Diary of a Restaurant on the North Coast
November 7th
Wake up kids, we got the dreamer’s disease…
Today started out with a bang…. literally. Came into work and found out that we needed to carry a massive, 6ft long, 800lbs, Bain-marie refrigerator—built when George Washington was in office—down a 50-meter cobblestone hallway. We needed a miracle…basically, we needed to find a way to lift-up what amounts to a small tank up and over a 6ft-kitchen counter top. It was way too long and way too wide to fit through the kitchen passageway.
I don’t want to bore you with stupid details here, but were talking about a 6ft. long Bain-marie that weighs as much as a small Ranch house. We gathered the largest 6-barefoot men together in holy matrimony of trying to lift an obese stainless steel ship. This wasn’t any small feat. This was the Dominican version of the World’s Strongest Man contest, only barefoot…because, let’s face it, real men…and by this, I mean—Dominican construction workers—refuse to wear any proper Osha approved steel-toed boots, and instead, choose to go barefoot.
Naturally, before the real lifting began, there was a lot of chest puffing and pounding, this was followed by some fast smack talking, and some jumping and jiving—followed by finger pointing about who has the biggest dick, who can lift the most weight, who can drink the most rum, and who has slept with the biggest vagina on the island: I won that award hands down back in 2008 when, in a crazy moment of sexual desperation, I slept…several times…with a 5’11 crazy surfer girl from Slovenia. Not my proudest moment, but not my lowest either.
In the end, by trying to lift-up the Bain-marie completely sober, but the only thing we managed to do successfully was to allow the refrigerator motor (still plugged into the wall for testing) come flying out of its engine bay like an out of control jet engine propeller. It hit the floor and took off running around the kitchen with wires still attached to it. It started bouncing around the kitchen and ricocheting off the walls and people’s hair-do’s. It was terrifying. It was bouncing up and down like a basketball.
The Dominicans took off in every direction. Not a good sign! These things do not reinsert themselves back into the engine bay. Everyone was now running and sweating profusely. I think I smelled bacon. It made me hungry. We set the Bain-marie back down and inserted the motor back into its engine bay and tried once again, only this time, we unplugged it. With a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, we managed to get it into the kitchen.
Another day, another trip to the hardware store. Man, these construction guys sure do like to spend other people’s money. They’re professionals at it. When they don’t need another screwdriver, their buying tape measures and other things for their homes. I looked down at the receipt and studied it.
“What the **** is a set of Dining room chairs and love seat doing on here?” I asked a group of 6-men.
Everyone shrugged their shoulder and started looking away and talking about what they were going to eat for lunch. People were mumbling and shuffling. In the end, no one raised their hand and took responsibly. How could you?
This is why Rocky, Paul, and I go directly to the stores with the guys and pay for everything ourselves…you know…just to keep everyone honest. There is nothing more frustrating to an anal-retentive book-keeper (me) then when someone comes back and hands me a hand-written receipt from a store that I know for a fact possesses a computer printer.
After 2-hours in the hardware store and having exhausted all of our money, we headed back to the bank for more. This is becoming a daily ritual. Both the bank and the hardware store know us better than they know their spouses. We really need to find some way to convince them that it’s in their best interest to place some mattresses in the back of these businesses. We spend so much time inside them that I feel that the least they could do is offer us an opportunity to lay down and take a nap.
After 2-hours in the bank—where they made Rocky sign his signature over and over again—until his wrist got sore—they refused to hand him any money. The problem, apparently, is that his signature must match what’s on file. And if it doesn’t—they will not…I repeat, will not release any funds to him.
This is almost absurd. Rocky practically lives in this bank. But he cannot duplicate his hand signature consistently. At this point, Rocky says to them, “Come on, man, I was just in here an hour ago! I’m in hear 15-times a day! You guys must seem me more than you see your genitals.
No amount of logic can sway a Dominican with a high school education.
“We are sorry, Mr. Rocky, we cannot release your funds until you can duplicate your signature on file. It’s the rule,” They answer.
“Are you kidding me!? I was just here! You guys call me by my first name. you know me. This is insane!”
At this point, Rocky is laughing, because, what else can you do in a situation like this when someone is holding your money only 12-inches away from your face.
“Fine, give me the pen, again!” he says, chuckling. He starts laughing and mumbling to himself. “This is the craziest thing I have ever seen. This is absurd. It’s also weird, bizarre, and funny.”
Rocky starts signing his name like a ADHD kid made to stay after school and sign his name 500 times on the blackboard. He feels like Bart Simpson at this point. Meanwhile, I’m back at Linares hardware store falling asleep next to the lawnmowers, dreaming of bacon. I’m hungry.
An hour later, we’re back at the bar where we’re mostly standing around watching people shift their genitals from the left side to the right, while smelling their fingers. This is always followed by a few of them sticking their fingers way up their noses and pulling out massive boogers which they show to each other like a Trophy. They’re so proud of themselves. I like to sit back and observe them from a distance. Construction workers are a fascinating group of unique individuals who switch between maddening fast working bees, to genital scratching, crotch smelling, booger comparing, barefoot walking misfits. I have never been around a group of people so proud to show each other their boogers.
11am, time for lunch. I head to Fresh-fresh and order several plates of food. I’m hungry. Now, normally, I would head to my favorite hangout, the Chocolate Bar, but it’s been raining cats & dogs all day, and at this point I need to stay dry in order to not aggravate my crotch-itch. Its maddening. I might have crabs. Not sure.
At Fresh-Fresh, I run into a tall, curvy Dutch woman who is sitting with her Dominican husband and, Olga, a Ukrainian model at the next table, next to mine. The Dutch woman explains to me that she has been traveling around the DR hosting a beauty contest known as “Miss Multiverse 2016”: https://www.facebook.com/MissMultiverse/
She’s beautiful…and curvy…and smells like bacon. Man, I’m hungry.
I didn’t quite catch exactly how the beauty contest works because the smell of bacon was emanating from the kitchen. But, basically, what I understood was that the beauty contest was part of a TV reality show where, each week, they narrow down the beauty contestants by removing 5-girls from the group. Apparently, one of the first to go was the Dominican girl. But the winners were in this order:
1. Miss America
2. Miss Sweden
3. Miss Israel
4. Miss Ukraine
Miss Ukraine was sitting directly in front of me and smelled of bacon and Borsch. No joke. She was looking especially delicious right now. More on beautiful smelling Ukrainians later.
Back at the bar, it was rain, more rain, followed by a torrential downfall. I have never seen so much rain before on the North Coast in 15-years of being here. It was biblical. Frogs were falling from the sky. People were surfing down the street. If it rains much more, our condo complex is going to float away and end up in the Yasica river. I’m now sleeping with my life-jacket on. I can’t take any chances. I’m not a registered voter yet.
November 7th
Wake up kids, we got the dreamer’s disease…
Today started out with a bang…. literally. Came into work and found out that we needed to carry a massive, 6ft long, 800lbs, Bain-marie refrigerator—built when George Washington was in office—down a 50-meter cobblestone hallway. We needed a miracle…basically, we needed to find a way to lift-up what amounts to a small tank up and over a 6ft-kitchen counter top. It was way too long and way too wide to fit through the kitchen passageway.
I don’t want to bore you with stupid details here, but were talking about a 6ft. long Bain-marie that weighs as much as a small Ranch house. We gathered the largest 6-barefoot men together in holy matrimony of trying to lift an obese stainless steel ship. This wasn’t any small feat. This was the Dominican version of the World’s Strongest Man contest, only barefoot…because, let’s face it, real men…and by this, I mean—Dominican construction workers—refuse to wear any proper Osha approved steel-toed boots, and instead, choose to go barefoot.
Naturally, before the real lifting began, there was a lot of chest puffing and pounding, this was followed by some fast smack talking, and some jumping and jiving—followed by finger pointing about who has the biggest dick, who can lift the most weight, who can drink the most rum, and who has slept with the biggest vagina on the island: I won that award hands down back in 2008 when, in a crazy moment of sexual desperation, I slept…several times…with a 5’11 crazy surfer girl from Slovenia. Not my proudest moment, but not my lowest either.
In the end, by trying to lift-up the Bain-marie completely sober, but the only thing we managed to do successfully was to allow the refrigerator motor (still plugged into the wall for testing) come flying out of its engine bay like an out of control jet engine propeller. It hit the floor and took off running around the kitchen with wires still attached to it. It started bouncing around the kitchen and ricocheting off the walls and people’s hair-do’s. It was terrifying. It was bouncing up and down like a basketball.
The Dominicans took off in every direction. Not a good sign! These things do not reinsert themselves back into the engine bay. Everyone was now running and sweating profusely. I think I smelled bacon. It made me hungry. We set the Bain-marie back down and inserted the motor back into its engine bay and tried once again, only this time, we unplugged it. With a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, we managed to get it into the kitchen.
Another day, another trip to the hardware store. Man, these construction guys sure do like to spend other people’s money. They’re professionals at it. When they don’t need another screwdriver, their buying tape measures and other things for their homes. I looked down at the receipt and studied it.
“What the **** is a set of Dining room chairs and love seat doing on here?” I asked a group of 6-men.
Everyone shrugged their shoulder and started looking away and talking about what they were going to eat for lunch. People were mumbling and shuffling. In the end, no one raised their hand and took responsibly. How could you?
This is why Rocky, Paul, and I go directly to the stores with the guys and pay for everything ourselves…you know…just to keep everyone honest. There is nothing more frustrating to an anal-retentive book-keeper (me) then when someone comes back and hands me a hand-written receipt from a store that I know for a fact possesses a computer printer.
After 2-hours in the hardware store and having exhausted all of our money, we headed back to the bank for more. This is becoming a daily ritual. Both the bank and the hardware store know us better than they know their spouses. We really need to find some way to convince them that it’s in their best interest to place some mattresses in the back of these businesses. We spend so much time inside them that I feel that the least they could do is offer us an opportunity to lay down and take a nap.
After 2-hours in the bank—where they made Rocky sign his signature over and over again—until his wrist got sore—they refused to hand him any money. The problem, apparently, is that his signature must match what’s on file. And if it doesn’t—they will not…I repeat, will not release any funds to him.
This is almost absurd. Rocky practically lives in this bank. But he cannot duplicate his hand signature consistently. At this point, Rocky says to them, “Come on, man, I was just in here an hour ago! I’m in hear 15-times a day! You guys must seem me more than you see your genitals.
No amount of logic can sway a Dominican with a high school education.
“We are sorry, Mr. Rocky, we cannot release your funds until you can duplicate your signature on file. It’s the rule,” They answer.
“Are you kidding me!? I was just here! You guys call me by my first name. you know me. This is insane!”
At this point, Rocky is laughing, because, what else can you do in a situation like this when someone is holding your money only 12-inches away from your face.
“Fine, give me the pen, again!” he says, chuckling. He starts laughing and mumbling to himself. “This is the craziest thing I have ever seen. This is absurd. It’s also weird, bizarre, and funny.”
Rocky starts signing his name like a ADHD kid made to stay after school and sign his name 500 times on the blackboard. He feels like Bart Simpson at this point. Meanwhile, I’m back at Linares hardware store falling asleep next to the lawnmowers, dreaming of bacon. I’m hungry.
An hour later, we’re back at the bar where we’re mostly standing around watching people shift their genitals from the left side to the right, while smelling their fingers. This is always followed by a few of them sticking their fingers way up their noses and pulling out massive boogers which they show to each other like a Trophy. They’re so proud of themselves. I like to sit back and observe them from a distance. Construction workers are a fascinating group of unique individuals who switch between maddening fast working bees, to genital scratching, crotch smelling, booger comparing, barefoot walking misfits. I have never been around a group of people so proud to show each other their boogers.
11am, time for lunch. I head to Fresh-fresh and order several plates of food. I’m hungry. Now, normally, I would head to my favorite hangout, the Chocolate Bar, but it’s been raining cats & dogs all day, and at this point I need to stay dry in order to not aggravate my crotch-itch. Its maddening. I might have crabs. Not sure.
At Fresh-Fresh, I run into a tall, curvy Dutch woman who is sitting with her Dominican husband and, Olga, a Ukrainian model at the next table, next to mine. The Dutch woman explains to me that she has been traveling around the DR hosting a beauty contest known as “Miss Multiverse 2016”: https://www.facebook.com/MissMultiverse/
She’s beautiful…and curvy…and smells like bacon. Man, I’m hungry.
I didn’t quite catch exactly how the beauty contest works because the smell of bacon was emanating from the kitchen. But, basically, what I understood was that the beauty contest was part of a TV reality show where, each week, they narrow down the beauty contestants by removing 5-girls from the group. Apparently, one of the first to go was the Dominican girl. But the winners were in this order:
1. Miss America
2. Miss Sweden
3. Miss Israel
4. Miss Ukraine
Miss Ukraine was sitting directly in front of me and smelled of bacon and Borsch. No joke. She was looking especially delicious right now. More on beautiful smelling Ukrainians later.
Back at the bar, it was rain, more rain, followed by a torrential downfall. I have never seen so much rain before on the North Coast in 15-years of being here. It was biblical. Frogs were falling from the sky. People were surfing down the street. If it rains much more, our condo complex is going to float away and end up in the Yasica river. I’m now sleeping with my life-jacket on. I can’t take any chances. I’m not a registered voter yet.
