Sal DeTraglia

Last week, I posted an email that I sent to Weber® BBQ’s Customer Support department.

My email concerned Weber’s Smokey Mountain Cooker—a trash can-like contraption that is used for smoking brisket, pork butt, ribs, and anything else that can be slathered with BBQ sauce and served on a slice of Wonder® bread.

I had recently discovered—to my horror!—that the Smokey Mountain Cooker is not sold in Spain. And after exhausting all avenues for resolution on this side of the Atlantic (i.e., bribery, threats and public weeping), I dispatched a last-ditch plea for compassion directly to Weber’s corporate headquarters in Palatine, Illinois (USA).

Here is Weber’s response:

Hello Sal,

Thank you for your email. Sorry, about your situation in trying to obtain a Smokey Mountain. WE do not sell grills directly to consumers nor ship outside the United States. Perhaps Amazon can accommodate or you may need to have someone in the U.S. purchase one and ship it to you. Sorry…

If you require further assistance please let me know.

Sincerely,
Weber Customer Support

Perhaps I was naïve in thinking that my wittily tear-jerking email might have persuaded Weber to FedEx me a complimentary Smokey Mountain Cooker as a gesture of international goodwill. Yeah…definitely naïve.

On the positive side, however, at least they tried to offer a few suggestions. If this had been the Customer Support department of a Spanish company, they would’ve informed that theirs is not the correct department for my inquiry…and promptly passed me to a Berber-speaking subcontractor sitting at a lonely outpost in rural Tunisia.

And what of those suggestions? Well…I thought about the Amazon option long ago. They do sell Smokey Mountain Cookers on-line (and at a great price), but don’t ship them outside the US.

As for the other suggestion, I won’t need to bother friends or family with this trivial matter. Why? Because I will be visiting Chicago in the near future and can coordinate the logistics personally—assuming, of course, that I’m able to repress my natural tendency toward being a compulsive cheapskate. My first thought was to buy a Smokey Mountain Cooker in Chicago and bring it with me on the flight home, but common sense prevailed. I really don’t want to explain to security personnel why I’m walking through O’Hare International Airport carry 47 lbs. of tubular-shaped, black sheet metal.

So…my fate as Spain’s foremost (and only!) BBQ pit-master will be in the hands of the US Postal Service…and then, the Spanish Postal Service.

Two national Postal Services?

Perhaps baked chicken breast on a slice of Wonder® bread doesn’t sound so bad after all.

Last week, I posted an open letter to the world’s Finns asking what the hell is a “Sauna Bar.” I saw one while walking through Madrid last week, and became titillated…er…I mean, suspicious.

I’ve since received the response below from my friends Hanna and Jussi in Helsinki. Yes, this is their actual response (with only minor grammatical editing on my part).

Hey there Sal the pal,

Jussi has some secret strategic connections which we cannot talk about publicly. These contacts have conducted, at his urging, a serious and deep investigation of this mystery place called “SAUNA BAR.” Here are the results of the investigation and the Finnish jury.

The background of this matter is somewhat similar to Russia’s top secret Space Projects…and to the US’s UFO project (which is supposed to be “Top Secret” but of course…everybody knows about NASA Field no. 51).

Anyway, the SAUNA BAR is a top secret Finnish governmental project that was established decades ago. The government’s goal was to develop a “Heaven for Finns”…and *only* for Finns. Why only for Finns? Because we didn’t think that other people would enjoy our version of Heaven (i.e., sitting in a sweatbox with a group of extremely quiet Finns…boring, no small talk or chit chat, etc.).

As result, scientists developed the SAUNA BAR as the place where Finns go after death. It is, quite simply, a sauna combined with a bar. In other words, it is a one-stop Heaven for Finns; as it would be too difficult for Finns to choose if there were 2 Heavens (i.e., one Heaven being a sauna, and the other Heaven being a Bar—we would simply never be able to decide where we want to end up after death).

Given the above explanation, your readers might be wondering what is “Hell for Finns.” We actually have two. One Hell is a Bar where you do not have cash and they do not take credit cards. The other Hell is a Sauna that is cold.

I hope these results of Jussi’s investigations help you with figuring out the SAUNA BAR mystery, and I hope that you are not very disappointed that they do not accept any non-Finns there.

Cheers,

Hanna (on behalf of Jussi and Hanna)
Helsinki, Finland

So there you have it. The mystery is solved.

I believe that Hanna’s and Jussi’s response is important for two reasons. First, it solves the Sauna Bar mystery. And second, it proves that the Finns—who are perceived to be a very quiet and serious people—are, in fact, bonkers to the core.

Vanha mies jolla on puujalka!

Pasted below is an unedited reproduction of the email that I sent to Weber Barbeque’s Customer Support Department last night after, perhaps, one too many glasses of wine.

With all due sincerity, I’ve been a hard-core fanatic of Weber’s products for over twenty years—which makes my current dilemma all the more painful.

Dear Weber Customer Support:

I am an American citizen living in Spain. What does that mean? It means that I understand the importance of smoked brisket, yet live in a country that doesn’t.

Still, I wasn’t worried. Why? Because I knew that once I had a Weber Smokey Mountain Cooker, I could simply smoke all the brisket that I needed.

But I was wrong. I contacted A.N.M.I. (Weber’s distributor in Spain) and naively asked, “Which of your retailers sells Weber Smokey Mountain Cookers?”

Their response: “We don’t sell Smokey Mountain Cookers in Spain.”

Let me repeat this so that you fully comprehend the magnitude of my problem: WEBER’S SPANISH DISTRIBUTOR DOESN’T IMPORT SMOKEY MOUNTAIN COOKERS!

As I struggle to control my emotions at this moment, I’d like to ask you for some advice: How can I get my hands on a Weber Smokey Mountain Cooker?!!! Is there anything you can do to help? Is there any string that you can pull?! Is there any rule that you can bend?! C’mon! I’m not asking for a case of Cuban cigars sent to Cincinnati! Or a personalized walking tour of Sacramento by Roman Polanski! All I want is to obtain (and YES…to PAY for) a Smokey Mountain Cooker for my home in Spain.

Don’t help me for commercial reasons. HELP ME FOR HUMANITARIAN REASONS!!!

My fate is in your hands. Save me from a lifetime of baked chicken breast!!!

Any advice on your part would be most appreciated.

Humbly yours,
Sal DeTraglia

I’ll keep you posted about any response that I receive.

I was walking down Paseo Castellano in Madrid last Thursday, when I noticed the bar pictured above.

Now, I have no idea what a “Sauna Bar” is, but I resisted the urge to go in and investigate for fear that my father-in-law might be walking by when exited.

I’m therefore hoping that one of my Finnish readers (Jussi? Hanna?) might shed some light on this mystery.

Call me cynical, but I strongly suspect that the only sweaty, towel-wrapped bodies to be found in this bar are those of the waitresses.

Bernie Ebbers, the 63-year-old founder and former CEO of WorldCom, was recently sentenced to 25 years in prison for orchestrating the biggest corporate accounting fraud in US history.

Here’s the irony: Unlike most of his former employees, Mr. Ebbers won’t need to worry about food, shelter or medical care during his retirement years.

Despite causing fifteen deaths and hundreds of fractures, bruises and puncture wounds during the past century, Pamplona’s Running of the Bulls saw no shortage of participants in 2005. These hearty souls were willing to risk life, limb and a high-calcium enema for…for…for—well, to be honest, I’m not sure what for.

The good news is that nobody died during this year’s runs. While I’ll admit that I don’t understand why a person *not* forced at gunpoint would step in front of two sharp-tipped horns mounted onto 1,500 pounds of raw power and ferocity, my strong preference is that such person should nonetheless live to tell his tale. The penultimate death during a Pamplona encierro occurred in 1995, when a kid who had just graduated from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign chose to celebrate with a brisk morning run. He was gored through the liver and died shortly thereafter. His death didn’t sit well with me—perhaps because I graduated from the same University that same year. A funeral-free 2005 Festival, therefore, comes as a great relief.

But alas, Pamplona ’05 wasn’t all fun and frolic. There were injuries aplenty; some of which appeared quite—shall we say—“uncomfortable.” I present below an informal (if not 100% accurate) summary of this year’s casualties:

* 30 people were injured running with the bulls; of which 29 were men and only 1 was a woman.

* 24 of the injured were Spanish; 2 were American; 1 was Canadian; 1 was French; 1 was Argentine; and 1 was Colombian.

* 3 of the injuries were bone fractures; 18 were contusions or bruises; 2 were lacerations.

* 10 gorings (i.e., horn wounds) were reported; of which 8 were in the thighs or buttocks, 1 was in the shoulder and 1 was in the (OH MY GOD!) face.

Careful analysis of this raw data would surely yield a wealth of sociological insight. But I’m certainly not qualified (or motivated!) to do that, so I’ll just offer the following closing thoughts—freshly skimmed from the shallow recesses of my caffeine and tempranillo-soaked brain:

* The vast majority of injured bull runners at this year’s Festival were Spanish, whereas only two were American. There are two possible explanations for this: (a) the Spanish—who, quite honestly, ought to know better—are becoming more reckless as their country becomes richer and more modern; or (b) most American tourists stayed home this year to work on Hillary Clinton’s 2008 presidential campaign.

* Given the strategic location of many horn wounds this year, there’s arguably a large, untapped market in Spain for Kevlar underwear.

* One of the injured runners was a 69 year old man who suffered a fractured skull. I don’t believe this requires further commentary on my part.

* Wise parents in the Pamplona area will encourage their children to pursue careers in health care—or alcohol counseling.

* The Pamplona city council rejected, by a vote of 14 to 1, a motion that future Festivals of San Fermín shall feature a daily “Running of the Yorkshire Terriers.” Sorry. I made that up.

* Of all the beasts in the animal kingdom, humans are the only one that will risk their lives for something as unnecessary and nonsensical as running with the bulls. We clearly have no business ruling the earth.

* Woman smart; man stupid.

* My only child is female. I can’t tell you what a relief that is!

Damn! I can’t wait for next year’s Festival!

Dear C.F.:

Please be advised that I’ve changed my “Profile” photo as a result of your taunting. Look to the upper-right to see what I’m talking about.

This is as close to a smile as you’re likely to see etched across my aging, emaciated face. You should feel proud. You’ve achieved what many have attempted and all have failed–except for that Armenian fishmonger with the red mullet wedged into his left ear…but that’s another story altogether.

And yes…I AM wearing a pink shirt.

Sincerely,
Sal

My internal aggression tank was approaching “full” this afternoon, and I decided that a three-mile jog was both prudent and necessary. So I donned my Nikes and—despite the 35ºC heat—embarked on a trot around town.

As I jogged along our downtown’s main street, I noticed that it had been closed-off to traffic and was lined with red pylons. There were policemen standing along the sidewalks, and they were looking at me in an odd way.

Further down the street was a group of men wearing red nylon vests. As I approached, one of them began waving his arms at me. The following conversation ensued:

Can you believe it?! The neighboring town of Marchamalo sponsored a marathon this afternoon, the course cut through the center of my town, and I was unknowingly running it…but in the opposite direction!

Between this incident, the cigarette moocher, and the unending stream of lost drivers in need of directions…I must be the Inspector Clouseau of the jogging world.

I’m beginning to understand why people buy treadmills.

I’ve been working as a contracts lawyer in the Legal Department of a Fortune ?00 company for nearly a decade. I’ve done the job on both sides of the Atlantic—three years in the US, and six in Spain.

Yet despite the differences in negotiating contracts against US lawyers versus their European counterparts (i.e., US lawyers tend to be—how shall I say this gently?—bigger pricks), the work itself is always the same. Day after day…year after year…and regardless of the country in which the other party resides—the same contract clauses always lead to the same issues and are ultimately resolved in the same way.

It should therefore surprise nobody that I spend a portion of each workday lost in fantasy. And the fantasy that’s been most frequent and recurring during the past decade involves…Microsoft®!

Working as a contracts lawyer for Microsoft must be a slice of heaven!

Think about it. Microsoft is—in my workday fantasy, at least—a place where all employees are wealthy from stock options and need never worry about downsizings. It’s a corporate utopia—tempered only by the fact that the majority of those same employees would much prefer to use Apple® computers.

But above all, working as a contracts lawyer for Microsoft must be a dream because…because…because…I can’t imagine that Microsoft is willing to negotiate on ANYTHING!

I’ve even gone so far as to create a fantasy Microsoft contract clause. It goes something like this:

That felt good!

Now, the question that you’re probably dying to ask me is the following: Is this just a fantasy, Sal? Or do you intend to act on it?

Well! I am going to tell you something that I’ve never admitted in public. The truth is…I am currently in the process of…

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