Island Fever

Manhattan was really getting to me. Work was tough; I had a few proposals due–ALL of which were aimed toward our most popular annual events. I find my job as an events marketing manager for a posh interior design magazine to be both exiting and educational. Though at times, these people, with whom I must work are more trouble than the men whom I date–DIVA DECORATORS are the worst! I could really use a day away….just one Saturday.

A friend of mine lives in Staten Island; you know, the fifth borough? No, of course you don’t because when discussing New York City, no one really considers Staten Island. It is truly the forgotten borough. Residents are usually sucked into a sheltered world of limited (almost nonexistent) public transportation (one train line?!?) and days spent cruising one of many strip and/or shopping malls. Always one to see the silver lining, I was looking forward to grabbing some excellent penne vodka at Il Pomodoro–my favorite restaurant in the borough.

After dinner with my friend, we visited Danny Boy’s, a tiny Irish bar which draws a much larger crowd than the space should accommodate. Oh yes, the usual cast of characters–off duty N.Y.P.D drowning their aggravation in Heineken or Jager Bombs and then there were barely legal, sweet, young thangs who were so willing and eager to lend the boys…ahem…an ear–”WUNDAHFUL”, I thought. I began to feel terribly for my friend Maria; were these her options? A “buff” (or super cop) bar, where the object of the evening is to decide who can brandish the largest, shiny “pistol”? Now I understand why there is such an influx of B&T (Bridge and Tunnel) folks to the Manhattan bars during the week. Many of my conversations which took place with any men that evening went something like this:

Buff Boy: “Hey, Howya doin’ ?”

Frankie: “Fine, thank you. How are you?”

Buff Boy: “Yea, good, good. My name is [insert any of the following: Mike, Joe, Jimmy or John].

Frankie: “Pleasure, my name is Frances, though you may call me Frankie.”

Buff Boy: “Frankie? But thatsa boys name. Why didn’t cha git named Frannie or Fran? Ah, yea, I guess Frankie’s cool. You have that uh Imma chick, but like, I have a guy’s name thing goin’ on. “

Frankie: “Yes, apparently I do and it seems that I have accomplished my goal of amusing men by taking a traditionally masculine nickname. Please excuse me, I am going to the ladies’ room.”

I didn’t return to continue this conversation and after another failed attempt at conversation by one final member of the Danny Boy’s crowd, Maria and I left to share a plate of cheese fries at The Colonnade Diner, as they are THE CHEESIEST. We discussed that evening’s events and she decided to spend the next month bar hopping with me in Manhattan so that we may recover from the culture shock brought about by this evening. I spent the night at Maria’s and headed out early, as I had to prepare for a presentation early the next morning.

Before boarding the X1bus on my return trip to Manhattan, I decided to stop at the grocery store to stock up on some necessities at much lower prices than those in my neighborhood. Walking up to Shoprite I spotted a large shiny, red fire engine–”Oh my” I thought. See, I love a man in uniform; any uniform really. After my third glass of Hennessy one of those silly cops would have been able to score my number if wearing a uniform. But here, in the middle of Staten Island on a sunny, spring, Sunday afternoon…here they were…F.D.N.Y!! I can not tell a lie–my heart or something, somewhere inside my body fluttered! After taking a deep breath, I entered the store through the automatic doors leading into the produce department–there they were–HEAPS of them!! “Can there be heaps of firefighters?”, I asked myself (I couldn’t help but chuckle aloud when recalling Ruby’s tale of the overzealous dinner date in Little Italy).

Over the bananas and mangoes, I spied a cutie–shaved head, nice build… hey, smiles exchanged and he is…walking away. Oh well, I turn around to measure some grapes and…a tap on my shoulder. Oh, it is him! I notice he has beautiful green eyes. “I couldn’t help notice you gave me a second look. I wanted to come over and introduce myself”, he said, extending his hand. We chatted for a moment; he being polite and not mocking my masculine sounding nickname and I, thinking perhaps Staten Island is not all THAT bad, give the well-mannered firefighter, named Joe, my telephone number. -Frankie