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Chapter 33 (Thief in the House)
Meanwhile, back at the restaurant, we had other issues. We were missing the 200 lb. solid iron top piece of our six-burner stove. It’s a solid piece of iron with six holes cut out for the burners. It weighs as much as a small car. After doing considerable amount of research—which involved offering free, cold beer to the first person who could tell me who made off with the top of our stove— we found out that Fatboy, the motoconcho driver with white leather shoes, had taken it home.
I called him up and said, "Gordo, we need the top piece for our stove back."
“Sure, come and get it. It’s way too heavy for me to bring to you on my motorcycle.”
That got me thinking. How had he gotten it home? He doesn’t own a car. He doesn’t own a helicopter. How the hell exactly did he get it down the Callejon de la Loma? He doesn’t have access to a space shuttle. Maybe he found someone with a forklift? I wouldn’t put it past him. Dominicans are smart and clever. There was no denying that he got it home somehow, but how? After asking around and researching, no one could explain how it was physically possible.
And now he has no way of bringing it back to us. He seemed to have gotten offended when I asked him to bring it back. I’d questioned his integrity because he’d taken something that wasn’t his to take.
Pride is a dangerous thing and Dominicans are full of pride.
When I found him later in the afternoon, I asked “Why did you take our stove top home without asking us first?”
“I came to ask you, but you guys had already left for the day. It’s not my fault that you were not here for me to ask.”
“Huh?”
“What do you mean? Are you saying it’s our fault that we were not here to ask?”
“Yes, because if someone had taken off the top when cleaning it and they set it near the street, anyone could have taken it home. I saved it from being taken home by someone else—a stranger. So, basically, you guys owe me for saving it and for storage.”
He was dead serious. He really felt he was doing us a really big favor and deserved to be financially compensated.
“Why should we compensate you for taking something that was not yours to begin with?”
“If I had not taken it, Frank, someone else would have come along and taken it. What then? You would have no way of knowing who took it, right? And if you have no idea who took it, how would you get it back?”
This was a little crazy. But then I started thinking about…he had a point. That’s the crazy thing with Dominicans, even when you think that they are making no sense, they make sense.
“You know what you are saying here?” I asked.
“What?”
“You are saying that you are doing us a favor for taking our stuff home, but then you are holding it for some kind of finder’s fee?”
“No, no! Stop right there! How can I steal something that was left unattended? It was left out for any random stranger to come along and take? I did you guys a favor—a big favor—by taking it home with me. And now that I have been taking care of it, do I not deserve some kind of small, nominal fee for storing it inside my house? I’ll have you know that it’s been occupying a spot that I could have used to store other important things I have found.”
There was no way around his convoluted logic. It was impenetrable. No matter what I asked, he had an excuse. How do you argue or converse with someone like this? He was actually offended for my even suggesting that he took something that did not belong to him. He was very offended. In his eyes, he was saving it from being taken from someone else who we would have no way of knowing, and therefore, would have no way of retrieving it back. In the end, he had a point. A damn good point. In the end, I paid him for taking home something not his and storing it for us.
What else could I do?
