I'm early to the Open House on Grand st in the Lower East side of Manhattan, so i looked around for a little place to get a drink and to get updated on the CraigsList thread. CraigsList... The closest thing to a home these days. There is no one sitting in the Flower Cafe (Essex & Grand) when I walk in. I guess the place is supposed to be stuck in the 60's. There are green and yellow hippy flowers on the green walls, Staying alive is playing, and all of the sandwiches are titled with cleaver 60's 70's slang like "Trippy Tuna", "Light My Fire" and "The Psychedelic."
The late 40s manager walks up to me after having a long conversation on the phone with a man about wood floor panels. He tells me to wait a minute as he finishes up. I get the Wifi password and a Snapple and take a seat by the window. I always feel shitty about taking advantage of a places internet, so I always get a drink and volunteer my great looks infront of a window, so people know that good looking people sit here. You're welcome, Flower Cafe.
As I'm waiting for the minutes to pass, the manager tells his hispanic employees of his plans to change the way this place looks. He's going to clean out the floor - an 8-hour process. He explains that that panels will be taken out, sanded, vacuumed and covered in a shiny red gloss. The bell on the front door rings as a heavy man steps in. "Finally! You look like a guy who works with floors," says the manager. The man approves and apologies for his delinquency. The two begin to talk and the manager interrupts him and asks "What part of Israel are you from?" The man replies "Haifa." They both nod and look back at the floor. The man continues begins to measure the floor and makes an offer. The manager explains to him that there is another floor guy who adds a tint to the floor and if he does the same. The Man explains to him that he doesn't recommend that service since the glue that is used fades quickly and leaves a residue. If used, the nice red tint could fade to black. The manager correct him and tells him thats not how it works. After a few more professionally polite statements, they shake hands and the Man leaves. The manager leans on the counter and goes back to talking about the floor. "Never trust an Israeli," he teaches his employees. He says it quietly but loud enough for all the customers to hear... Me.
I moved to NYC to be hear things exacly like this. To be exposed to the World outside of the bubble I live in. To look at Israel from the outside or maybe even not to look at it at all. I just hope that by the end of this, I'll be trusted.
The late 40s manager walks up to me after having a long conversation on the phone with a man about wood floor panels. He tells me to wait a minute as he finishes up. I get the Wifi password and a Snapple and take a seat by the window. I always feel shitty about taking advantage of a places internet, so I always get a drink and volunteer my great looks infront of a window, so people know that good looking people sit here. You're welcome, Flower Cafe.
As I'm waiting for the minutes to pass, the manager tells his hispanic employees of his plans to change the way this place looks. He's going to clean out the floor - an 8-hour process. He explains that that panels will be taken out, sanded, vacuumed and covered in a shiny red gloss. The bell on the front door rings as a heavy man steps in. "Finally! You look like a guy who works with floors," says the manager. The man approves and apologies for his delinquency. The two begin to talk and the manager interrupts him and asks "What part of Israel are you from?" The man replies "Haifa." They both nod and look back at the floor. The man continues begins to measure the floor and makes an offer. The manager explains to him that there is another floor guy who adds a tint to the floor and if he does the same. The Man explains to him that he doesn't recommend that service since the glue that is used fades quickly and leaves a residue. If used, the nice red tint could fade to black. The manager correct him and tells him thats not how it works. After a few more professionally polite statements, they shake hands and the Man leaves. The manager leans on the counter and goes back to talking about the floor. "Never trust an Israeli," he teaches his employees. He says it quietly but loud enough for all the customers to hear... Me.
I moved to NYC to be hear things exacly like this. To be exposed to the World outside of the bubble I live in. To look at Israel from the outside or maybe even not to look at it at all. I just hope that by the end of this, I'll be trusted.
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