assorted buildings in Manhattan
At the rental car place, they are assisted by this really tall but attractive black girl in a funky velvet top hat. Though Todd has booked the car and is filling out the paperwork, though he continues to attempt engaging this poor young lady with cheesy boss joke type humor, it appears as though she has taken a shine to Jack. As in, he and Edgar are standing a couple of paces behind Todd, just hanging out, but she’s continually trying to engage Jack in conversation.
“Damn, dude!” Edgar tells Jack, upon exiting the building, “I think that chick really liked you!”
“Yeah, what was up with that?” Todd wonders, as though genuinely perplexed by this phenomenon. That she wasn’t eating up the corny bantering, coming from such a notorious female-magnet stud such as himself.
After stowing their luggage in the trunk and climbing into the vehicle, with Todd behind the wheel, they will begin their hour-long drive into Long Island’s interior. Their captain talking up a storm, of course, because this is what he does, even while Edgar’s thoughts at least half the time drift elsewhere. Like to that comical sequence back there at the rental car agency, sure, but also another conversation prior to that, when they were still on the shuttle over there.
It came immediately on the heels of his breaking the news about the coffee pot. Todd took another brief call, during which he again said little else beyond “uh huh,” “mmm hmm” and “okay,” — itself maybe a red flag, coming from a guy who can’t seem to shut up most of the time — before he concluded, “well, okay, that sounds good. Just do that, then, and let me know how it goes.”
This shuttle had bench type seating along both walls, meaning that Edgar and Jack are sitting on one, with Todd facing them from the opposite. After he hangs up and puts away his phone, Todd cackles and boasts to them, “I don’t do shit! I really don’t! And nobody’s figured it out yet!”
Well, now, Edgar wouldn’t necessarily say nobody has figured it out. Although actually, that comment itself is slightly off the mark. Todd in fact does quite a bit, particularly if chatting and sending strange emails count — it’s just that the projects he spends his time on, usually initiating such on his own, these are so off-the-wall that it makes him question whether Todd has ever actually performed this job before. Either way you slice this fine hair, though, it’s a strange boast, one he almost can’t believe their boss is making, even coming from such a peculiar character as this one. It’s the kind of thing that someone might say if considering themselves entirely above the law, though, invincible, and he supposes that this would definitely apply here.
Although this three and a half day extravaganza has been billed, by Todd anyway, as occurring “at RU Data headquarters,” it turns out that this isn’t exactly true. They do indeed have a base of operations somewhere near here, but the conference itself is held at the hotel where they are staying. RU Data has just commandeered the bottom two floors, basically, for this extended weekend, so the three of them will never even see RU Data’s nerve center. It’s difficult to get a feel for the scope of their operation, then, although they certainly act like bigshots, and talk a good game, further assisted by Todd’s full-fledged endorsement of this company.
As it’s still just late morning and the conference doesn’t kick off until a casual introductory meeting this evening, after checking into their rooms, they’ve still got hours upon hours to kill. Todd says something about grabbing lunch, and that he wouldn’t mind scoping out Manhattan as well, so the three of them immediately hop back in the car, as their fearless leader begins driving at random, on a different highway yet back in the general direction that they came.
Their haphazard travels eventually bring them to a town called Farmingdale, where, upon spotting what looks like a promising hipster district (narrow street with old buildings; buildings themselves filled with trendy business categories packed closely together and close to the street; tons of foot traffic), Todd turns the car around. All agree that this gastropub slash microbrewery appears promising, with its wood grain décor, dim interior, and wide open hole where a front wall should be. Therefore Todd parks the car and they hop out to give this place a better look.
This research will of course include ordering lunch as well as three tall draft beers — apiece, that is — which is all quite naturally charged to the Wholesale Shopper Market credit card that Todd takes with him everywhere. During this time, also in keeping with custom, their loquacious president holds forth on a great many topics, at least when he’s not taking a break to answer texts, or else show them videos that people have sent him, which he considers hilarious.
During this time some actual business is discussed, even, like how there’s a full slate of sessions scheduled during this extended weekend. That it’s up to Edgar and Jack to decide who will attend which class — based upon what they personally consider the most valuable lesson for that time slot — and that Todd expects them to take copious notes. There won’t be any training to speak of with RU Data, at least not in the foreseeable future, so it’s up to them to get themselves up to speed. Which is all wonderful and marvelous, Edgar and Jack can surely handle it. Oh, and Todd decides that this is a good time to break some other news to them, which is that RU Data doesn’t actually have any POS software, that it’s just a back end program.
“They don’t?” Edgar replies, baffled that Todd has never mentioned this before. “So what are we gonna use, then, for the cash registers? Slingshot still?”
“Slingshot’s done. Forget about Slingshot. It’s costing me too much money. So see, what they’ve got is, they’re gonna have a couple different POS companies here this weekend, too, which are compatible with RU Data. I need the two of you to listen to both and make a decision on which you think sounds better, for the myjority of the time at our stores.”
Say what you will about hipster districts, though, these businesses have their métier down to a science, and they typically deliver the goods. So it is that, while, sure, barely lunchtime on a Thursday, this illustrious trio are able to inhale some borderline gourmet sandwiches and French fries, as well as those three tall drafts each, in just barely over an hour. At which point Todd climbs behind the wheel yet again, and drives the rest of the way into Manhattan.
Traffic is heavy and slow moving, particularly the closer they get to the city, but at least it’s a little more orderly than usual. Along the way, Todd has decided that he would like to check out Times Square most of all, so his pair of navigators — Jack riding shotgun, Edgar in back — call out directions to him, as they research such on their phones. In between, these two subordinates discuss a concert they plan on seeing, later this evening, having purchased tickets a couple of months ago. Sightseeing is pretty much unavoidable, too, for all of them, like when they are stopped on 5th Avenue with Central Park to their right, and the iconic Apple store on their left, which boasts a long line of people streaming out the building, waiting on their chance to enter this mostly transparent cube.
“Look at these idiots,” Todd scoffs, snickering as he adds, “Apple. Apple sucks!” And laughs all over again.
Despite the continual Steve Jobs hero worship and the ubiquity of Apple products everywhere, no less the media, Edgar feels you do hear this a surprising percentage of the time still. It’s not all just the sassy vagueness of people lashing out at a lead dog, either, not even most of it. Rather people making serious assessments and concluding, right or wrong, that they’re not impressed. Like a few years ago when Dale went out and bought a brand new Mac Book and then Barbara, wowed by what she saw, did the same. Both were distressed to learn that Felix refused to help them in any capacity, from an IT standpoint, such as setting up access from their devices, to the shared drive.
“Apple products are great toys,” Felix told them, “but not suitable for business.”
A short while later, though paying an eye-popping sum for the privilege (or rather, make that…Rob Drake has this privilege), Todd somehow finds an open parking garage within walking distance of Times Square. Therefore even with this swollen mob of foot traffic, they are able to reach this iconic intersection in no time. It’s interesting and all, to be sure, and if you’re going to bother coming to New York City, you might as well cram in a little tourist trap type activity into your itinerary. But all the same, does this excursion really have a point? No, not in the least.
As far as Edgar’s aware, all they do is walk some, but mostly stand around taking pictures and staring at the sights and sounds of Manhattan. At some point, Todd says he has to take a leak, and ventures off in the general direction of a McDonald’s and a Starbucks. Then a few minutes later, Jack says the same, and disappears as well. To simplify matters, Edgar remains right where he is, watching this amusing street performer sing and play tunes on an acoustic guitar. He bills himself as the Naked Cowboy, but fortunately is at least wearing a red, white, and blue pair of underwear, to go with his ten gallon hat. Give this guy credit, he’s certainly entertaining, enough so that Edgar films a short video and texts it to his wife.
Oh yeah. The Naked Cowboy, Elizabeth immediately types back. So apparently she’s already familiar with this guy’s work.
When the other two eventually return, they all agree they’ve seen enough and begin walking back to the car. This time around Todd asks Jack if he wants to drive, so they switch places, and begin the convoluted journey, zig-zagging their way north and south but mostly east across town. Upon reaching this bridge that will take them over the river into Queens, they are unfortunately trying to turn left, a fact further compounded in that one of the destination lanes is closed due to construction. There’s a hilarious blinking roadside sign flashing DO NOT HONK HORN in orange lights, which means of course that every vehicle does precisely that. Even this one, which finds Jack laying on said horn as Todd and Edgar both shoot some film of the occasion.
As they finally, blessedly make their way back to the hotel and the conference, more than an hour later, this introductory session thankfully uses very little brain power. There are a couple of quick, business-related speeches, including one by RU Data’s founder, Rick, who is apparently Matt Abernathy’s grandpa. Regarding Matt himself, it’s good to put the name to the face, having spoken to him a few times on the phone now. He’s a tall yet slightly doughy, Italian looking guy with a mess of curly black hair atop his head, probably a few years younger than Edgar, gives off the sun deprived edginess of a guy who works behind a computer all day in some dingy office. So yeah, he and Jack can relate.
Things wrap up with some admittedly hilarious motivational speaker, who is so comical Edgar can’t resist walking up and shaking the guy’s hand afterward, chatting with him ever so briefly. With this conference room, like the others, located on the second floor, everyone now decamps for a little social mixer type engagement, held in the hotel’s restaurant down below. Here, Todd, Jack and Edgar are joined by yet another of Todd’s old cronies from the St. Louis days, some Ken Douglas guy. Ken, who appears early middle-aged, his unruly locks as curly as Matt’s but browner and shaggier, exudes more of a zany dad kind of vibe. He apparently has a background in data, too, although the business card Ken hands out has these cartoon images of fruits and vegetables upon it, the business moniker Foods For Less up top. Centered upon this white background then are the expected fields of his own name, in red ink, everything else pertinent listed below in black: cell phone, email, and his primary discipline, DATA SPECIALIST. Even though at present he is merely working in that store's produce department.
With their bellies and their capacity for mingling at capacity, they break off into separate factions for the night. Todd is heading up to his room, while Edgar and Jack are taking off for that rock show. In the lobby, their boss makes a “bull horn” shape with his fingers, pointed at both of them, as he breezes toward the elevators, and commands, “no drunk driving with the rental!”
As soon as they are outside, Jack scoffs and says, imitating Todd’s voice, “no drunk driving! It’s okay for me to pound three tall IPAs in an hour at lunch, but no drunk driving! Okay, sure, guy, whatever you say.”
Not that this is a problem for either of them. With Jack behind the wheel, they head back toward the city, and then around, bound for a quaint, old-timey theater just north of NYC. After making a pit stop in this nearby, equally retro cafe for dinner, they continue to the venue. Will consume two beers apiece here, one before the concert, and one during. Yet, although it is a great performance, and Jack’s right in assuming that Edgar would dig this band — a modern bluegrass tinged rock outfit — it’s definitely possible that the most interesting development of the night occurs when Jack receives a phone call, prior to a single note being played, as they stand amid the sea of people on the floor.
“Hello?…What?…You’re kidding…huh…we were just down there earlier today!…No, we’re fine, everyone’s okay…alright, thanks, yeah, I definitely will…”
“What was that all about?” Edgar asks him with a chuckle.
“That was my dad. He says a bomb went off down in Times Square!”
“What! That’s crazy!”
“Yeah…,” Jack nods, as he’s already got an article about it pulled up on his phone, begins reciting the facts of the case. Apparently, just a couple of hours after they left Times Square, a bomb, set to go off with a timer, had detonated in a parking garage not too far from where they had been. Which is kind of scary to think about. Authorities still aren’t sure whether this is a terrorist act or an individual acting alone or what.
After hearing the facts of the case and details about the device, though, Edgar concludes, “that sounds like amateur night to me.”
