Fair-weather Gentlemen

“What invoice?” the real estate developer said. He didn’t know it, but Liina had him on speakerphone. Phone conversations with him are cheap family entertainment.

“The one you didn’t pay three months ago,” she replied. This was one of her bigger clients for her interior design business. Around the house, I refer to this client as Snake.

“I didn’t get the invoice,” Snake said. “Can you send it again?”

That was three months ago. He still hasn’t paid. I sometimes think that we should translate Snake’s words to Latin and print them on currency: Ego non adepto invoice. Vos transporto is iterum?

The financial crisis has done a lot more than show who is, in the words of Warren Buffett, swimming without trunks. It’s put a host of so-called businessmen under the loop and outed those who are in American parlance, “fair-weather” gentlemen: they behave as gentlemen only when business is going well.

Of course Snake got the invoice both times that Liina sent it: she has a collection of his “we’ll get that paid right away” emails. So it’s a rather odd dance that plays out on the phone, where both Liina and Snake know the invoice was sent and received, yet Snake claims he never got it and Liina, out of a combination of not wanting to call the guy a liar and the hope of getting her money, plays along with him. Wouldn’t it just be easier on everyone if Snake would admit he doesn’t have the money? That despite his Audi Q7 and Hugo Boss suits, it’s really the bank who’s running his company?

Instead, he’s on the phone with my wife pretending he’s a bigshot, talking about other härrasmehed he’s in business with, and trying to convince her to take on another project, even after he never paid her for the last one.

An even better question: Why is Liina still talking to him?

I’ve tried her to persuade her to walk away from the guy, to take their contract to an inkasso company who will at least drag Snake’s name through the mud. So that the next time he appears in Kroonika, readers will look at his photo and say, “Ah, there’s Snake again. Has no one killed that scumbag?” Getting the money out of Snake would be nice, but telling him mine persse would be more satisfying. I can live without money. I can’t live without some measure of integrity.

Which is probably why I can’t understand Snake. To me, there’s no shame in bankruptcy itself. The shame is in pretending everything’s going swimmingly.

But I doubt Snake’s fooling anyone but himself. In Estonia’s real estate heyday, my dog Mundo could have run Snake’s real estate company. Some parts of the business excepted, it isn’t rocket science to buy property, build ugly apartments on it, and then re-sell it. In fact, the greed and false confidence of gentleman geniuses like Snake is what got the world into the mess we’re in. Why’d we ever let them run the place?

I think what we need in Estonia (not to mention the rest of the world) is a revolution of accountability. We start locally, because Estonia is so small no one can hide. Estonians seem to already know who the scumbags are in their country. But my question to you: Why haven’t we run them out of town?

The first step in this revolution is the rule of No Second Chances. Let’s say you’re a university rector who spends the school’s money on Church’s English Shoes and a charter jet instead of on a student library. You should get the boot and never be allowed a second chance. That’s right: Never. Not in a million years. Your ass should go to jail. And when you get out, the only job you should be able to get is shoveling coal into furnaces at the university you cheated. Well, okay, from time to time you should be released to do yard work, so that professors may point at you and say to students, “Look, there’s the stupid son-of-a-bitch who abused the public trust.”

The second rule of our revolution is Money is Not Your God. This could be taught by replacing obligatory Estonian military service with eight months of helping lepers in Orissa, India’s poorest state. And this program isn’t just for young men. Let’s say you’re a minor bureaucrat, convicted of siphoning off EU funds and awarding contracts to your own MTÜ. India will be happy to get the volunteers, and a little time away from fluorescent office lighting will do every public official some good.

Third is the rule of Public Humiliation. Let’s say you’re a minister of parliament who swapped land or sold your signature for cash. Public humiliation should be so steep that you’ll flee to Argentina to live next door to Nazi war criminals (if you stashed a lot of dough) or in a tent on the beach (if you didn’t).

Some Estonians argue that the reason these rules can’t be applied is because so many who might apply them also have skeletons in their closets. This is entirely absurd. There are 1.3 million people in this country, most of them perfectly honest. Many have never cheated anyone, have paid all their bills, and will do most anything to honor their word when they shake your hand on any size deal. If you’re an Estonian and haven’t met any of them, then you need to crawl out of the cave you’re living in and meet new people. There are some damned fine people in this country. (More good news: Some of these fine people are businessmen and some work in government.)

But what if the problem isn’t Snake and his ilk? Might the bigger problem be the rest of us? Are we too forgiving? Are we too easily walked over? Maybe Edmund Burke is overdoing it, but what the hell: “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.”

Some readers may wonder how I can judge. It’s easy: I’ve never cheated a fellow citizen or stolen anything. And, for the rest of my life, I don’t plan to. I also know plenty of rich people who got rich without stealing. So, in fact, it’s damned easy to sit on my high horse and look down at people like Snake.

Yes, if Jesus were here he’d tell me not to be so judgmental. He’d tell me to turn the other cheek and give Snake love. But until Jesus arrives, I don’t plan on forgiving Snake. And I think Estonia would be a hell of a lot better place if more of its good citizens weren’t so forgiving, either.

***

Due to Vello's crankiness (too much Martin Amis?) as witnessed in the above column, or perhaps due to shrinking magazine advertising revenue, as of next week his column will no longer appear in Eesti Ekspress. (He's still available here in English.) He promises to take a hoe to Snake and to recover the Vello within.

Food for Thought

Does anyone dine out anymore? I don't do it enough to write a restaurant review, but obviously someone does: the following was sent to me as a press release this morning. I'm pleased that people in Estonia are dining out and that they haven't lost their sense of humor. Given what the Social Minister said to the BBC yesterday (15% unemployment on the way--it's currently around seven), I hope we're all lucky enough to find something to laugh about.

The 2008 George Bernard Shaw Food for Thought Gastronomy Awards

“He was never more serious than when he was joking.”
–said of Mr. Shaw

After much deliberation, the George Bernard Shaw Society of Estonia proudly announces its Food for Thought Gastronomy Award winners for 2008.

Hermann Simm Best Kept Secret Award
There’s no such thing as a secret, though some information does take longer to become public. In the spirit of secrets that shouldn’t remain so, we’re proud to celebrate Riis, the secretive cellar restaurant run by three charming young women who refuse to use anything but fresh vegetables. Pärnu mnt. 62A.

“Qu’ils mangent de la brioche” Best Gourmet Restaurant Award
In the oblivious spirit of “Let them eat cake,” this award honors the places we’d all like to dine in more often, if only our pocket books would allow. This year’s honor goes to Horisont at Swissotel. Not only a spectacular view but, considering the economy, an altogether fine place for a last meal.

Luciano Pavarotti Six Chickens for Dinner Best Soul Food Award
When you want to stuff yourself in a comfortable restaurant surrounded by staff who seem to actually want you to be there, Contravento is the place to go. Contravento has held its own for years now as the Tallinn institution of Italian food. Vene 12.

Passepartout Best Ethnic Restaurant Award
Named for Phileas Fogg’s manservant, this award honors courageous purveyors of the spicy and exotic. Given the quick expiration of restaurants in the republic, Estonian food now classifies as exotic and ethnic, and so the award goes to Eesti Maja with its good food and service at a fair price. Lauteri 1.

Tree Huggers’ Haven Award
Where to go after a long day of spiking trees? Exhausted from ramming that whaling vessel? There’s no place better than Nop to relax with an organic pastry, big dill pickle, or beetroot and sauerkraut. Carnivores welcome, too. Nop is one of the jury’s absolute favorites. Köleri tn 1 in Kadriorg.

Sweaty Edgar Best Hole-in-the-Wall Restaurant Award
This is the place you creep off to when the wife is out of town. Its hygienic standards are questionable, but you don’t really care—the food is good, and it doesn’t matter how you dress, because you won’t see anybody you know. Torn between two fine grungy spaces, the jury chose to give the award to both. Ironically, both feature names of jury members’ ex-wives. Try Karmen at Paldiski mnt 72A and Diana at Tammsaare 87. Can’t go wrong.

Holly Golightly Best Café Award
Stylish and flighty, it’s the best place to get the food Tiffany’s never served. You may have avoided Museum, since its appearance from outside makes you think it might be filled with Russian thugs and plenty of blonde bimbos. But that’s its charm, my friend, and if you don’t see Holly there, you can be reasonably certain she’s arriving soon. Vana-Viru 14.

Rick Blaine Best Bar Award
No bar has ever measured up to Rick’s Café Americain, but there’s always hope. A sophisticated place where rogues, spies, les femmes fatales, and bon vivants gather to swap lies. If you’re after shady, then Lady Shadow on Suur-Karja won’t disappoint. With any luck you’ll find yourself seated next to Mata Hari while being eyed by George Smiley through the swaying belly dancer.

Bob Dylan Fat Black Pussycat Dive Bar Award
You might find Dylan seated in a dark corner composing “Blowing in the Wind,” but you sure as hell won’t meet any Eurovision candidates here. We’re happy to give the nod to Valli baar, which sadly seems to be losing a bit of its charm with all the hen parties paying it a visit. But we have faith that Valli baar will always have a seat for a drunk, as long as he’s able to maintain an upright posture. Müürivahe 16.

Oliver Twist Best Gruel (Worst Restaurant) Award
For the second year in a row this award goes to the restaurant Paat in Viimsi. It’s a Mecca for diners who love frozen vegetables. True, the view is hard to beat, but plenty a customer has gone in as a teenager and come out as a pensioner. It’s, in a word, slow. Address withheld as a merciful public service to diners.

Kalev Meedia Most Ridiculous Business Concept Award
Something like a 150 semi-formal seats in a beach restaurant in a location trafficked only three months a year isn’t the mostly likely formula for success. We wish Pärl all the luck, but don’t see it lasting without a lot of serious cash to prop it up. In the Pirita rannahoone.

Signs of the Times

An Estonian friend wrote recently from the states about all the "recession specials" advertised there. "But in Estonia," he noted, "we're too proud to use the word 'recession' in an ad."

The same day my friend wrote, I noticed the advertisement (at left) for the new Baltman collection. (For foreign readers, Baltman is Estonia's maker of conservative suits, something akin to Brooks Brothers in the West.)

To me, the ad sends signals of Sherman McCoy, Gordon Gekko, or, if you're really digging for the despicable, Patrick Bateman, the female-butchering protagonist from American Psycho. In other words, Baltman's antidote for the recession is to give us the 1980s.

The Estonian ad made me curious about what Brooks Brothers might be doing in the land where they boldly use the word "recession" and where, arguably, they've come more face to face with the ugly reality of this economy. And this is what I found:



Could it be a young Barack pulling out a chair for Michelle? In all cases, it's a kindler, gentler approach to selling a suit with some definite R-E-S-P-E-C-T, as Tina Turner likes to put it. But then again, Baltman isn't trying to sell suits in the West. Its main market is the East, a place where it's sometimes said that beating your wife is proof that you love her. But for Estonia? Aren't we more evolved than that?

Theories, anyone?