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WORKING IN THE SYSTEM
Brady tries to find a date
This week, I had occasion to call the Department of Buildings in the Bronx. Doing a bit of research to stave off the boredom that drives people at work to engage in rubberband ball-making, phone book reading, or tracking down high school girlfriends, I discovered that a number of people associated with my office would be aided if somebody could find out just when the Bergen Building was built. I decided to be that somebody, as it doesn't hurt to make friends at work, and don't we all want to be Somebody?
I am certain that individuals exist who could have resolved my question immediately. But that would put me right back into the Boredom Sector, or worse, it would force me to find out less-interesting facts such as who funded what playground renovation and exactly how many sandpits existed in said playground. We have a library at work - a small one, to be sure - but one that nonetheless has a number of fascinating books about New York, as well as a set of irresistible encyclopedias from the early 1970s that are so culturally myopic that they spend five pages on Dickens, and two columns on the Iroquois. Strangely, I found no helpful information, though I was able to narrow the date down to a span of about fifty years. I even found a picture of the building, which led my research-oriented co-worker to try to speculate on the date due to number of stories and construction material. He came up with the same span of years I did by looking at William C. Bergen's lifespan.
Then to the Internet. As I have no access at my computer, I used my research as an excuse to hang out down in the press office and in the library, where there is Internet access that is generally unused. I puttered around for a long time, but there was no information that helped me, other than show times for "My Night at Maud's" and a listing of bars in the 28th and Lexington area. The numbers of several historical organizations did give me some ammunition, however, and I decided it was time to resort to the phone.
The historical societies had nothing for me, other than the number to the Department of Buildings. The number was wrong, though the lady was helpful and even asked if anyone in her office new, by chance, the date the Bergen Building was built. Surprisingly, no one did. I was actually surprised - it is those moments that always pan out in some sort of small-town magical populist way. I called 411 before realizing that I am not allowed long-distance access from my telephone. I had to ask someone else to betray to me her code, and the hunt continued in earnest, the following day. Information gave me two numbers for the Department of Buildings; I called the more general-looking of the two. A woman with a clipped accent said that the Bergen Building is the building in which the Department of Buildings is now located. She was friendly enough to see if she had anything she could give me, but she was not the lady with date information - that comes from costumer service. Still, she checked around, and nobody knew or seemed interested. It turns out she was the same lady my research-oriented co-worker had called a month earlier, and she put him on hold while she tramped around the building in the snow, looking for a cornerstone. I thanked her for her good graces and called the customer service line, which was answered by a woman of a less-intelligible clipped accent and of a less customer-service inclinations. The conversation went:
BRADY: Hi, I am trying to find out when the Bergen Building was…constructed.
(Saying, "When the Bergen Building was built" is somehow self-consciously alliterative and redundant.)
LADY: The what?
BRADY: Bergen Building. Your building.
LADY: Block and lot?
BRADY: I'm sorry?
(I was raised in Cincinnati. "I'm sorry" is often used instead of the forced, "I beg your pardon" or the rude "What?")
LADY: (quickly annoyed - maybe she grew up in Cleveland) Block and lot, I need block and lot.
BRADY: Corner of Arthur and Tremont. Where you are. The building that has you, the Department of Buildings, inside of it, where you are working.
(The more information the better, right?)
LADY: I need block and lot.
(Ohhh, she's good. Sticks to her guns. Doesn't let thought slow her down.)
BRADY: I don't think I have that. But it's your building. I guess the block and lot are the ones you might have for where you are, right this moment. The Bergen Building.
LADY: Look, I need the block and lot.
BRADY: Well, it's right where you are. Arthur and Tremont in the Bronx.
LADY: I need the block and lot number.
(With her emphasis, things suddenly become as unclear as they have been all along.)
BRADY: Where do I get that?
(In a perfect world, she would say "The Department of Buildings." But she doesn't. This is not a perfect world. Just look at my salary.)
LADY: The Sandlot Maps.
(Actually, I don't think she says Sandlot, but that approximates what the map system is called. Upon further reflection, I believe she actually said at this point, " I need the block and lot.")
BRADY: (At a loss) Okay.
I hang up, refusing to have her think that I am going to thank her. Slightly exasperated, I give a quick synopsis of what happened to the other four people in my office. Oddly, the one woman who interacts with me only when she needs a working stapler or when she wants me to answer her line (which I do not do for two reasons: 1. She has no authority over me. 2. I wisely befriended one of the TelCom guys and now only my line and my boss's line ring on my line, plus I got one of the highly-valued readout phones) pipes up that I can get block and lot numbers upstairs in the Sandlot Maps [sic].
BRADY: Hm.
I have lunch in order to sort things through and break up the monotony of my day. I get my research-oriented co-worker to tell me about Sandlot Maps [sic]. He takes me upstairs and we look at them, trying to find the block and lot number. After ten minutes, he realizes that he doesn't know how to accomplish this task. I realized it after two minutes, but I'm in no hurry to get back to my desk. One of the Map People helps us out, and there we have it. I write the info on my hand, which frustrates my co-worker, who does not believe in Writing On Hands. He writes it on paper and follows me to my office to give me the paper.
I place the call into the customer service line. It rings thirty times before I hang up. I call the other number, expecting to get the first woman I talked to. Instead, I get the lady who had previously answered the customer service line.
BRADY: Hi, I am hoping to get information on when a building was built.
LADY: You need to call the customer service line.
BRADY: I did, but there was no answer.
LADY: That's probably because there's no one in there.
BRADY: Right.
(It is hard to argue against self-evident truth.)
LADY: Well-
BRADY: (putting knowledge to use) The Bergen Building. I have the block and lot numbers.
LADY: Okay.
And she looked up the information right there, easy as pie. I suppose she could have been just tossing out a date to appease me, but what more could I do? What did I do? I went back on down to the press office computer and found that an old flame from high school lives in St. Louis and now works for a charitable organization.
The Bergen Building was built in 1915.
By Brady Richards
021301