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Thursday, August 25, 2011

Earthquakes and Hurricanes

       I don't have a book review, because I'm too busy recovering from the scare a earthquake put into me. Unless you live under a rock, and haven't heard, the east coast had a nice little earthquake that sent everyone in NYC screaming hysterically up and down Broadway, including me. I wasn't running up and down Broadway screaming, but I tore out of the Federal Courthouse, where I was with my boss, trying not to scream hysterically. I didn't need to, my boss managed do enough hysteria for us both. Oh per l'amore di tutto che è santo, ho pensato intendevo morire.
      It wasn't the earthquake that terrorized everyone, especially in the courthouse, but what we thought it was, another attack, of 911 proportions. Since I was in the courthouse, listening to my boss argue his case, and keeping his notes and him straight on just what was going on when the quake hit. I just knew we were under attack, because hey, it's the Federal Courthouse, and a lot of folks besides terrorist in planes would like to see it leveled. It's ironic to see a fit man in his forties who works out EVERYDAY, and lectures his staff constantly on the benefits of a healthy diet, whenever we have a pizza party, run screaming like a girl out the door, with his cell phone, trying to call his wife, to say good-bye, mowing down his ever faithful paralegal, in the process. He knocked me flat on my ass, and was the first out the door, past spectators and the judge. I deserve a raise! Good thing I was wearing my court suit, the one I save for special occasions like earthquakes and hysterical bosses, where I'll end up looking at the ceiling. Odio il mio capo.
       P.I Sean was in the court room. Like a first grader he had handed me a note, which said, "Can we try again?" When the quake hit. Maybe God was trying to tell me something, ya think? Anyhoo, P.I Sean helped me up and out the door. When we got to the steps, he announced it was a earthquake. I don't how he could tell the difference. Everything was rattling and shaking, I guess that was a good indicator. He said he grew up in L.A, and he could tell. L.A really? I didn't know that...I guess on our little short date, we never got past office gossip to that he was from California.
        Just then fire rolls up, someone was having chest pains. And who should jump off the truck first, but-what for it, drum roll, with Beethoven roaring in the background, Firemen Frank. He asked me if I was okay, very sweet. Then whispered to me, he wanted to talk to me soon. Okay, I whispered back about what? Well of course he had to save a life and not whisper anymore to me, so he said we'd talk. Okay, about what? 
       Regardless of Firemen Frank's weird behavior, I felt kind a special, with two guys looking out for me as my crazy boss ran down the street, confessing all his sins to his wife. I wonder how dinner was that night, when he realized he was very much alive and well. To be a fly on the wall for that one!  
     I'm still recovering from the shock it was mother-nature and not some crazed terrorist bent on wiping out NYC. So no book this week.. And I wonder what Firemen Frank wanted, as P.I Sean watched us. I still have the note, and thinking about it. La pazzia di tutto. 
       On the way back to the office with my consistently hysterical boss, now more worried about his confessions, then the possibility of a attack, who was probably hoping for some disaster so he wouldn't have go home, I had a message from Nona, who wanted me and the family to gather at her house tonight, to prepare for disaster. I could see her sitting on her front stoop with her aircraft artillery ready, decked out like Rambo, planning out how we'll hunker down for the hurricane coming our way. Farà Dio ogni fermata che punisce me?

Vederla sul retro


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