On Friday, March 11, my partner and I went to the City Clerk's Office in Manhattan to get hitched. Well, we went to the East Chapel, to be precise. For thirty-five bucks one gets what one expects. Inside the chapel there was a salmon-colored sofa with blackish stains all over the seat. The walls were a shade of blue that was reminiscent of a Motel 6 six I stayed in many moons ago. Behind a Plexiglas shield were displayed very large and stately wedding registries dating from around the turn of the last century. The lighting came from a massive, octopus-like chandelier in the middle of the room. The whole place was, sort of, cheerful, yet impersonal, and a little bit unkempt.
My cousin, my good friend, my groom-to-be, and I were fooling around laughing and pointing out the slight tackiness of the chapel when the officiator came into the room. "Hi, guys!" was all it took from him to make me feel like I was just about to order a Big Mac and fries from some polyester-clad dude instead of get hitched from some polyester-clad dude.
Below is a cleaner, greener version of what's housed in the East Chapel. Note the stain-free sofa. The open door on the right side of picture shows a bit of our chapel. The West Chapel, logically, is to the left of the stain-free sofa.
From somewhere beyond our wedding room the song Dream Weaver was playing through a meager-sounding hi-fi system. As far as wedding songs go, Dream Weaver has got to be one of the more dated, and, dare I say, ridiculous choices one could make. I couldn't tell if the "easy listening" soundtrack was complements of Manhattan's City Clerk's Office, or, better yet, of the kooky-looking Eastern Europeans getting hitched in the Western Chapel who then began taking pictures on and around the green sofa in the middle waiting area. Let's hope that they didn't make any stains!