The following blog springs out of recent events. Like the three preceeding blogs, this one is a character blog for a character without a book. She's based on a real person, of course, in this instance. The theme of burning bridges has been playing around in my head recently, after the person in question did a rather spectacular job of blowing up bridges, friendships, and writing prospects with some rather questionable and juvenile decisions and actions. And so without further ado, I give you..... a new character, the Contessa.
Well, first of all, I'd like to thank you all for coming, ladies and gentlemen of the press. I'd like to take this opportunity to disprove any of the recent unpleasant allegations against myself and my company.
For those of you who don't know me, I'm Contessa Evangelista Francesca Nicolette Viola Divinna. When you're filing your stories, kindly use my full name and grant me the audience that I so rightfully deserve. And while you're at it, do be so kind as to list my profession in front of my name. I'm an engineer, so it ought to be Engineer Contessa Evangelista Francesca Nicolette Viola Divinna. And make sure you put my full name in italics, just to emphasize it. No, I'm not being fussy, so don't even ask that question.
Now then, to the matter at hand. Two days ago, I received a call from the city while my crews were out on the Brooklyn Bridge doing some repair work. Apparently they expressed serious reservations about all of the dynamite my crew were placing on the bridge.
You know, my family has been in the explosives business for a long time. My great-great grandfather blew up tunnels in the Sierra Nevada for that nice railroad they built there in the 19th century. My great-grandfather started off a domino effect that inadvertantly set off the Halifax Explosion of 1917. Very long story, and we're still not supposed to go into detail. And Daddy loved nothing more then to go fishing with dynamite. You really do catch more fish that way. Oh... perhaps I should have asked if any of you fine reporters are with the Sierra Club or an animal rights group before I mentioned that.
Getting back to what I'm here to talk about. Yes, my crew did have a lot of explosives on the bridge. As Daddy used to say, there's no problem in the world that can't be solved with a stick of dynamite. Or two sticks. Three sticks in a pinch. And maybe some C4.
You know, that bridge has been there a long time, and when we at Divinna Engineering undertake a project, we like to start with a clean slate. So blowing up whatever came before is typical. We're not really into the whole renovating thing. Maybe we should have made that clear during contract negotiations. I'll have to bring that up with the lawyers. Lord knows they're working overtime at the moment.
You know, it's strange. I've been accused of many things in the last couple of days. Of having a runaway ego, of impatience, of ill considered thoughtlessness. How dare they! Don't they know I'm Contessa Evangelista Francesca Nicolette Viola Divinna? Are you making sure you're italicizing my name? Good.
Anyway, to make a long story short, yes, the city forced my workers to disarm the explosives. Something about the Brooklyn Bridge being a priceless treasure to the city and the nation, an irreplaceable icon of architecture and heritage. Those were their words, not mine. I think it's just a pile of steel and brick. See if I offer my exceptional services to New York City ever again.
You know, you try to be nice, hold people up to your own demanding standards, and before you know it, they're coming at you with a cease and desist order, threatening you with multi-million dollar lawsuits.
Next time instead of sending out burly workers who can be seen by anyone who's not half blind, I'll use squirrels for my explosives crews...
Obviously, if you're with the Sierra Club, forget I said that.
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. On behalf of the whole company, I'm Contessa Evangelista Francesca Nicolette Viola Divinna, and dynamite should never be used as a substitute for a flashlight. That's how Uncle Jerry met his end back in '73. They were picking his parts up all over Kansas for three weeks....