It was a new job. (In fact, it was another (yet another) new job.) And, on the new job for six (whole) working days, I was somewhat embarrassed to inquire about vacation. On the other hand, it wasn’t an ordinary holiday: this was a celebration marking a monumental family milestone. Melika would be graduating from the University of California, Santa Barbara, an institute of higher education that she had identified using Internet search technology.

Keyword = party school
Sub-Index = beach


In her first few years in California, Melika had helped solidify UCSB’s position atop the ‘fun’ rankings. She’d lived on Delplaya Street in Isle Vista, a beachfront collection of decaying rental properties solely populated by college kids who spent weekends (and weeknights) wondering the streets looking for the next bash. During Semester at Sea, she had circled the world on the SS Soirée – a floating version of Isle Vista where she had been (unanimously) elected to lead the Ambassador’s Club, i.e. the group that arranged social events.

When we moved to Zürich, Nazy and I had, with trepidation, sent dan-go, ‘my’ turbo-charged sport car, to California for Melika’s exclusive use. The rationale, viewed at the time with scepticism, was that she needed the car in order to get a job. Much to the astonishment of her parents, Melika located employment at a bistro in Montecito.

Aside: “Bistro” does not adequately describe Lucky’s. It is the California restaurant of the st*rs. Melika has met Oprah Winfree, Michael Douglas, Catherine Zita-Jones, Carol Burnett, John Cleese, Andy Granitelli and a new boy friend at Lucky’s.

Thus, new job not withstanding, our trip was planned. I negotiated a compromise with Alberto (my new boss). I would telephone into the critical quarterly business review from California.

Flights were surprisingly smooth. I arrived on Thursday from Amsterdam (via Houston), Nazy and Mitra made it Friday evening. While we were awaiting Nazy’s arrival, Melika and I went into Montecito for breakfast. When we entered the shop, a guy saw Melika.

“I hear you’re graduating,” he said. “Does that mean you’ll be leaving us?”

“Not yet. This,” Melika said, turning to me, “is my Dad. He’s in town for the graduation.”

“Peter Douglas,” the man (Michael Douglas’ brother) said, shaking my hand.

I had planned to synchronize eMail while we were waiting for Nazy, but Melika’s posh apartment in the Polo Field area of Carpenteria didn’t have a landline.

“You only use a cell phone?” I asked.

“I have a
useless cell phone. It doesn’t work in this apartment.”

“That’s why it’s called a mobile phone in Europe.”

“Whatever. I have to walk into the parking lot to use it.”

“It’s a good thing that it doesn’t rain in Southern California. By the way, I thought that you were an expert in telephone technology.”

“I am the expert in telephone
usage, Dad, not telephone technology. This service is really bad. A few months ago, Cingular made a billing mistake. They had changed my calling plan and then sent me an invoice for $900.”

“Are you sure it was a mistake, Melika? Aren’t gargantuan telephone bills embedded in your genes?” [I was thinking about the $1000 telephone bill that she had generated making calls to Louisiana from India.]

“Funny, Dad, very funny. It was
their mistake. They’ve also lost payments that I made and then they cut off my service. I had to get a letter from my bank to prove I’d paid.”

“I assume that you’ve thought of an alternate provider.”

“More than once, Dad. But Cingular wants to charge me a cancellation fee.”

The graduation itself took place on a beautiful California day. Shahrzad and Ray joined us on the campus. Calling upon her experience as an Ambassador, Melika had arranged a graduation party at ‘Peter and Ray’s’. She wasn’t happy with Darius’ preparation.

“They have a nice house, Dad. You
must get Darius to change for the party.”

Darius overheard the comment. “Change? Why, Melika?”

“Well,
Dar, you ran ten miles before breakfast and you haven’t showered since, you haven’t shaved in three days…”

“Don’t worry, Mel, I’ll make sure he prepares properly.” I interjected.

Darius and I drove back to his apartment. After a lengthy delay, he appeared: shaved, showered and suited. Meticulous, I wasn’t completely satisfied.

“You look great, Dar. But I don’t think that shower shoes go with your suit.”

“They’re
not shower shoes, Dad.”

“They’re
not dress shoes, Dar.”

“If you want me to change, we’ll have to drive back to
UCSB. I think my shoes are in my office.”

“You
think…”

Extensive excavations in his office failed to locate the shoes. (The results were inconclusive: a Volkswagen could have been missed under the mounds of paper debris.) We drove back to his apartment where, after many minutes, the shoes were located in a m
ound of dirty laundry. I politely conveyed my thoughts on cleanliness and hygiene to Darius as we drove to Mel’s apartment. Darius wasn’t fazed.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about, Dad. I could understand the point if I had left my shoes in a pile of
clean laundry.”

“Clean laundry, Darius? I’d be flabbergasted if you’ve seen clean laundry at any point in the academic year.” I said as we pulled into Melika’s apartment.

Darius responded by locking his keys in his car. Luckily, Melika had contracted for the roadside assistance plan as part of her Cingular telephone service. The service level was singularly (cingularly?) unimpressive. No one responded before we left for the party.

The party venue was M
3 (Modest Montecito Mansion). Peter and Ray, our hosts, arrived in a Bentley. Informed that the “house was on the market”, I took a tour through the $25,000,000.00 chateau. As I perused the 14-seat movie theatre, Peter opined about the neighbourhood.

“I like this house because it isn’t overdone like others in the area. Most people have such an impersonal theatre – something seating 50 or 100 people. I mean –
really!”

“I understand.” I replied, thinking of the ancient (15 inch) Grundig television that I watched while sitting on the floor in Zürich.

We returned to Melika’s apartment after the party, calling Cingular roadside assistance on the way. Because it was “too late” for Cingular, Darius borrowed Melika’s car for the drive to his apartment. He parked under a streetlight, not noticing that he had failed to extinguish the headlights. Later, Melika observed that Darius had created two (2!) unusable automobiles within 24 hours.

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