Don't forget, I lived in Las Vegas for 5 years so I know what 116 degrees feels like...but I never labored in it. Laboring in yesterday's 90 was awful...but once, a long time ago, I toiled in worse conditions.
In the late 70's, my friend GRAMPS got hooked into a great part-time job by his "connected," Italian immigrant neighbor Gaetano, (Gae). Working side-by-side with Gae, Gramps was paid top-dollar at an off-brand soda distributorship in Manhattan. It was a cherry job for Gae because he used to get kick-backs from other immigrants to be replacements when his crew was short. When none of Gae's people were available, he'd let Gramps use his friends. Under those circumstances, I worked with them three times, (without paying a kick-back). The first time was the most memorable.
Right on schedule, with Gramps riding shot-gun, Gae's dark purple Buick Regal pulled up in front of my parent's house at 4:30AM. Like a zombie, I shuffled through the stifling, thick, hot and humid summer night. They were wide awake and laughing. I had never met Gae, so I rubbed the sand out of my eyes, gave him a hearty handshake and expressed my appreciation.. After a colossal yawn, I went into "just shoot me mode," and I curled up in the back seat.
In a heavy accent Gae said, "If any one's gonna sleep in my car, it gonna be me." I sat up. A few blocks later, at a strip mall near the entrance to the Belt Parkway,we pulled into Mister Donut. Gramps said, "The first benefit of working with me is, get anything you want." Gramps turned to Gae and said, "Another benefit of working with me is, I'm not a cheap bastard. Trust me, when I drive and its this f**king hot, I turn on the AC."
Outside Canarsie's only 24-hour eatery, (and paradise for vagrants), I downed my first chocolate French cruller. The heat was so intense that before getting back in the car, I regretted getting coffee. At the same time, Gramps kept-up the verbal abuse until Gae, cursing in a combination of Italian and English broke-down and turned on the air-conditioner.
I was still grinning from the side-show as Gae turned right onto a street of identical, Civil War-era, white-washed, three-story warehouses. Halfway up the street on the left, two seedy looking guys were loitering in front of E and R Beverage Wholesalers. Gramps rolled down the window and handed a key to the taller man. In broken English the big guy cried, "We shouldn't work today, it's hotter than a steam room in Palermo." As Gae ranted at him in Italian, Gramps roared, "Shut-up and open the gate."
The man entered through the office door and disappeared. Gramps proclaimed, "Open sesame." Seconds later, the stillness was broken by the loud, chain-driven steel barrier rising. This metallic clackity clack stirred a greasy rat the size of a cat. In an impulse of uncertainty, the behemoth rodent ran back in forth before scampering to the freedom beneath our car. The start of the new work seemed to be signaled as it disappeared into a blackened alley. The entertainment at E and R seemed to never end.
The warehouse was a never ending series of piled soda cases. Gae was the leader and got to work immediately. He lustily loaded full pallets with a fork-lift and drove them to a staging area up front. At a much slower pace, six other men followed his example and processed orders for hot dog vendors, bodegas, vending machine moguls etc.
The warehouse was a never ending series of piled soda cases. Gae was the leader and got to work immediately. He lustily loaded full pallets with a fork-lift and drove them to a staging area up front. At a much slower pace, six other men followed his example and processed orders for hot dog vendors, bodegas, vending machine moguls etc.
The sun was barely up as the place became a beehive of activity. Customers came to pick-up their orders as we never stopped gathered and setting-up others. After three hours the owners showed up. In their early forties, the bachelor Cozzafava brothers looked like twins. They were both sloppy fat and had their thinning black hair slicked straight back. The bosses each wore white tee-shirts with an over-sized Italian horn charm dangling from the neck, (one of their shirts had the large letters F-B-I on it, but I couldn't read the caption. The other brother had an Italian flag on his).
Even though these men were named Ed and Ron, Gae and Gramps called them Nunzio and Guido Vaselino behind their back.
At ten, I was on the verge of heat prostration when Gramps came by. I was flipping my tee-shirt over my head to mop my brow as he said, "We're getting drinks from across the street." I was dying of thirst but couldn't decide what I wanted. I said, "What are you getting?" Gramps said, "A Sprite." I said, "With all this soda laying around..." He stopped me and said, "These geniuses don't have ice." I said, "Oh." And ordered a chocolate milk.
It wasn't even eleven and the Blimpo brothers were gone. A minute after they left, everyone stopped what they were doing when Gae screamed out, "Chinese fire drill!" Gae ran to the phone as the other workers, as if their lives depended on it, started furiously loading soda cases onto dollies. They had a hundred cases curbside in five minutes. I said to Gramps, "Whats going on?" He smiled, "Those pigs clear sixty grand each and don't have a care in the world. They're such schmucks, they're clueless and have no idea of their own inventory. Well, we know other guys who are willing to take our extra shit off our hands...and here they are."
THAT 104 IS THE HIGHEST I EVER REMEMBER EXPERIENCING IN NEW YORK.
I heard several dead-bolt being unlocked before the door swung open to reveal Malzone. The curmudgeon ushered us in with a flurry of Italian obscenities. Apparently the heat was getting to Gae too. In the unlit room, surrounded by soda cans, boxes of frankfurter buns, napkins and industrial-sized condiment jars, he got in the cranky old-timers face with a salvo of his own.
Gae told him, "Shove it up your ass, Batty" He cursed him in Italian and slammed the door as we left. Malzone stuck his head out and got the last word, "I'm the customer, you're a worker...that means you're justa piece of shit. I'll tell Cozzafava and he'll fire your sorry asses."
SABRETTE FRANKFURTERS, A.K.A., DIRTY WATER HOT DOGS ARE A NEW YORK STAPLE. A THOUSAND VENDORS CAN BE FOUND EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR.
What a great day. Even though it was a scorcher, I'm glad I wasn't too young to appreciate the concept of, "standing up to the man."
Staining my deck in death-defying heat was another story. Here it is two days later and my back is still killing me. My sunburn still smarts and my hands are so swollen, cramped, blistered and crippled-up that typing this column is tough...and there's nothing funny or memorable about that.
Staining my deck in death-defying heat was another story. Here it is two days later and my back is still killing me. My sunburn still smarts and my hands are so swollen, cramped, blistered and crippled-up that typing this column is tough...and there's nothing funny or memorable about that.
4 comments:
Thanks for the memories. My greatest moment at E&R was the bi-centenial weekemd. We delivered 2500 cases of soda to one guy. And the Blimpo brothers gave all of us $60.00 - GRAMPS
This blog was HYSTERICAL.
I made liquor store deliveries. I once brought a bottle of scotch up the Sanitation Union head and got a $50.00 tip.
Dirty water hot dogs were good. But I used to live on "dirty water" sausages. That may explain my brain damage. - TICKLEMEERIC
Also tell your rwaders that Sabrette sells their onion sauce in Shop-Rite for $4.99.
"Dirty water dogs...the best there ever was. And those onions were great too. Nothing in Chicago comes close!" - RUB33
Well Steve, you were always a great entertainer and funny guy when we were growing up but WHO KNEW you would become one of our great story tellers.
Good stuff and nice acknowledgement of Mr. John Wooden, the ultimate coach and teacher - SKIP
Post a Comment