Without a doubt, one of my all-time favorite movies is "My Big Fat Greek Wedding"; I think that movie is hysterical. Part of the movie's appeal is that it probably works for most ethnic groups. I'm confident that you could easily change the movie to "My Big Fat Jewish Wedding" or "My Big Fat Italian Wedding" and it would still work. The movie is funny in so many ways, but it also emits a feeling of "warmth." All of the characters in that movie are warm, caring and supportive in their own, eccentric way. After seeing that movie, I always thought it would be so "cool" to be Greek.
When I started working at Bayer, I met Irene, who is Greek. After working with her for 3 years, we became close friends and she provided me with an even closer glimpse of the Greek culture. And, she assured me that my favorite movie was "pretty much" an accurate portrayal of a large, Greek family.
When Irene's dad died last week after a long and lengthy illness, I knew that I wanted to go to the wake and pay my respects to her and her family. Because I just started a new job, the only wake I could attend was the evening one (7-9:00pm) in Astoria, Queens. My other former Bayer colleague and friend, Marian, agreed to go the evening wake with me. Because Marian had worked very late the night before and because Marian does not "do" left-turns across on-coming traffic, we decided that I would drive to Astoria. My only short-coming as a driver (despite my road rage personality) is my inability to parallel park. Nevertheless, I had previously assessed the parking situation with Irene and she assured me that there was a small parking lot associated with the funeral home. If I were lucky enough to secure one of these parking spots, parallel parking was a non-issue. Phew! It was "all systems go".....
True to Irene's word, when Marian and I arrived at the funeral home, we secured one of the parking spots in the funeral home parking lot. We paid our respects, met up with one of our other Bayer co-workers, Pirco (a "funky" German, graphic artist) and then decided to sample some of the local Greek fare, which Irene had always raved about.
For "one" inkling, for just "one" fleeting second, for "one" moment in time, I wondered if I should move my car closer to the restaurant. But immediately, I knew that would mean having to give up my prized parking spot and possibly parallel park my car on the street. I dismissed the idea as quickly as it entered my mind and off we went to eat Greek food.
However, what my friend Irene had neglected to tell me about Greek dining experiences is that they last forever. And ever. And ever. When we entered the restaurant, we were immediately tagged as "tourists." Me with my red hair, Marian with her even redder hair and Pirco with her German accent, clearly stood out as non-Greeks. And, because of this, our middle-aged waitress immediately took us under her wing, explained the entrees on the menu, demonstrated the fine art of adding olive oil and lemon to Marian's dandelion roots, invited us to sample "very good" Greek yogurt, honey, candy and ultimately, Greek coffee.
At some point, during this 3 hour dining extravaganza, I glanced at my watch and jokingly said to Marian and Pirco "You don't think the funeral home puts down "those gates" at a certain time, do you?" Laughing at the ridiculousness of this idea, Marian and Pirco shook their heads no, stuffed their mouths with more Greek delicacies and continued to enjoy the warm, Greek hospitality that was overflowing in this restaurant.
When we finally emerged from the restaurant at 11:30pm, we began our 3 block walk back to the funeral home to retrieve my car. As we approached the block where the funeral home was located, we crossed the street and that's when Marian let out a loud, agonizing "AAAAwwwwwwww."
I glanced up and there, staring me in the face, were "those gates." Except this time, "those gates" presented themselves as a barrier. I was on one side; my car on the other and from the looks of it -- the two would never meet again. Or, at least not anytime soon.
After my initial gasp of "ARE YOU KIDDING ME? IS THIS FOR REAL? OH MY GOD...WE ARE STRANDED IN ASTORIA", I did what Marian and Pirco were already doing -- I laughed! This was so not funny, that it was incredibly funny.
In between our laughing, we contemplated the options: Take a subway back to Pirco's apt. in Brooklyn and have a girl's slumber party, take a train back to Tarrytown, followed by a cab back to Bayer, retrieve Marian's car and she would then drive me home. Or, I could call Ed and beg, plead and pray that he would be sympathetic and offer to come get us. And, with any luck at all, he would not lecture me on how utterly insane it was for me to think that I could randomly abandon my car for an entire evening at the local funeral home.
After weighing the options, we did what anybody, who is stranded at a funeral home at 11:30pm on a Friday night would do: we called the Funeral Home Director.
After explaining the situation and providing the "secret code" (the name of the wake we attended earlier in the evening), we were told that someone would be by within 30 minutes to unlock the gates. As we huddled in the cold and waited in the front alcove of the funeral home, we viewed each passer-by as our potential locksmith. And, we groaned in unison when they simply walked past us. But then, Marian spotted two younger men, in dress shirts and ties and she proclaimed "I bet those are our locksmiths." No sooner had Marian said that when the more vocal of the two guys immediately started sputtering and shouting "What makes you think you can park your car in our funeral home all night? We close at 9:00pm and you cannot leave your car here and assume it is fine. The only reason we are here and you are getting your car back now is because "HE" still happened to be in the area."
"HE" was the other young guy who held the key to our freedom in his hand. "HE" told me to follow him to the gate; I apologized profusely and explained that it was the first time I had ever been to a funeral at his place and yes...yes, I was so incredibly foolish to think I could leave my car there all night. At that point, I would have confessed to being certifiably insane just so that "HE" would open "those gates."
When I offered him $20.00 and tried to make amends for my insanity, "HE" shook his head "no" and said "that's OK." Yet, I convinced him to take the money and give it to his friend, who was still sputtering. When we were safely in my car, I rolled down my window and managed to squeeze in one more "thank you" while Mr. Vocal continued to ramble about "Funeral Home Parking Only, 9:00pm closing time, gates locked, what were you thinking, etc. etc." And then, I did something that Marian never would have done: I took a left turn across on-coming traffic, headed home and vowed to sign up for my long over-due parallel parking lessons....lol
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