Fantasy Dinner Party

"To tell you the truth," I started out saying, then, realizing my foolishness, dropped my voice a few levels, "I kind of wish we did have a little earthquake while I'm out here." We were waiting for a table at an absolutely beautiful restaurant specializing in the finest seafood in the city. Unfortunately, we were to learn, a little too far into the process to turn back, that we had come too late and the choice seafood was sold out for the day.

My friend looked back at me somewhat blankly. I shrugged with a comically sheepish smile. But I really meant it--at least it would break up the monotony.

I've been in San Francisco for four days now.

I remember the sophomoric game of "what if..." You know--What if--You could get a million dollars, but you have to marry a woman you can't stand--would you do it? (a classic example--without it, we would have about half of the current body of fiction). Or you get to drive that new BMW you have always wanted, but it's painted bright pink with purple flowers on it (ie. do you want the car because it drives well or because it is a status symbol?)

The dilemma I'm currently facing: Say you are given the opportunity to stay in a fancy hotel and go out to fabulous restaurants for dinner each evening, and the bill is totally paid for by your company, with the stipulation that the only people you can share this with are a group of 10-15 relative strangers that you work with? The answer is: Well, okay--at least it will provide something to write about, right?

Just like any mixed group, there are moments of hilarity, annoyance, boredom, and even awkwardness...

One of the guys in the group is a native New Yorker, brash and abrasive. It's a personality type that is difficult to summarize, but my friend Laura has described life in the north as a fight for resources, and I think this is where the personality comes from. You need to speak up to be heard--if you want something, you claim it unashamedly, if you want someone to leave you alone, you make yourself appear strong, undefeatable:

"Can you believe this? Guy on a subway platform fires up a chainsaw and starts waving it around cutting people! Unbelievable"

I replied "Knowing New Yorkers, there were probably people walking by just sidestepping the guy like they've seen this all before and it doesn't even surprise them."

Deadpan, he replies, "Yeah, they're like (jerking his thumb to the right) 'Hey, get a load of this chainsawr asshole!'"

One of the guys at the table speaks with a pretty thick European accent--looks and sounds German--we later discovered he is Polish but has been living in America for most of his life, now. I've heard that there is a certain age, nine?, beyond which it is nearly impossible to learn English without an accent. This is the man who has chosen our restaurant tonight--it was too late to protest that I don't care for seafood as a rule. The group seemed determined to stay despite our projected 1 1/2 hour wait due to no reservations. I was thoroughly embarrassed because most of the men in our group, including me, were clearly underdressed for dinner at this place.

While waiting, we amused ourselves by talking in small groups for brief periods while some took breaks to smoke or order fresh drinks.

I told one of my friends about an incident from the conference which had been on my mind. A pretty woman had come by our station and had asked some very general questions which raised my suspicion. Her earrings somehow gave her away as not being part of the general crowd--they were too artistic in a crowd of businesspeople. My buddy, who was working with me at the time, started in with his always-ready banter which is ingeniously designed to test a woman's resolve to resist him. I stood by as a horrified witness as he told her that could give her his room key if she wanted to visit the "hospitality suite" and she blushed and smiled politely.

It turns out that Jeanie is a writer for a paper, but she also writes fiction. My friend pointed to me and said "You should read what Mike writes--he writes great stories!" It was my turn to blush in that "aw, shucks" way and smile politely while she asked me what I was up to. Then we compared what we were reading and she said "Dickens Austin", very fast together so I didn't realize that she was saying "Dickens, Austen". I confessed to being in the middle of Emma and by the time it all ended she ended up with my blog address. I was a little embarrassed about the whole incident.

Another story that I told to a select audience was about a near-International incident that happened the night before last.

Our company was hosting a cocktail reception and I found myself speaking with an extremely high-ranking Japanese official from our company. Even though I've been working with this group for six years, I am still occasionally surprised at the cultural differences that pop up, often with misunderstandings in language or manner that have the potential for disaster. I usually don't put these stories online because they are either very obscure or anecdotal, but in this case, since it happened to me and I am fairly certain of the pure intentions behind it, I'm making an exception.

While I was standing at the cocktail party and speaking to a Japanese friend of mine, we were approached by another, older Japanese man whom I did not know, who presented me with his business card. This is a very formal event during which parties typically exchange cards. The ceremony starts when an introduction is made, and the parties identify themselves in a very short, concise manner. Then, one party, very slowly and deliberately, reaches slowly into their pocket and begins to retrieve their card holder, signalling to the other that you had better hurry and get your own card out--the initiating party usually goes slow enough to let the other person catch up. A pristine card is retrieved and held forward with both hands very formally. The Japanese have cards printed in Japanese on one side and English on the other--they hold the proper language side up and face the card toward the receiver. (This is the point where the idiot who forgot his cards beings to apologize profusely again and again until told that they are excused).

(One trick that I like to play sometimes is to glance at the card in English, memorize the name, and then flip it over and act like I am reading the Japanese side, saying the name with a Japanese accent and pretending that I am reading the Japanese and discerning their name and title. I've only done it with a few people that I know are pretty much equals to me in the company so I couldn't offend them (or, they can't fire me if I do)--they usually laugh because so far none of the Americans I've ever met can speak even a passable amount of Japanese). Glad I didn't do that here...

Reading the card that I was given, I realized that I was in front of an extremely important person. Unconsciously, I repeated his title quietly to myself--I realized that he understood me and he smiled very broadly that I recognized his title and importance. During the course of conversation over a few minutes, the man reached out and tapped my watch very formally, recognizing that it is a nice watch and noticing that it is somewhat old. I was surprised--this has only happened a few times in the six or so years I've owned this watch.

"This--very nice watch. Very nice. Why you wear this watch-so old?"

"This watch belonged to my wife's father. When he passed away, my mother-in-law gave this watch to me."

He was clearly very pleased.

"Do you have a son?" he asked.

"Yes--I'm keeping this watch for him. When he's old enough, I'll give it to him."

"Oh, that's very good, Mike-san."

This seemed to please him very much. Some of my Japanese friends in the company talk about the importance of traditions and things such as that to the older generation, and that they have a hard time understanding some of the American "disposable" mentality--a lot of my friends think I'm overly sentimental and dwell too much on things like traditions and legacies. I know that I'm a little unusual in that regard, and it kind of felt good that it was appreciated. He reached over with both hands, shaking my hand and patting my wrist squarely with his left hand, bowing slightly.

I resisted any urge to bow back--I was told a few weeks ago that it was very awkward to Japanese people when Westerners bowed to them--he told me "Please, don't even try to do it. It's impossible for you to do it correctly."

We continued our conversation--the party got louder and louder. I made a cheesy comment about how the nice thing about staying in our Japanese hotel is that you can catch sumo wrestling at 2:00 AM. They laughed. We started down another line of conversation and then suddenly something odd happened.

The important person stepped over to me and reached out and grabbed my bicep firmly. He then pushed both hands firmly against my chest, and then patted me in the square of my back.

"You are a very strong man!" he exclaimed.

I froze. My personal space had just been violated. Normally, I would be very offended, but there was no question that there wasn't any kind of weird vibe in connection with what just happend. Just a routine checking of skeletal construction--you know, happens all the time, right?

I don't know how to convey this, but I'm confident that it wasn't a sexual harrassment type of thing. It was more like a "horse for sale" type of thing. Or a trainer checking out a boxer. I was clearly a foot taller and outweigh the guy by at least a hundred pounds, so I think I was just a freak of nature to him that he had to satisfy his curiosity about, and he suddenly felt comfortable doing so.

Did I mention that cocktails were being served?

A funny experience, it was one of those things that you just move on from without trying too hard to decipher the meaning.

A couple of other stories passed about people living through earthquakes, one of my colleague's father dying in an airplane crash, another colleague dying of a heart attack at age 50 last week, and how cool the weather is (55 degrees, and me (idiot)without a jacket). I'm forced to eat raw oysters for the first time (New York man utters a very unpublishable joke and I instantly zing him back with an unpublishable reply which quiets the whole table for just a second until there is some uncomfortable laughter).

Polish man recives his meal--milk-soaked halibut, and announces that it is completely unacceptable--sends it back. (Gee, I could have told him by the name that it would be disgusting). My roast duck is absolutely wonderful. Polish man receives a replacement fish (wreckfish?), which he pronounces undercooked and asks for it to be redone.

My New York friend, in protest to Polish man's pickiness and the fact that dinner has now reached a marathon three hour duration, solemnly spreads his napkin out on the floor, kneels down, taking a steak knife, and pretends to committ seppuku, which causes our table to burst out in uproarious laughter. The restaurant is now empty, and the chef is staring at us, unamused. We all point to Polish man and shake our heads disapprovingly. We sit at the table as he finishes his meal.

The chef rewards our condemnation by sending over complimentary desserts--fresh fruits and berries, homemade ice creams, cherry-covered cheesecakes, and, just for me, a beautiful German chocolate cake. Our table consists of a strict vegetarian and my friend who can not eat eggs, and he has prepared something special for each of them to accomodate their needs. Now THAT is a classy restaurant.

Walking home, I pondered the Fantasy Dinner Party concept, with the "what if..." conundrum figured into the mix. What if--you can go to a wonderful restaurant with fabulous food, impeccable service, in a beautiful, scenic city? You have to spend it with strangers, people you can not select, who may or may not have the same appreciation as you do, may embarrass you, may make you uncomfortable, or may be delightful to talk with.

You know what? Count me in!