It Gets Even Worse, Somehow (One Extraordinary Time, Chapter 4) · 4:49pm Jun 15th, 2019
...Yeah, I've got nothing.
Previously, on One Extraordinary Time:
Hospital visits! Drama! Excitement!
And now:
Thursday, August 23
Freddy awoke from a sound sleep as he heard his phone ring. He looked at his digital clock: 6:20 a.m. He picked up the phone and said, “Hello.”
A voice shouted “Goooooooood moooooorning.” It was Dr. Berry.
Did Dr. Berry really have to become a recurring character? Everything this man does gives me the willies. I'd say that I expect him to turn out to be a Doctor of Death type character by the end of this, but that would require the plot to actually go somewhere.
Dr. Berry tells him that Harry is making a miraculous recovery and that he should be released later today. Freddy hangs up and then goes for his morning jog.
After his morning jog, Freddy went to his bank’s ATM machine to check his account. It still read $840 million. Freddy was awed, looking at the screen showing that enormous number. Freddy then transferred $25,000 to his checking account. Chills ran through his spine as he did it. He was actually going to start spending this money.
FINALLY.
Harry's hospital bill comes out to $15,823.14, plus an additional fee for the anesthetist. He pays it in full.
Y'know, it occurs to me that the IRS is gonna be really interested in where all of Freddy's money for the year came from. How would you even declare this on a tax form?
Harry, curiosity now peaked, asked, “So what kind of work do you do?”
“I work as a waiter at a Chinese restaurant in the city.”
Harry laughed then started to cough. “A Chinese restaurant? You must be joking.”
Harry, stop doing my job for me.
Freddy takes Harry back to Harry's apartment in Queens. We learn that Harry has an ex-wife and a nine-year-old son.
Oh, and then:
Freddy started to laugh as he saw pictures of the New York Mets. “It looks like you’re a Mets fan.”
“They’re my team,” said Harry. “You’re in Queens now. This is Mets country. After we lost to your Yankees in last year World Series, I actually saw some of my neighbors cry. Of course, one of them down the hall is a sweet little thing. I felt I had to comfort her in her moment of need, if you know what I mean.”
Yeah, I knew it couldn't last.
Scene break, and we're back in the eternal purgatory that is China Wok. The first customers are the Luntzes, who I still can't believe are relevant to this story.
They aren't that relevant, though. Only a brief mention. Actually, I'd like to grace you all with this scene in its entirety:
As always, Freddy’s first customers were the Luntzes. After the late afternoon lag, the restaurant was jammed with customers lined up around the block. Mr. Wong did his best to keep them happy by serving wine and telling his funny stories. In the kitchen, Johnny asked Freddy if he could loan him $50 till he got paid on Tuesday. Freddy smiled to himself and said, “Sure.” What’s $50 bucks? He’d just paid almost $16,000 for Harry’s medical bills, with over an $800 million dollar bank account.
Saturday morning August 25
That's the whole scene. Yes, it is all one paragraph. Why is it here? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Freddy has his morning jog and then goes back to the bank. Mr. Anderson (remember him? Last time we saw him was on page two) happens to be there to mooch on him. Freddy gets worried he'll notice the mistake and tries to keep the meeting short. This goes on for about a page but it's all uninteresting and I'm doing you a favor by not reproducing it here.
Well, except for this bit:
Mr. Anderson paused. “Of course. Please let me give you these brochures. They outline the programs I mentioned. Next time, before you come to our branch, please call. We will arrange for a limousine to pick you up. Or we can even have one of our employees come to your apartment to take care of your banking needs.”
The idea of a bank sending a limo to pick up customers amuses me and I don't know why.
Next, Freddy calls up Harry and asks how he's doing. He's doing fine. He also comments on how hot the nurse he has is, because of course he does.
“She went out to get some of my prescriptions filled. Of course, I wouldn’t mind filling her in other ways.”
Vomits
“Well, one thing that wasn’t so positive was watching your Yankees win last night.”
Continues vomiting
We cut ahead and Freddy's back at the restaurant. Dr. Berry will be coming today. Hide your children.
Earlier in the evening, Freddy told Mr. Wong, “I have a doctor friend coming, who will be waiting in line with a shirt that says ‘Mets 2000 World Champs’.
Mr. Wong appeared confused and said, “But the Mets no win the World Series last year.”
Mr. Wong has spoken in perfect English up until this point. More evidence that whoever was proofreading this died around chapter two.
When they got in the kitchen Johnny said, “You must be Freddy’s doctor friend.
Thank goodness! My assistant, Phil, just passed out on the floor.” Dr. Berry turned white. “Where is he?”
“Right over there.”
Dr. Berry stumbled over some pots as raced towards Phil. “How did he fall?” “I’m not sure,” Johnny answered.
Dr. Berry felt his neck for a pulse and around his head for any lumps. Freddy came into the kitchen and grabbed a hot bowl of wonton soup and walked over. “Dr. Berry, I have a treatment. I’ll dump this hot bowl of soup on Phil to see if that will wake him up,” Freddy said with a wry smile.
Dr. Berry waved his hands frantically. “Oh my G-d, we can’t do that. It could put him in shock.” When Phil heard that, he couldn’t keep up the act anymore and started to laugh.
“Shock, all right. Phil, get up,” Freddy said as he put out his hand to help Phil up.
Rest in peace Mr. Ken Mr.proofreader, 2014-2014. Also, no one is allowed to just eat dinner in this world.
Also, how does one even say "G-d"?
Then, this happens.
As they ate, Freddy continued to fly around the packed restaurant. After dropping off eight dishes at one of his tables, he walked over to Dr. Berry’s table. “Where’s Georgina?”
Dr. Berry said, “In the bathroom.”
“So are you guys enjoying yourself?”
“Yes we’re having a great time. But can you do me one more favor?”
“Sure.”
“When you come to give us the check, say you’re not sure who to give it to.”
Freddy, smiling but looking a little perplexed, asked, with an audible question mark, “Who to give the check to?”
Dr. Berry said, “Here’s a better way to say it. Something like, these days, it’s hard to know who to give the check to. If I give it to the guy, sometimes the woman gets offended with these days of equality and all. So whom should I give the check to?”
(Audible Question Mark is my new band name.)
Later on, Freddy came back with the check. He began by saying,
“In this day and age...” but before he could say anything else, Dr. Berry exploded off his chair.
“I’m old-fashioned and I insist on paying the whole check.” All the tables around him looked at him like he was crazy.
“Well thank you, Dr. Berry, for making my job easier,” Freddy said.
Georgina threw a monkey wrench in the works. “I don’t mind paying my share. It’s okay.”
Dr. Berry, horrified that she would see the discount and how small the bill was, practically ripped the bill out of Freddy’s hand. “Georgina, I’m filled with excitement that you’re in my company.” He then mumbled a few more lines as sweat gathered on his brow. He was relieved when Georgina acquiesced and let him pay the bill.
This woman's body is going to be found floating in the East River two days from now.
We move ahead to the next day, and catch up with Freddy doing something other than jogging.
Softball.
Once again, I'm going to give you this scene in full:
Sunday, August 26
Freddy and his buddies played softball in Central Park. Their one loyal fan, Mr.
Luntz, stood waiting, smiling, and puffing away on his Cuban cigar. Afterwards, Freddy called Harry and told him all about serving Dr. Berry and Georgina. Harry said the story was making him laugh too hard. “It’s not safe for me to laugh this hard with cracked ribs. Boy, it would have been fun to see the doc in action.”Monday, August 27
Look. Mr. Kaplan. I get the appeal of taking us through every single day of this man's life, but would it kill you to just cut out the unimportant bits so as to not waste your readers' time?
Oh, wait. That would mean deleting the whole manuscript.
...Actually, I still support this notion.
Freddy meets up with his parents. Thankfully, this time we don't have to sit through their backstories.
Instead, we get to learn about the colourful past of Central Park.
Freddy met up with his parents and they spent a lot of time walking around Central Park, probably the most famous park in the world. Few people realized it comprised almost one-fifth of the land area of Manhattan. The park’s image suffered from the late-sixties to the eighties. In the late-sixties, hippies did drugs and painted graffiti all over the place; budget cuts in the seventies further eroded the park’s beauty. It became synonymous with crime and muggings. Then in the eighties a brutal rape occurred and made national headlines. The woman raped became known as the Central Park Jogger. With the money of the nineties came more police and restoration projects, which brought the park back. Now the park was safe and back in its full glory. Some mornings, Former President Clinton jogged in the park.
So I've been wanting an excuse to talk about something. This'll do.
What I've come to realize after reading this far into this book, with all of its tangents, historical diatribes, and obsessive naming of streets, is that this book isn't about Freddy Will. It's his story, yes, but he isn't the focus.
This book is about New York.
It's trying to be the American Gods of New York. It shows us the daily life of a largely uninteresting New Yorker because it wants us to experience what being a largely uninteresting New Yorker is like. It goes off on diatribes about the city's history because it wants to celebrate that history. It discusses things like streets and landmarks in detail because it wants to take you on a tour of New York City. The Yankees are brought up so much because they are part of the culture of New York City, and that's important to the central idea of the book.
Once I figured this out, Mr. Kaplan's creative decisions began to make a lot more sense.
It's just too bad that all of them miss the mark.
What's missing here (besides relatable characters, an interesting and well-paced plot, good humor, good writing, the list goes on and on and on) is the feel of New York. I used to live on the East Coast, I've been there a few times. It's a busy, bustling place that perpetually smells like car exhaust, but goddammit there's a certain feeling to New York City that just isn't captured here. There's a feeling to the people that doesn't come across here. There's a sense of community that keeps almost making it through but gets repeatedly strangled by bland characters and terrible dialogue and tangents about governors that go nowhere at all.
I think, ironically, it's the intense focus on all these superficial details, rather than anything meaningful, that's failing this book the most.
Anyway. Back to making fun of it.
Frank is hosting a barbecue for Labor Day. He invites Freddy to bring as many friends as he wants.
They exited the park near 59th and 5th Avenue. Frank said, “Let’s walk up 59th Street.” When they passed the Mickey Mantle restaurant, Frank said, “I think with all the walking we did today, we all worked up an appetite.”
Julia laughed and said to Freddy, “When it comes to Mickey Mantle, your father just can’t resist.”
Neither can the author.
While they waited to be seated, they walked around and saw the pictures of The Mick, Whitey Ford, and manager Casey Stengel. There was a classic picture of Mantle with Roger Maris. Then Frank smiled broadly when he saw a picture of his favorite Yankees team, the ‘61 Yankees. “Wow, what a team. It was Mantle’s best season since
‘56, when he won the Triple Crown. He had fifty-four homers and might have broken Ruth’s homerun record had he not got injured. The record wound up being broken by Maris. The fans were all pulling for The Mick, not Maris. They would often boo Maris, and the bitterness took its toll on him. He was glad when he got traded out of New York a few seasons later. Some say his early death was due in part to the ‘61 season.” Frank got teary-eyed as looked at the pictures.
I see we're making up for the terrible lack of baseball in chapter three.
Unlike Ollie's, this restaurant actually exists, by the way. Well, existed. It closed in 2012.
Nothing else of note happens in this scene, except for a very light dunk on C-SPAN:
“Whatever you do, if you talk to Norm, try to avoid talking about Congress. He watches C- SPAN all day.”
An easy request since Freddy rarely talked politics. He was curious, however, and asked, “Boy I didn’t know anyone actually watches C-SPAN. Why? Is he intense on his views? What is he, a Democrat or Republican?”
We move on to the next day. Freddy jogs. Yadda yadda. I'm starting to feel like I'm in a time loop. What day is it?
Nothing happens. Next day. Newspaper and a bagel.
He started reading the sports section, flipped over to the front page and became a little unnerved. It was about a bank fraud case where an employee diverted funds to several of his relative’s accounts. Then they split the ill-gotten gains. They were all facing ten years in Federal prison. Freddy grimaced to himself as the article brought home to him the risk he was facing.
Oh yeah, this story has a plot.
He tried not to think about it
Funny, so did the author.
Freddy gets a bunch of phone calls. None of them matter except the last one, which is from Mr. Anderson, who finally inquires as to what Freddy does for a living.
“Well, maybe. I’ll have to ask my boss if it’s okay.”
Mr. Anderson was surprised to hear a man worth almost a billion dollars has a boss.
He asked, “Mr. Will, where do you work?” “China Wok,” Freddy said.
“Is that some sort of Asian finance company?”
“No, it’s a Chinese restaurant.”
“A Chinese restaurant!”
“Yes, Mr. Anderson, the best in the city!” Freddy said.
“What sort of work are you doing there?” Mr. Anderson asked.
“I work as a waiter,” Freddy responded.
Mr. Anderson’s jaw dropped. Then he realized, Of course, many wealthy people will buy an interest in a business as a way to diversify their assets. Sure, it’s very smart of him to work as a waiter. He gets to be hands-on, looking after one of his investments. No wonder he’s a billionaire.
Reminder: he's not a billionaire. Also, Freddy, kid, you are terrible at this.
Freddy and his friends go to a sports cafe. There's a Yankees game tonight. We learn that The Babe has watched every Yankees game since 1996. The Yankees lose the game. Freddy's friends get invited to the barbecue and oh my god this chapter still isn't over.
Next day. Freddy bicycles instead of jogging. This story is purgatory. Dr. Berry calls. It isn't important. Freddy goes to work. Nothing happens.
Next day. It's August 31st, and we're in Frank's point of view. The two of them are on their way to Washington so that Julia can... have an interview with Hilary Clinton, apparently. I don't remember if this was brought up earlier, but if it was, I was too busy wondering why I agreed to this to notice.
Frank goes to the Smithsonian. I love the Smithsonian. I wish I was there right now instead of here, reading this.
We switch to Julia's POV. Why were we in Frank's POV if we were only going to be there for two paragraphs? Who cares. She meets up with Pamela Duff (Clinton is out, unfortunately, so we don't get to see Mr. Kaplan try to write her), Duff offers her the job, Julia says she isn't sure because she doesn't want to have to commute from Washington to New York, which is of course why you had to fly down from New York to tell her this, the scene ends.
They fly back to New York.
“Pamela offered me a great opportunity, please support me. It’s only four days a month,” Julia pleaded.
“Why is she a great role model to woman? When the press reported her husband was cheating on her, she called it a right wing conspiracy. After he admitted it, she never apologized for what she said and stays in that sham marriage only for political reasons. How does that advance women’s issues?” Frank asked. Julia looked at Frank with those said puppy eyes that always got to him. “Okay, okay, alright,” Frank said as he threw his hands up in the air. “I’ll support whatever decision you make.” He resigned himself to his fate seeing how excited she was.
I don't want to comment. I don't wanna. You can't make me.
Back to Freddy, back to China Wok. Freddy makes $400 in tips. Also his parents are there I guess, even though he's working—WAIT no I lied, one of Mr. Wong's daughters is named Julie, Freddy's mom is named Julia, why does everyone in this story have to have such similar names—
Next day. It's September now. Why won't this chapter end? What did I do to deserve this?
Freddy and Frank talk about fireworks. Freddy visits Harry. There's another nod to the secret thing. Freddy makes half a million dollars off of interest. This doesn't remotely match up the 2% interest rate quoted by Mr. Anderson earlier, or the 2% interest rate quoted in the next paragraph, but who even cares at this point.
He goes to work. Freddy for some reason pointedly doesn't invite the Wongs, for the simple and totally logical reason that Johnny would wear a chef's hat:
Freddy joked, “Maybe next year, Mr. Wong, you’ll close the restaurant for the day and your daughters will come. Of course, then I’ll have to invite Johnny.”
Mr. Wong asked, “Why would you have to invite Johnny?”
Before Freddy said anything, Julie made a face and asked, “Yeah, why would you have to invite Johnny?”
“Who else besides my dad and Johnny would wear a white chef’s hat? Cooking hot dogs and hamburgers over a barbeque.”
I don't get it either. Mr. Anderson shows up at the restaurant and assumes Mr. Wong is just the face of the restaurant. Nothing else happens.
Next. Day. Freddy j̸̲̮͔͍̣͐͛̾̐o̵̢͉̜̹̤͖̰̼̾̇̄̈̈́̅͝ğ̵̡̨̢̡̧̦̙͉̙̯̀͑̀͒͆̀͂ṡ̷̮̬̻̣̗͉͖̤̬̳̚. He goes and plays more softball. They talk about fireworks. There's this one firework that's supposed to explode in the shape of an American flag that's been brought up five times now. Freddy ĝ̷̼͔̘̘̣́̔́͋̕̚̚ố̶̺̖͇̯͕͖̬̺͚̻̈́̂͂̈́̓̌̚͠è̷̛̮̪͕͈̖̫̞̇̒͑͒͛͂s̸̢͎̫̈͊͆̊̓̕̚͠ ̵̨̺̹͎̜͊̐́̈͗͊͒͛͝ṫ̸̨̢͍̯̩̞̣͕͕̩̟͉̳̹̙͊̈́̀͘̚o̶͕̞͔͎̩͇̲̝͌͐̉̏̆̽̎͘ ̷̢̺̻͇̟̖̦͔̙̫̄͆ͅw̸̛͉͍̥̦̤̄̒́͒́̀̅̈̎̎̍͝͝ó̷͓̟̯̟̮̪̤̌̀̆̑͐̆̀̚̚r̸̙̳̗̬̖̥̫͔̯͍̟͐̏͘ͅk̷̨̪̻̦̰̬̞̺͋̅̉͑̋͋̑͋̈̈́͜. He makes over $1,500 in tips. Nothing happens and the chapter ends, yes, finally, oh my god...
I think this is the closest a bad story has ever gotten me to crying. I wish I was exaggerating. One more pointless day and I seriously think I might have broken down.
I dread what may yet come.
See you tomorrow, folks.
Oh, the author's an old New York Jew. This actually explains a lot about his politics and views on women; goodness knows I've seen this from some of my relatives.
And yeah, if this vast expanse of nothing is meant to capture the spirit of New York, it's doing about as well as the Ghostbusters' first attempt with the librarian.
5074715
I was coming in to make a similar comment. It's very much a Judaic thing, although it isn't exactly universal for the faith. My first encounter with the practice was in an old gamebook, and I swore it had to be a typo.
As for Mr. Anderson's fraud-spotting skills (and nearly everything else), the explanation is easy. You are dealing with a idiot plot. The only way this story works is if everyone in it, at authorial need, turns into an idiot.
Or perhaps the writer can create no characters smarter than he.
5074715 5074780
Huh. Thanks for expanding my horizons, I'd never seen this before.
Please, please do not use Zalgo text. It causes me literal physical pain in the form of headaches. I know you're suffering from reading this book but be the better person and don't cause suffering in others. The text also just makes things hard to read.
At this rate I'm guessing something will actually happen around chapter nine or ten. Maybe eleven. There's only fourteen chapters, right?
Of all the dumb things in this book the one I have the most trouble believing is that people wait in line around the block to get into a restaurant, especially in New York. People don't have time for that sort of thing, I don't care how good the wings are.
Then again everyone we've seen so far isn't really acting like a person, just caricatures, so I guess it's not that big of a surprise.
Keep strong RB_, that's another chapter down and you're almost through to the end.
It does seem like an excellent way to mark someone as being rich. And possibly make them a target.
5074715
Really? Speaking as an New York Jew, in fact an orthodox one who is a liberal feminist I find that comment really upsetting
5076163
Yeah, I knew that comment was going to be problematic as I wrote it. There's a mountain of qualifiers I could add, but I think I'll just stop at an apology. Sorry for the reductionist attitude.
5076230
I forgive you. Sorry if that came out badly
I think you can claim “found money”.
...Wait a minute. This is set in New York City, in 2001, in late August?
Ooooooh dear.
You know, what's really sad is that with a single sentence you've given me more of a feel of New York than everything you've quoted thus far.
Is there any hope whatsoever that this is some kind of elaborate troll? Adopting a writing persona that's obsessed with New York and the Yankees, showing off How Not To Write 101 at every turn?
Can trollfics still be trolls if they're boring? c.c