Hello everybody,
This is Johnny Driver, you know, the guy that works out at that flower shop in the Hamptons...the one with all of the "misadventures." Well, I was telling John Myers about something I saw in the paper the other day and I wanted him to tell you all, but he's been really busy lately so he told me to write this myself.
John tells me he hasn't put out a Johnny Driver piece in awhile. He says he's been writing about other stuff, like music and his trip to Canada. Blah, blah, blah. He tells me that it's hard to be in the Johnny Driver mode during the winter. I guess I can understand that...it's kind of hard to think of all that crazy stuff that goes on out there in the middle of summer when the snow's piled high to your knees every other day.
Anyway, getting back to that newspaper article...wait, wait, gotta go back a second.
I've been working at Wellington's for three summers now. Every year, right around Mother's Day, I gotta make a decision whether or not I want to drive again for the summer. I like delivering flowers and just being out there in the summertime. It's never boring and exciting stuff can always pop up anytime. But it's hard work and long days, and I'd really like to have a summer off like all the other teachers I know once in awhile. All my teacher friends are going to Puerto Rico or Aruba or just laying on the beach everyday and I'm always working my butt off.
I really try to save enough money so that I don't have to work in the summertime. It's really expensive living on Long Island, especially when you're single and you've got a mortgage to pay. But every year I end up without the money to get by so I go back to Wellington's. From the looks of things already, I think I'll be delivering flowers once again this summer. Only this time I'm a little excited.
I know John's told you how much I love Madonna, the singer. Yeah, my first year at Wellington's I thought I was going to get to meet her, but it didn't quite happen. I don't want to rehash that story, but it brings me back to this article I saw in Newsday the other day.
The article was called "Madonna reins in more land" and is about how she bought two properties in Bridgehampton. Bridgehampton! I go there all the time on deliveries! I almost jumped out of my pants when I read that! Maybe, I thought, just maybe I'll get to deliver some flowers to her. I mean, Wellington's is the most well-known flower shop on the East End, and who doesn't like flowers.
I can just see it now...
Johnny gets back from his first round of deliveries. Stewart tells him to grab lunch quick because he's got another long list for the afternoon. He peruses the list to mentally map out his route and he sees the name. He starts palpitating a little.
"What's the matter Johnny?" Stewart asks.
"Ma Ma Madonna! Is it really her?"
"Yes, Johnny, and she specifically asked for you to deliver her roses!"
"Really? Oh my God! I've got to get a new shirt. This one's filthy."
So I run to Saks across the street, but they've gotten rid of their men's department. "Damn, now what?" I run up and down Main Street looking for something to wear for my Madonna delivery, skipping lunch altogether. I end up with a Southampton t-shirt, but at least it's clean.
I quickly change and get the van loaded for the deliveries. I'm going to the Ciccone residence first! I hop into the van and take the Wikkepogue shortcut in anticipation of my moment. I've loved Madonna ever since I first heard Everybody back in 1982. I've got all her albums, t-shirts, and I've seen her in concert more times than I can remember. I'm really excited!
I pull up to the gated driveway and nervously push the button.
"Yes"
"Flower delivery for Ms. Ciccone."
The gate opens and I slowly drive the van up the meandering driveway. I pop a mint in my mouth to cover up any mal odor I've got and check my teeth and hair in the rearview mirror. I grab the flowers from the back of the van, a mix of beautiful multi-colored mini-roses in a gorgeous vase, and make my way towards the front door. I ring the bell.
A young Ecuadorian woman answers the door. It figures! I glimpse over her shoulder to see if I can see any blonde hair moving around inside. Nothing. The woman grabs the flowers from my hands, says thank you and shuts the door in my face. Damn! All that excitement for nothing! Damn these Hamptons and their servants! Doesn't anyone answer their own door around here? I walk away dejected, peering towards the windows of the house as I pull away. No Madonna! Nothing!
So maybe I won't work at Wellington's this summer!
