First thing, one woman got a necklace. I knew I recognized her from somewhere, and I later realized she's a waitress at Tori. Whoops.
I had no customers for a long time, so I got food. And there was this seagull that was aggressively trying to steal my food! It kept diving in at me, or trotting up. One of the waiters chased it away for me, as did my friend Jaakko. I finally finished my meal in peace.
With my free time, I wrote a story for this art project I'm doing with my friend Ashkahn. It's top secret until we get some stuff together, or maybe I'm just saying that. Nonetheless, he's a great artist/graphic designer/typographer/guy.
Then I found out that my meal from Tori was free. Thanks, Fredi!
Finally! I got an order for writing! A guy asked for a story, and didn't know what the topic should be. I made him pick something, and he said, "A man and a woman go to play tennis, and you decide what happens." What happens: Mr. Williams (a prominent art dealer) goes to his country club to play tennis with his girlfriend/arm candy, Charlotte. After the first game, Charlotte notices the ball boy doodling caricatures in the white lines of the court and threatens to report him for graffiti. Mr. Williams likes the art, and says he will make the boy famous. The next time Mr. Williams comes to play tennis at the country club, he's there with the ball-boy-turned-artist (who is now a valued member of the club)...and this time, Mr. Williams' arm candy is named Lucy.
Then a couple approached me and said that it was their two-year anniversary. They asked for a poem. I asked if they wanted it to be lovey-dovey (not in those words) or funny. They said mix the two. So I wrote what felt best. I delivered the poem to their table and watched for their reaction. The man read faster than the woman and gave me the thumbs up. The woman cried. About half an hour later, one of the waitresses carried out three glasses of champagne and said one was for me...from the couple. They clinked their glasses with eyes locked, and then they looked at me, and we three raised our champagne flutes in the air for a silent toast. I like getting tipped (extra) in champagne.
My last customer proves that the world is small, or at least that Helsinki is. She ordered a poem with the prompt "What it means to be born on a Thursday." I thought what I wrote was kind of cheesy, but she said she loved it. It was for her son, who is 19 and was originally born on a Thursday. She asked, "What's your name?"
"It's on the back of the poem."
"Wait...that's your name??"
"Yeah...?"
"I was your landlady last year!"
Haha, no shit. We had never met, only exchanged emails. We thought that was awesome.
Wednesday, it rained, so I didn't busk. But I did meet Lilu for a goodbye lunch. She's fantastic. And Wednesday night, I went to Helsinki's best bookstore, Arkadia Bookshop, for a finishing-of-book party. The author is that guy I have mentioned before, an American from New York who was writing (but is now finished with) a book about the Winter War. Gordon Sander. Check it out.
That bookshop is glorious, too. The owner, Ian, is such a delightful man, and he has a lovely British accent. He and I made a trade: I got one of the Arkadia tote bags in exchange for a story, which I will mail to him. He also gave me a book by Kingsley Amis, one of my favorite authors. If you’re ever in Helsinki, this is a must-see-stop. One of my favorite parts of the store is the color coordination of books. He sometimes has entirely orange bookshelves, or blue, or, in this case, one long strip of just red books.
Then I went home. And I started packing up. All of my wall decorations are now placed safely into containers for the long journey home to New York. Pretty soon all my books and clothes and everything else will be too.
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