the finer things in life

For this entry, I would've hoped to have accompanied it with pictures. But, see, I was on the job...

I work now for the Rizzoli bookstore on 57th Street in Midtown Manhattan, one out of a relatively small chain of booksellers owned by the Italian Rizzoli publishing company, which, to my knowledge, specializes in a lot of visual art books, architecture, fashion, and the like (and not to mention, Italian books).

While the bookstore itself is classically beautiful, with its interior trimmings well-preserved, showcasing the elegant architecture belonging to the remaining old New York townhouses in the city, on certain days, I could take a break from shelving or ringing up customers behind the register.

I had my first off-site job recently, which means that some of us at the bookstore travel to a location outside of the bookstore and essentially, do a 'favor' for a particular author whose book we currently carry, and sell at the actual venue hosting the release and signing of his or her book.

A few days ago, I was assigned to work at an Upper East Side locale, an apartment on the 9th floor of a building overlooking the East River. I was partnered up to go with Alfred, a southern gentleman in the truest sense of the word, carrying with him a noticeable twang that passed itself off as graceful and not country. Alfred is an elderly statesman of Rizzoli's, though I do not mean to demean him in any way. He's put in his time there. He was a manager for the store once, juggling his position with his ventures in the theater and forays into film. I should've known. There was an entertainer's air about him that was all too familiar for someone of my own family's performing background, the kind that I could sense followed his every footstep and lingered on at the end of his sentences.

Venturing out to this off-site with Alfred put me at ease. Neither of us said very much on our taxi ride together. Just a few cordial exchanges between co-workers, though for that night I had hoped we'd bypass the informal getting-to-know-you's and dive into the what-is-the-meaning-of-life variety of questions. I would only find out the story on Alfred after he had broken the ice with me first.

Once we arrived at our off-site, Alfred was quick to point out all the things about the Upper East Side apartment that I was glossing over absentmindedly because I was too caught up figuring out in my head how I was going to swipe people's credit cards on a machine we brought that was older than the abacus. He asserted how the video installation on the white wall was making him feel nauseous. I laughed. On the job! I laughed! My tension was broken.

Other things began catching my eye. Like the dining table lit like a Christmas tree. And the room we were stationed in, with stark-white panels that made me feel like I was walking into a sample room in IKEA. The random collection of furnishings along and around the panels that made it seem as though these people were perfectly contented living at an exhibit and not an apartment. The chandelier shaped like a dolphin, or any other sea-faring animal...

For me, most noticeably, it was this: bejeweled elderly couples strolling into the apartment, hands molded into the perfect position in which to insert a glass of fine bubbly, promptly. (Served by young men all dressed in cookie-cutter crisp white shirt-and-ties, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven twenty-somethings with an ample dosage of hair product, and adorned with enticing hors d'oeuvres for the guests, of course).

I'd exchange glances with some of the young servants, and share a laugh. We were quite noticeably and admittedly, out of our element, the appetizer and champagne servers, myself, and Alfred. And Alfred was having the most fun watching it all.

As expected, our customers rushed to purchase the books (they were on Indian Jewelry) at the very last minute, but at least it made Alfred and I feel rather accomplished, and we, with some degree of eagerness, accommodated the guests, then left promptly.

I left the Upper East Side knowing I had plenty to say about the whole affair. But it was Alfred's wise words during our cab ride over to the Upper East Side that stayed with me for the duration of the night and thereafter. He had asked me how I had come to find the job at Rizzoli. I explained that if I were to settle for a retail position, I'd want to be around books. To which he replied, and I'm paraphrasing, "Yes, books...some of the finer things in life."

And after the night was done, I really couldn't agree more.