Transatlantic Parcel

My sister Abby, in between hiding in a small flat in the district of Queens from a world-famous not-quite-hurricane going by the misleadingly non-threatening name of Irene (she sounds to me like she should be running a launderette, not bringing death and destruction to the entire Eastern Seaboard) has somehow managed to get to a Post Office that hasn't been blown away. As a result of this intrepid behaviour, a parcel arrives, excitingly and Transatlantically. It proves to be the perfect antidote to the last week of the last pre-junior school summer holidays, containing not one but four exemplary items of contemporary Newyorkarama, including a bowl from Chinatown for Charlotte, a Firechief's Car With Opening Doors for Frank (he might be about to start junior school, but matchbox cars with opening doors are still absolutely the way to his heart), and for both me and Frank, a foldout map of the New York subway system.

I spend a good part of the evening poring over the map, revelling in evocative station names such as 103 St Corona Plaza, 46 St Bliss St, and 63 Dr Rego Park. The rest of the evening is given over to studying the fourth and final item in the package, which is an up-to-date edition of El Correo De Queens. This is the Spanish language newspaper for the neigbourhood, and is a worthy rival to the North Wales Evening Post when it comes to devoting acres of newsprint to recounting in great detail how not very much, really, has happened. The story of the Annual Dominican Republican Peoples Parade takes up the first three pages (they stretch it out from what would have been a mere two and a half by the simple expedient of repeating the phrase 'The Annual Dominican Republican Peoples Parade' every three sentences), and a further half-page of tightly-packed text, complete with a series of vox-pop interviews, is given over to the scandal of the inadequate routemaps displayed on the interior of certain neighbourhood buses.

That's not my favourite bit of 'El Correo de Queens' though. My favourite bit is the adverts, which routinely feature head-and-shoulder shots of gleamtoothed smalltime business proprietors, accompanied by their signature and a short caption aimed at conveying their status as what I believe our American cousins refer to as Stand Up Guys. The caption for Koeppel, the Northern Boulevard Car Dealership Man, reads 'Where Value Comes as Standard'. On the opposite page a snap of a physician named Dr Vincent D'Amore is accompanied by the legend 'Board Certified Emergency Medicine Physician Serving His Hometown of Maspeth, Queens For Fifteen Years'.

Good for Doctor Vincent D'Amore, I say (and by the way, I have just checked on Google as I was convinced his name had been appropriated by the scriptwriters of Friends and given to the corny sitcom doctor character played by Actor Joey in the show-within-the-show 'Days Of Our Lives'. Turns out the fictional surgeon was named Dr Drake Ramoray, which I am thinking is close enough to be no coincidence).

Where was I? Oh yes. It has been the last week of the last summer holiday before junior school and we have been in dire need of taking our minds off the impending horror of Monday morning. The door-opening fire cars and the Spanish language newspapers (and other items worthy of honourable mention, such as the latest in a steady supply of giant leeks from the allotment, the sight of the Irish ferry making its stately way past the Liver Buildings and a last-minute equaliser by Stockport County's Sean McConville rescuing two points from a Friday night home encounter with high-flying Luton Town) kept us bobbing along until Sunday night, when we we fell collectively victim to melancholy (and in the case of Frankie, who is allowed to burst into tears at the thought of Monday morning on the account of being seven, to a bout of helpless post-bed-time sobbing).

I think we've gotten over the worst now though. Frankie, an example to us all, got up cheerful and brave this wintery morning and even managed a hearty 'Good Morning' to the lollipop lady on the way into the unfamiliar junior school playground with the massive chickens and the even massiver Year Six Children. Fighting back a couple of tears myself I blew him a last kiss and made my own way to work, which may not have featured giant chickens but did involve making a Scary Introductory Phone Call to A Potentially Important Client. Fortunately I have many years' worth of Terrifying Monday Mornings under my belt, and was able to call on this experience by putting off that particular task until tomorrow, in favour of filling in a form, refilling my stapler, and making rather more than my fair share of tea.

Well, Tuesday is much more the day for Scary Introductory Phonecalls To Potentially Important Clients, do you not think? Your own admissions of Sunday Night Monday Morning hopelessness, in the comment box if you please, usual Crinklybee Rules of the House apply, Judges Discretion Final, extra points for tears, giant chickens, and/or the use of the Spanish language as colloquially spoken in the borough of Queens, NYC.

Comments

[ISBW]

Lovely stuff, particularly the tiny insights into the everyday (for them) and the extraordinary (for you) that can be gleaned from a scan of someone else's local news. The same brand of curiosity drives me to always have a nosey round a supermarket every time I go abroad. It's all in the detail.

Sunday-night-sinking-feeling memories are abundant; my main one is hearing the theme from 'Black Beauty', which forever signals the end of the weekend and double maths first thing (and I haven't done my homework.). To this day, it can ruin my mood.

[looby]

I really felt for my girls on Sunday night - I remember that awful feeling of hte last day of the holidays only too well. We went out for a pizza and tried to wring the last few hours out of the six weeks.And of course, nature intervened to hammer home the horror with an inch of rain in 24 hours.

[jonathan]

ISBW- it's the theme from Shoestring that does it for me, not that they seem to show Shoestring any more, even on Dave Ja Vue or ITV4 (which prefers endless repetitions of the same episode of Minder, or is it lots of different episodes with exactly the same plot, I'm not sure).

Looby I think you did very well to rouse yourselves to go out for a pizza as by those last few hours it was all we could do not to go and hide together behind the couch. We've got through two days now without being mauled by chickens or falling prey to unnamed horrors, so I think we're going to be OK (I still haven't made that important work phone call yet though as I had some vital filing to do- Wednesday is more the day to embark on that kind of task, do you not think?)

[Nexus John]

For some dark reason it was always Saturday morning when the letter from the Inland Revenue arrived asking for their money back.
Those bloody mercenaries in the post room putting first class stamps on the brown envelopes just before 4-o-clock on a Friday afternoon and thinking, "That'll spoil their weekend!"

[Martin Q]

Ooh, Monday mornings. I tend to sleep through them, which is unfortunate and unintentional and leads to a feeling of guilt that lasts most of the rest of the week about all the work not done. When I was younger we called that particular ailment that would strike on a Sunday evening and "might mean I'm not well enough to go to school in the morning" - well, what else would you call it? Sundayitis. It's pretty contagious, you know.

As for the Subway map, it sounds like you don't already own "Metro maps of the world" a book which I have literally spent hours staring at in just the way you describe. The commentary has a rather inflexible way of defining what makes a good map (LU can, in that author's eyes, though not mine, do no wrong in this regard) but it is otherwise fascinating. And as good a reason as any to stay up too late of a Sunday night when it jumps off the bookshelf, and end up oversleeping on Monday morning. I warn you, though: that can ruin your week, it can.

[Abby]

Eeee, my Sunday night dread, which was already starting to build even though it's only very early on Saturday morning, has, I think, just been cured by the information that Frank now says cheery hellos to the lollipop lady. Is this the same lollipop lady that he shunned for years?

[Jonathan]

The very same! I don't think the lollipop lady can believe either this is the same boy who used to shyly hide in me or Charlotte's coat at the very sight of her stick. They're best of pals nowadays, which is a relief as we used to dread the reproachful glance from inside of the luminous waterproof municipal mackintosh that would follow us daily up the street as far as the school gates. Maybe we won't have to move house after all now...