“The Mayor is wearing me out”
By JOSH RESNEK
The mayor went into his version of overdrive when he returned from Arizona.
He went from a three-week Aruba-Arizona vacation mode into a Carlo “I’m back in Everett” style work mode.
This was bad news for the Blue Suit – his blue suit, who the mayor loves…to wear that is. Special consideration must be given to what exactly Carlo’s work mode can be compared with. His work ethic is about that of a domesticated gorilla on display in a zoo. All the caged gorilla can do is eat and sleep and mope around looking for something, anything to do.
The gorilla sleeps more than he eats.
The mayor isn’t a gorilla – but he sure acts like one.
The mayor back in Everett was a hard, bulked up fit for the Blue Suit to have to endure.
“Carlo put me on when he got back. He went through the whole routine…fussing with the gel in his hair, a shave and face lotion tossed on, the choice of shirt and tie and then putting me on, pants first, and the suit jacket. Then came the posturing and posing for himself in front of the big mirror in his bedroom in the Abbott Avenue mansion. I can take most things weighing me down when he puts me on, but I can’t stand the way he looks at himself,” the Blue Suit told me.
“He hasn’t taken me off or hung me up in the closet since he got back. He doesn’t sleep with me on. Boy, is he sleeping since he got back,” the Blue Suit said to me.
“Have you watched the mayor’s Facebook video bit about the 311 Department? It’s better than cinema verite mixed with Hollywood comedy,” the Blue Suit asked.
“Oh, yes,” I said.
“I’ve watched it three times to make sure I didn’t miss any of the mayor’s special messaging. It’s so hard for me to remain awake and alert when the mayor goes mumbling and fumbling along with words and phrases he was told to say,” I added.
“You are so, so rude about Carlo, Josh,” the Blue Suit said to me. “Who do you think you are comparing Carlo’s return home motions and manner of speaking with those of a gorilla in the zoo?”
I thought back for a moment, to when I was growing up in Marblehead, to how I was brought up, especially by my father.
“For your information, I did not claim Carlo talks like a gorilla. His manner of speech is unstudied and tentative. He blabbers his words as though they are chopped up like salad bits and he spits out the words like globs of Mexican beans being spooned out of a can and tossed crudely onto a plate,” I told the Blue Suit.
“As for me being rude to Carlo, or calling attention to the way he communicates, well, my late father forced me to read, to write, to learn vocabulary, to speak in such a way that people tended to listen, to finish my words and thoughts so as to know what I was talking about. If I spoke like Carlo, my father would have slapped me until I figured out how to speak in public. If I couldn’t do that, my father would have warned me to never speak in public and to make sure as few people as possible would know how illiterate and incommunicable I am.”
The Blue Suit was taken aback.
“I’m really sorry for you,” he said to me.
“Not to worry. My father was my pal. My biggest supporter. He taught me how to recognize mayors like Carlo. My father believed everything was fixed at city hall. I tended not to agree with him as a younger man. “As I grow older and watch, follow, investigate and write about Carlo’s antics, the more I have come to believe my father was absolutely right.
“One more thing my father taught me and demanded of me was to never show off. Never let people know what you have. Drive junk cars. Wear nice clothes but no jewelry, no outward fanciness that says to those I met: this guy thinks he’s better than everyone,” I told the Blue Suit.
“You got me thinking,” I said to the Blue Suit. “Looking back to the advantages I had, to the education I got, to the experiences I’ve had that aren’t like everyone else’s, to me is all about privilege and privilege was a private thing with my father and my uncles who were more harsh than my father about how they thought the world worked. Which brings me back to Carlo,” I said.
“He makes a neon light out of his privileged condition. Trips to Aruba that cost tens of thousands of dollars, the big house, the poor work ethic as if to say, why should I work? Only idiots work. He likes to give everyone the impression that he’s soaking in money, that he doesn’t have to think about money (even though he thinks about it every time he lets out a new city contract).
I have been told by several people that Carlo often puts on the dog by reminding those who ask him how he affords the things he does by answering: ‘“Do you know how rich my father-in-law is?”’
The Blue Suit was getting uncomfortable.
“Anything else, Josh?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I’m not sure this is the way for the mayor of a working-class city to act. Carlo is no better than most of the people he was elected to serve in the city of Everett. He paints himself as better, smarter, richer, and more handsome than anyone he knows. How long can he last, do you think?” I asked the Blue Suit.
“For my own mental health and well-being, I hope he doesn’t last much longer because it’s time for me to retire. I’m tired. I’m a bit worn on the inside sleeves and around the waist. A few threads are wearing out on the rear tail of the suit jacket. One of the buttons needs a bit of a sew.” The Blue Suit said. He paused.
“You wonder how long he can last, Josh?” he repeated.
“He’s wondering the same thing. Why do you think you hear so often now the mayor says: ‘” I won’t be mayor forever.’”
“Nothing lasts forever,” the Blue Suit said. He knows of what he speaks.