I hadn’t seen Suzanne in almost 20 years. I had known her for over 40 years since we were both teachers at P.S 85 in the Bronx and later when I was Director of Science and she Director of Mathematics first in school District 10 in the Bronx and then the Newburgh NY, school district. After I retired, I served as Project Director for her National Science Foundation Grant, the New York City Mathematics Project for 2 years. I had not seen her since leaving the Project and turned to consulting. We eventually lost touch. The invitation to her retirement luncheon came as a surprise for two reasons: close to my age, I couldn’t believe she was still working and that I was invited.
The gala, was to be held at Casoletto Ristorante in Elmsford NY. That’s 2+ hours from our backwoods home in the Poconos. I looked forward to attending. The first problem was payment by Venmo. I had never used Venmo. I suppose it is easy to use Venmo. Not for me, a card-carrying member of the Legion of the Technology Challenged. Technology and I engaged in a lengthy hours long wrestling match. Eventually, I emerged a bit numb with password overload but triumphant and Venmo ready. Now I can use Venmo. Now I will be able to use Venmo to tip my barber. I know he accepts Venmo because she has a large sign on the counter at Christmas indicating that tips may be paid via Venmo.
The luncheon was scheduled for mid November and fortunately we had no snow in the Poconos that day. The main road from here to there is Rt. 84 west to east it was the usual joy as the construction and lane changes and lane closures and continually confused Wazetta. I have named my Waze GPS voice lady, Wayzetta. I use the one with the Australian accent. It is a straight run across Pennsylvania and New York State but she kept telling me to get off the highway and use local roads (“go 31 miles on rte. 301”) each time there was a lane blockage. I don’t usually ignore Wayzetta having learned to do so at my peril which has included 5-mile traffic backups in the past. However, I know Rt. 84 having traveled on it during the 10 years or so of construction with no end in sight. I believe that the grandchildren of the current workers will be working on the road when it the work is finally completed.
In any event, I arrived in Elmsford which is located a few miles past the Tappan Zee Bridge. Note: former New York State Governor, Andrew Cuomo had it renamed after his father, former Governor Mario Cuomo. Andrew is now a former governor after that nasty harassment of women scandal. Despite the signage, no one, absolutely no one calls it the Mario Cuomo Bridge. It is the Tappan Zee Bridge. Tappan for the Native American tribe and zee, Dutch for sea because it is at the widest area of the Hudson River. Why the widest and not a narrower area? A jurisdictional dispute between New York and New Jersey agencies. But that is another story. Anyway, thanks to ignoring Wayzetta’s dire warnings, I arrived 40 minutes early and made the turn onto Central Avenue, home of Casoletto Ristorante and stopped. Traffic was backed up as cars creeped into the restaurant parking lot which was 100 ft. after the right turn. I finally entered the promised land of restaurant parking area which looked to be full, but scored the last parking spot. That never happens does it? I attribute it to clean living. I wondered where the cars lined up behind me would park.
Several times after receiving the invite I had thought about how many people I would know at this event. It had been almost 20 years since I last saw Suzanne and if she was just retiring there would be lot of “new” people, people who knew her well but not me. I followed some fellow attendees into the restaurant, a one-story building which seemed to be divided into several large rooms all of which were empty except for the one with 30 or so people in it. I walked in. Well actually, I stood in the wide doorway looking to see if I recognized anyone. I didn’t see Suzanne, but I was still over a ½ hour early. Some people looked vaguely familiar, but 20 years is a long time. Most did look like retired teachers. Seating was family style, 10 people at each large square table. I took a seat at an empty table facing the entrance so I could look out for people I might recognize. After a few minutes, a waiter approached and asked me to take a seat at another table that was already mostly occupied. I was still the only one at “my” table. I said “you mean I can’t sit here?” He said “no”. I whined “but I don’t know anyone”. He had no sympathy for my concern and shook his head and pointed to a table. It was like being back at school. “You sit there”. People were standing and milling around. I didn’t mill but sat meekly down at my assigned seat. The people already sitting did not acknowledge me despite my winning smile. I still didn’t recognize anyone. I texted Margaret, “I don’t know anyone here”. She texted back, “Eat a lot.” Then texted “look for Maria”. Maria had been Director of Technology in our districts way back then (and a good friend of ours). I would recognize Maria.
I dribbled some olive oil on my plate and took a piece of bread after observing others at the table doing the same. I placed the napkin on my lap. One of the gentlemen who had been standing and milling, sat down next to me. He introduced himself as “Wendy’s cousin”. We shook hands and I said, “I’ve known Suzanne for 40 years”. He nodded. I poured some water. I still didn’t recognize anyone. After a few minutes, there was a tinkling of a glass to get everyone’s attention. All small talk and milling ceased. Everyone looked towards the front of the room. A woman in the front of the room announced, “Let’s raise a glass to Aunt Patsy”. Aunt Patsy? Who was Aunt Patsy? The unpleasant realization dawned on me. I had been sitting in the wrong room! Oy vey. My first thought was escape. I had to get out of there and find the correct room. Suavely, I said to Wendy’s cousin, “excuse me”. I got up, put the napkin on the table , left my slice of bread and the puddle of olive oil and went outside the room. Everyone was facing the front with glasses aloft listening to the toast was being offered to Aunt Patsy and didn’t notice my furtive exit. Out in the hallway I searched. All the other rooms were still empty. A feeling of discomfort, no, make that panic came over me. I checked the rooms again. Still empty. Was I in the right restaurant? I went outside. No, there was the very large sign above the building, Casoletto Ristorante. Was this the correct day? I checked my invitation. It was the right day. Was it the right time? I checked my invitation. It was the right time. Was it for me? No, it was for me. Totally confused, I wandered into the parking lot and saw that restaurant extended quite a bit to my left. I had been so happy to get my parking space and following people into the restaurant that I hadn’t noticed. I walked the outside length of the restaurant and at the other end there was another parking lot and there were more Casoletto Ristorante rooms, all with floor to ceiling windows so I could look in without pressing my face to glass. All were empty save one which had a few people milling. Evidently milling around is required behavior at dinners and luncheons. From the outside, I didn’t recognize anyone. A car passed me and pulled into a parking spot. Two people emerged. A woman on the other side of the parking lot screamed, really, she screamed, “the honoree”! They had changed a bit, but I recognized Suzanne and her husband, Simon. Whew! Then Suzanne saw me. We hugged. Simon and I hugged. They because they were happy to see me and I was happy to be in the right place after all and I wasn’t an idiot. I told them my tale of confusion but when people are being honored for retirement they don’t really care if one of the attendees sat at Aunt Patsy’s for 20 minutes or so.
We all went in. I still didn’t recognize many of the 35 or so people in attendance but did recognize a few who’s names I could not recall but did recognize me who’s name they did recall. So, we exchanged the small talk of people who haven’t seen each other for decades. “How have you been?” This while I was desperately trying to remember their names so I didn’t really hear how they had been except for the woman who told me her husband died. All this as we were milling around. I really wanted some of the prosciutto laid out as part of a beautiful spread as the appetizers looked delicious, but I couldn’t stop milling and smiling and wondering who I was talking to. They really should have name tags at these things like they have at high school and college reunions. Although that can be awkward at such reunions when one is trying to subtly read the name tag of a woman which is always plastered to the area of her left breast….but I digress.
Eventually, I remembered some names and got some names through eavesdropping on conversations, and it was a delightful luncheon. The speeches were short and sincere. Suzanne received an Apple Watch. She found the watch in the package but couldn’t find the strap. I told her she would get the strap at her next retirement. I try to be helpful at these moments. Her daughter found the strap. People used to get gold watches on retirement, didn’t they? Times have changed. Pictures were taken. Tables visited. Food eaten. The food was quite good. Towards the end, I left the room and went to my car. It sat by itself as evidently Aunt Patsy’s gang had left a bit earlier. I had brought a copy of my book, with inscription, as a gift for Suzanne. I retrieved the book. Re-entering the room, I met the waiter who wouldn’t let me sit by myself. All the waiters at the restaurant were Italian. Accusingly, he said “you left!” I said, “I was in the wrong room!”. He said, pointing this time, “you left!”. I said “I was in the wrong room”. He didn’t say J’accuse mainly because he was Italian and not French. He said “we count you”. Whoops. Apparently, they counted seats including my seat with the olive oil puddle and uneaten bread, discarded napkin and glass of water (I’m very glad I didn’t take any of the wine), so they had one dinner too many. I can imagine them looking all over for me. I jokingly asked if there were leftovers. He didn’t think it was funny. They really should have signs outside event rooms like Aunt Patsy’s Glass Clinking or Suzanne’s Retirement or Schwartz Bar Mitzvah so that people don’t go in and sit down and take a piece of bread and some olive oil and introduce themselves to Wendy’s cousin. Ignoring his glare, I re-entered the luncheon, enjoyed the dessert, posed for more pictures. Oh, and Maria never showed up. Evidently there had been a falling out over the writing of a grant 15 years ago. The luncheon was winding down. People were no longer sitting but had resumed milling around. I announced to the ten people I knew, yes, I counted and that includes names and faces, that I was leaving while emphasizing my 2+hour drive home. Hugs were exchanged. I left. Traffic was light and Wayzetta must have had some sympathy for my earlier confusion, and I received no more advice to leave Rt. 84 for local roads. It was a long stressful day but I still think about the other luncheon and the mystery of the empty seat and plate with uneaten slice of Italian bread and olive oil and the crumpled-up napkin and the disappearing guest. Clearly a case for Agatha Christie’s detective, Miss Marple.
