It was really busy at work today thanks to Vanderbilt's Parents' Weekend wherein those eating-disorder-riddled, strung-out-from-last-night's-E-trip college kids prop their heads up on the tables while their parents drone on about wine and who's marrying whom and "how much should I write the check for"? So I wasn't able to do as much mid-shift gawking at the bar television which is usually on CNN during the day. Every time I did look up I saw BREAKING NEWS: Kidney Failure or something similar. I asked my co-worker Cam if we really needed a play by play of all this man's organ failures. No, we didn't, we both agreed--just tell us when he's passed.
Then every five minutes Cam is walking past me with a tray full of drinks whispering, "Breaking News: The Pope has just had a productive cough." Or, "Breaking News: The Pope has to pee." But then, standing at the bar waiting for a cappucino Cam said to me, "He died." I turned to look at the tv screen to see CNN broadcasting in huge letters: "POPE DIES".
I thought about what it must be like to know you are going to die rather than to go in some immediate, untimely accident. Then I thought about how Table 24 needed a decaf coffee, so I forgot about it. Daniel (pronounced Danielle, he's from St. Thomas), my favorite dishwasher/prep guy, was peeling potatoes when I remembered the pope died. So I told Daniel. He said, "Ohnonono, he die dis mornin' but dey did'n wanna tell us 'cause-a well, you know." I told him I agreed and that I did know, even though clearly I didn't. Then he said, "Now I got ta go ta Rome, ya know?" again, I certainly do not know. But I love that fucking crazy-ass Daniel.
Anyway, I went the whole day long thinking the Pope was dead only to come home and discover after reading real news (a.k.a. fipilele) that he isn't dead. Yet. Now I have to go through it all again. And what about Daniel? I never got to tell him that the Pope is still hanging in there. I wonder if he can reschedule his flight to Italy.