14 November 2005 (yesterday) (tomorrow)

 

Olga told me that I was on the V.I.P. Zero list and that I was to contact Gitta, a tall blonde Danish woman with a head piece, if there were any problems.

I walked into the bank-turned-tacky-nightclub and Martin Dockery admonished me for being late in his usual, clueless way.  I explained the situation and met Olga by the raffle tables; a couple of storytellers had just finished their spiel-off.

Olga and I had half a drink on the stairs before a man dressed like a cross between an old-fashioned chaffeur, a 30's archvillain and Charles Lindbergh scooped up my glass with a dirty look.  Olga and I laughed about this, and then he returned and scooped up Olga's glass with no look at all (although I implored him to give me one).

I walked back to work, except I walked in the wrong direction and ended up walking 1 1/2 times the width of Manhattan.  Merrie called, she had calmed down considerably from last week.  I tried to buck her up the best I could.  My shoelace was untied.

After Bob left and I got the tapes going at work, I ate popcorn and carrot sticks.