I have been working all day on a display board.  Enough has been purchased for the restaurant that I can do a decent one, but surely not the final one.  I have a vision of how it will look when finished, but I understand that my clients need something substantial to look at. 

In the process, I made this mock up of the booths I designed.  The overlapped layers are obvious here, but not so much when I printed it out. It has some other problems: the stripes will be tucked in the actual booth,  and the pattern will appear much smaller.  In 50 days we will compare.

Shopping in the New York City Bowery Restaurant Furniture District was a foreign experience.  Not just because the shops are run directly by representatives from the Chinese factories, many of whom I did not hear speak one word of English. 

My clients are first generation Indian, and out of habit — and because they are so at ease with me they forget I can’t understand Hindi– tend to slip into their native tongue. 

Top that off by the STYLE of shopping.  Going to New York to buy, rather than sightsee, well, that is unusual enough.  But here in the Bowery, nothing is as it seems.  Marked Prices mean nothing.  I am used to and comfortable in dealing with the typical American shopping experience where the marked price is the reference.  Sometimes that is what you pay.  Often you pay a very figure-able percentage less, in the form of clear discounts or sales.  I rarely pay “retail”, but “retail” is the standard—the place where you begin.

In the Bowery, the marked prices are useless, if they exist at all.  The entire deal rests on the bargaining process.  I watched in awe as my client worked Linda, the salesperson.  And she was a tough cookie.  She worked him equally as hard.

Imagine the scene: I sit between my clients exhausted from making so many selections.  They discuss the finances in Hindi over my head.  They hardball with Linda in English.  She, in turn, discusses the propositions with the owner in Cantonese.  He gets angry and yells.  His son, just a toddler, races around the store screaming.  Strange food smells overtake the shop in regular intervals.  Outside there is the endless honking of traffic.  Little scraps of paper are everywhere.  The shop is overrun by clutter, toys, samples, and empty food containers.  We spend tens of thousands of dollars and the young woman at the desk does not willingly give us a needed paperclip.  Do they offer us parking?  Laughable.  They only grudgingly allow us to use their restroom after hours—no DAYS– in the shop.  A drink?  There is a vendor a few blocks down…

I’d go back and do it all again in a heartbeat.

Spent the day at the construction site.  The wind whipping the big sheets of plastic was deafening.  And COLD.

This is the form for the rooftop bar. It will be covered in stacked slate and have a wood arbor. I decided today that rattan chairs will be better than metal.

I am putting a fireplace here made out of the same stacked slate. This is the mezzanine level which will be perfect for private parties.

Looking down from the elevator. There will be a glass barricade.

The wall is 14 feet and BLANK. It's going to need a huge piece of art

Looking up the elevator shaft from the ground.