be better served.

Weekends out in Manhattan can be a landmine. People you’ve dated and didn’t call back are out, people you can’t stand are there, and people interested in you and not the other way around are crawling all over the place.

One that I’ve struggled to avoid was seeing this guy, Alfred. You may recall a blog around the holidays describing when I was invited over for Thanksgiving dinner by him. When his family left I was stuck with him one-on-one, and things got a little awkward. When I decided it was time to leave he grabbed by hand and said “I don’t want to be alone today”. I was mortified. I left. The day after, he called me and I never called back.

Last week I struck the landmine. Going out to my favorite east-side bar, he was there. Rob started talking to him and, apparently, they were talking about me, that fateful Thanksgiving day, and that he felt like he needed closure (my God, it was Thanksgiving dinner, not a divorce).

So this weekend I returned to the club he frequents and, to keep peace, I decided to apologize. Approaching him I could already tell he was not glad to see me. Nonetheless, I apologized for not calling, not explaining why I didn’t call back, etc. He said nothing to me and just shook his head up and down. You could cut the tension with a knife.

Because I didn’t even feel that I needed to apologize, I was totally annoyed. Here I was extending the olive branch and he’s threw it back in my face. So without saying anything I just walked away.

What is WRONG with these people? Did he really expect that after only a Thanksigiving dinner (which I took as a kind gesture, not a date) I’m obliged to reconcile every feeling he has for me with my actions. Can people just tell it’s nothing worth talking about. . . that you made me feel awkward and I simply didn’t want to deal with it. “I’m not into you”: Do you really want to hear that?

But like a trooper, I didn’t let this experience ruin an otherwise perfectly good night. Tom and Jim came by and we had a few. After they left I sat by the bar. Little did I know another I was going over to another landmine.

An older gentleman came over to me and we began to talk. He seemed perfectly harmless so I had no problem indulging the conversation. After a few minutes he said to me: “I would like to take you home. How much?”

Boom! Another landmine: Those people out looking for male prostitutes.

I managed to get out something like: “I’m just out to have a good time, nothing more.” And he walked away.

Do I really look like a common hooker? My god! (Don't answer that.)

At this point it is late and friends of Jim and Tom start talking to me. They are annoying (a minor landmine in an of itself) and I decide that in his place you have to seek out your company, not be sought out.

As ammo, I order a stiff drink when someone across the bar the catches my eye. He is with someone else. . . looks like a friend, but I have to see. The friend looks at me and seems a little protective of this guy and shoots a glare back my way. I respond with a smile and lift my martini glass in the air to him. He seemed to get a kick out of it. (I would never pull that off sober.)

The friend leaves and I meet the guy. The rest is history. We hung out together over the weekend and he wants to get together this week. Who know what’ll happen. But I certainly don’t want to mine the field any more than it is.

. . . . the comedy is stupendous.