Wicked Good Fun...Or Not...

Yes....I did get arrested in Boston.

Well, not quite, but almost...they threatened me with incarceration and fines and all that stuff too. And I only got away because I played the ditzy broad act up to the hilt and batted my lashes at the two totally pissed off officials who approached me on the steps of the Massachusetts Expo & Convention Center as I handed out sticky sweet fruit smoothie crap to anyone who didn't sneer in my direction. You know though...after spending a week entertaining our client who is (no lie) a cross between Jabba the Hutt and Homer Simpson's more enormous, unsightlier, less intelligent brother, being quasi-arrested was a highlight on my trip to Boston. In fact, if it meant escaping the grips of said oafish client, I may have willingly offered my wrists for cuffing...but then I would have had to ditch TL, my Boston BFF and star member of Stonehill Class of '81...and there was no way I was going to miss taking him out for his birthday...Thankfully, I didn't have to sacrafice any further....

So since most of you read this while you are enjoying your morning coffee and corn flakes (or Fruit Brute a la Gwen, Joe and Lance from Pulp Fiction...prank caller! prank caller!), I will spare you any further physical description of Oafish Client...but I have to tell you what he did and how he acted all week long...I mean, if nothing else, so you start the day feeling kind of good about your job. So at the request of OC, Tappers and I made arrangements to have a casual group dinner at The Boston Sail Loft, a little waterside dive well-known to Bostonians for chowder, fried seafood and beers...can't go wrong, right? And Oafish Client loved it...he was all over the casual vibe and as dinner began he was chatty and friendly and we were looking past his stained and faded golf shirt, making nice and enjoying ourselves as much as possible. He wasn't all that bad-- was he? And then, about two beers in, Oafish Client started to tease the waitress for her pronunciation of the word "chowder" ("Say chowd-ah, Frenchy!"). And I am sitting there thinking: Dude, even the chicks in Boston will crack your skull if you start messing with them...and I was kind of wishing she would just tell him to take his Ohioan condescension (seriously, the nerve!) and shove it up is ample a**. But she put up with him...I smiled meekly at her, communicating non-verbally that her tip would warrant dealing with this fool.

And that's when Oafish Client ordered a round of tequila shots and began pressuring all of us to join him in his misguided attempt at channeling the high school junior that was apparently hidden under his girth. Now you guys all know I am not at all above a low-brow good time -- my affinity for dive bars is well-documented -- but when the waitress delivered the order I pushed my shot back across the table at OC and said "no thanks"...After two rounds the rest of the group bailed as well.... except for Tappers who consistently played the role of Go-er and went shot for shot with Oafish Client...for eight rounds!!!!!!!!!!!! The rest of us sat there in amazement as OC began slurring his words, becoming way louder and just plain grosser by the second. Tappers on the other hand was unfazed...completely clear and in control (she credits her pure WASP gene-pool and a long history of iron-stomached investment banking predecessors...). So soon OC was loudly describing the last intimate experience he and his eight months pregnant wife shared (I sh*t you not...) and then without much of a segue he began declaring to the entire restaurant that John Mellancamp is a better songwriter than Bruce Springsteen. Don't worry, friends, though I am a huge Mellancamp fan I felt it was my duty to get all Jersey on his a** and rep the tri-state area on behalf of Bruce...and you know me -- of course I was the victor in our debate. At that point OC started singing and I began pleading with our patient waitress for the bill...and thankfully, Tappers and I glared at Mackalicious (our boss) until he agreed to give her a 30% tip.

So you would think Oafish Client might be too wasted to continue his mission....hells no! Instead, as his co-workers scattered in different directions like frightened mice, OC insisted we agency folks hop in a cab with him to have a final round of drinks in the cocktail lounge at his fancy downtown hotel, The Langham. And through gritted teeth we agreed -- BIG mistake. After he harrassed the cabbie the whole ride over and then hassled the hotel valet upon arrival, Tappers, Mackalicious and I followed him with our tails between our legs, mortified as we entered the beautiful, posh hotel cocktail lounge and took our spots between the bar and the baby grand on couches under a portrait of President Lincoln. Though OC sat next to me, I practically planted myself on Mackalicious' lap so that no one would make the assumption that OC was my date.

Almost immediately OC got up and stuffed a single dollar bill (big spender, eh?) into the tuxedo-clad pianist's tip jar and went to-to-toe with the dude for 10 minutes telling him he wanted to hear "Chopsticks." Somehow the pianist put up a good enough fight because OC eventually gave up. But he wasn't quite done being a lout because he came back over to our seats and broke the low hum in the lounge (the patrons were focused on the Presidential debate so chatter was minimal at this point) and calls over to our regal cocktail hostess with an order for two shots of tequila. She looks down her nose at him as the rest of us blush, and in a few seconds appears with two highballs filled about a quarter full with gold tequila and very politely and apologetically she says to him:

"Sir, traditionally we do not serve shots at Julien's, so please enjoy these but I cannot bring you any more shots this evening."

Well....you would have thought she spit on him...he was incredulous: "Can you believe her? Is she kidding me? What kind of place doesn't serve shots? She's lying!" Tappers and Mackalicious are staying the hell out of it, playing with their iPhones and cheering on Barack Obama (that's another story....), so I am trying to reason with OC and I say: "Look, there is a time and a place for everything, so maybe we should respect the wishes of the staff." And he's like: "Well screw her, who does she think she's talking to? She's not getting a tip." And when she brings over the bill a few minutes later, Oafish Client snatches it up before Mackalicious can get to it and he signs it to his room. Proudly he snaps the leather folder closed and announces: "I gave her a 6% tip!" I gasp inwardly and glare at Tappers and Mackalicious, silently willing them to get him out of the way so I can add some cash on top of the bill...but OC is just standing there and they can't maneuver him accordingly. So finally I just pick up the bill, whip out $30 and walk over to the waitress and hand her the whole lot, right in front of everyone. And she looks confused at first until she opens the billfold and sees her measly percentage and the extra $30 makes sense...she mouthed the words "Thank you so much" to me. I waved and we were off....

Friends...I am dead serious, not exaggerating an iota...this is who I left my children for 5 days to spend the week with...this big oaf. And I didn't even tell you about the part where he followed us down to the lobby -- audibly passing gas the entire time...no joke! -- and making the bellman call his co-worker's room six times in a row...wisely the co-worker was blowing him off...which is what we should have done. Now is it clear to you why I was so conflicted about keeping this job????

So needless to say, two days later when I was almost arrested I took it in stride...how much worse could the week have gotten, really? At least it ended on a high note with TL's birthday lunch...big spicy Bloody Marys (only one each...we didn't want to have to call on Dennis for a ride home or anything....), many, many laughs, a chocolatey fudgey dessert concoction and a post-lunch shopping spree at J. Crew...well, TL wisely bailed by then. Rob met me a few hours later and we spent 36 kidless hours in Boston, eating, drinking and being merry, marking our 12th anniversary (wait...how did I get here???) and midday cocktailing with Jeanne and Bob in Marblehead. We even returned to the lounge at The Langham and though the pianist looked at me suspiciously, we did receive a secret drink on the house from my friend the cocktail hostess...So it's good to see that $30 buys you back your reputation in Boston...Thank God, because I would have paid 100 times that much!!!

Love to all....Suz

Photo 1: I think my mug shot might have been slightly less pathetic than Lohan's (Long Island's finest!)...only slightly though...

Photo 2: Lance, the cornerstone of one of film history's greatest scenes...Eric Stoltz -- shamefully robbed by The Academy that year....
Photo 3: I'd rather cuddle up to Homer than have to sit through dinner with Oafish Client again...

Photo 4: Tappers would out-shoot those two lightweights with her hands tied behind her back...

Photo 5: Bruce (Go Jersey!)...I'd say his talents and abilities are indisputable...and don't even start trying to make a case for Billy Joel...

Photo 6: There I am on the couch at Julien's in my gold bikini, if only Harrison Ford could have saved me from OC...

Photo 7: Please tell me there is more than 6% added in...

Photo 8: Me and TL...after far more than one Bloody Mary each...