WE SLICE 'EM, YOU EDAM...

THEDONALD is amazed by all the part-time jobs I had in my youth. Well Donnie-Boy, did I ever tell you about the time I was groomed to be a counterman at an appetizing store?

An appetizing store...if they still exist...was a delicatessen-like convenience store that specialized in Jewish delicacies, (lox, sable, white fish etc.), as well as international cheeses and cold cuts. In January 1974, SRUB33 juiced me into the one where he worked, BAYVIEW APPETIZING.

The store was six blocks from home, in a strip mall. My shift was three days a week from 7:AM until noon. Stupidly, I never asked what the rate of pay was so it was an unpleasant surprise at the end of the first week, to discover that I was getting $1.75/hour, (fifty cents under minimum wage). Even "off-the-books," $26.25 added-up to an unacceptable embarrassment. The primary reason I didn't squawk to the owner brothers, (Ernie and Bert) was that those unique hours fit perfectly into that semester's college schedule. Still, I never got over the fact that I was working for peanuts.

The narrow, long store had grocery items on the left wall, an extended deli counter on the right and refrigerated items like beer, soda, juice and dairy products in the rear. At first, I was restricted to stock-boy duties.

SRUB33's hours and mine never matched. So, I worked exclusively with stoic (and cheap) Ernie and Bert, as well as, full-timers Lenny and George. George, a former mailman was around sixty. He was a grandfather-like figure easing into retirement, (also working off the books). This short, gray-haired nurturing teacher, with a big, black, brush mustache was pleasant, supportive and pragmatic. Which meant he was boring. He was so out-of-it that even though he knew I was in college, he thought I should cherish this job, in case, I needed a secondary career to fall back on.

To reduce the boredom, I gravitated to forty-year old Lenny. Lenny was the prototype of an unambitious loser. He was twice divorced, always broke and made it seem like this was the best job he ever had. In an attempt to come off as cool or to try to relate to me, he bragged about "broads," gambling, smoking pot and drinking. More than anything, Lenny was lazy.

When big shipments that required lifting came in, he abandoned me and George. He'd drift out back and gravitate to a secluded spot behind the dumpster where he enjoyed many illicit cigarette breaks. Then when both brothers were out of the store, he was famous for sneaking into the adjacent pharmacy to call his bookie. His other big destination was the beauty salon, to hit-on his sometimes on, sometimes off girlfriend Frances, the gum cracking manicurist.

Lenny wore rose-tinted aviator glasses, to hide his tell-tale eyes. Through those darkened lenses, (to the delight of the senior citizen women customers), he had a steady flow of risque jokes and made bawdy suggestions as if he was trying to pick-up the old biddies. However, he showed the limitations of his humor by saying the same few catchphrases ad nauseam. Like every time someone ordered Edam cheese, he'd announce; NO! We slice 'em, you Edam.

Frances came into the store like clockwork at 9:00AM. That's when Ernie was doing the banking and Bert buried himself downstairs in paperwork. Despite acting in a professional manner, the sexual tension between Lenny and Frances was obvious when he (only) waited on her. Then whatever she bought, Lenny rang it up for sixty-nine cents, at the infrequently used, front cash register.

I caught on to Frances' special treatment right away but it took a while for me to realize that other times, Lenny used me, to distract George when the bosses weren't around. While Lenny sent me to stall the old man with nonsense questions about the ingredients in their chicken salad or how to operate the retractable awning, Lenny would vanish out back, presumably for a smoke.

My cigarette theory was proven wrong one time when the three of us were alone. George tucked the newspaper under his arm and announced he was going downstairs to the bathroom. He wasn't gone five seconds when Lenny told me to start at the front and dust the can goods.

Lenny disappeared into the walk-in refrigerator behind the dairy case. When I got the feather duster, I realized that I had cleaned the cans the day before. At the same time, I heard the familiar click of the refrigerator reopen and close again. The store was empty, so I figured I'd tell Lenny so he could assign me something else. He wasn't in the rear storeroom so I poked my head out back. I found him leaning over the dumpster and said, "Len..." Suddenly there was a loud bang from the heavy object he dropped into the big garbage can.

IN FEBRUARY 1960, THE DELIVERY ALLEY BEHIND THE APPETIZING STORE WAS IN PRISTINE CONDITION. (THE BACK DOOR IS NEAR THE FIRST OF THE THREE CARS ON THE LEFT).  BY 1974, THE WHOLE AREA WAS COVERED WITH DUMPSTERS, LITTER, FILTH AND VARMINTS THAT SCAVENGER THROUGH SUCH MESSES.  

Lenny thought I was spying on him. Angrily, he took me by the crook of the arm, led me back inside and scolded me about leaving the store unattended.

My shift was over at noon. Bound by curiosity, instead of getting in my car and heading to Brooklyn College, I circled the shopping center on foot. I wandered to the store's dumpster. These were pre-recycling days so I saw nothing but flattened corrugated boxes, metal cans, bottles, loose newspapers, tons of rotten lettuce, leaves, fish skeletons, empty egg cartons and other innocent garbage.

On the ground, I found a thick branch and used it to brush aside some of the trash. To my surprise, tucked in the corner where I saw Lenny leaning in was an entire six-pound salami and next to it, brown wrapping paper loosely covering a boxy item. I jumped up a little, set my belly on the edge of the dumpster and reached down. I tore the paper just enough to see that a case of Lowenbrau Beer was underneath.


A SIX-POUND HEBREW NATIONAL SALAMI "STICK" WAS LONGER THAN MY ARM.

When I was leaving the scene of the crime, I assumed that Lenny was coming back after closing, under the cloak of darkness, to retrieve these stolen items. That's when I heard the appetizing store's rear door creak open. I turned back from two doors down. Lenny was taking an L and M from behind his ear when we caught some awkward eye-contact, but I continued on my way.

My next shift was on a day I didn't have classes. In the first few minutes on duty, I avoided Lenny. He was telling a seventy-year old woman, "After I drain ALL the liquid from your quarter pound of coleslaw...wait, maybe I shouldn't finish that joke until you're eighteen." While the woman giggled, I told George that my car's starter was on the fritz. I said, "I'm dreading taking the city bus to the Brooklyn College Book Store to buy one little item for my tomorrow's assignment." Lenny overheard. He came over, smiled, jiggled his car keys and said, "Maybe I can help. Right, friends help friends."

When George left to wait on the next customer Lenny took off his glasses, leered at me and whispered, "You keep my little enterprise quiet and I'll let you use my car." I had no idea how big his "little" enterprise was but I was certain that I didn't like Ernie and Bert. I shrugged, "Okay." Lenny then added, "Just one thing, while you're out, I need you to fill up my car with gas."

These were the days of the 1973-1974 oil crisis. Due to political unrest in the Mid-East and through the genius of President Richard Nixon, some states experienced an artificial gasoline shortage. Long lines to the pumps were typical, stations ran out of fuel and odd and even rationing days were implemented for about six months.

At noon, Lenny finished wrapping up three kippers for a lady and gave me ten dollars for gas. He walked me to the door, handed me his keys and said, "You gotta warm my baby up for at least five minutes. And remember, she only starts in neutral." I said, "Okay." He added, "Also, this is important, I'm done at three but I'd feel better if you had my car back by two."

Lenny's eleven-year old clunker was a 1963 Ford Galaxie. It had a bashed in side panel with duct tape holding down a sharp, rusty edge. Inside reeked of marijuana, cigarettes and pickled herring and the floor was littered with Lowenbrau empties and Whopper wrappers from Burger King. I settled into the cracked vinyl seat and started the car. I let it warm-up for a few seconds. I was impatient and figured that it was nearly forty degrees so I took off.

At the first red light, the car began to shake. The sideways vibration was so intense that I thought the car would stall. Before I could shift into neutral and give it some gas...Lenny's lemon died. I was scared that I screwed something up but it started right back up.

Gas lines usually took an hour. Brooklyn College was twenty minutes in each direction and the actual purchase of my item would take a minute. I guessed that I had fifteen minutes to kill.

I drove to my friend Joe Vanilla's junkyard, (as you may recall, Joe Vanilla was proclaimed by my friends as the Patron Saint of Parking Spaces). He earned that honorarium at a time when we used to go to discos in Manhattan. Usually, we were forced to park so far away that a couple of times, we took a cab to the place...except when Joe Vanilla drove, (his hot pink El Dorado). With Mr. Cool at the wheel, it never failed, on the first pass, Joe always parked right out front.

I told Joe about my car's starter. He interrupted and offered me fifty bucks for Lenny's rattletrap. I said, "I borrowed it from a guy at work." Joe said, "Tell your friend that F.O.R.D. stands for: Fix Or Repair Daily or Found On Road Dead. He's leaking oil and driving on seriously bald tires." After some more laughs at Lenny's expense, Joe agreed to come by my house and see if he could fix my car. By the time we finished bullshitting, it was a quarter to one.

On Utica Avenue off Glenwood Road, I waited an hour at a Sinclair station for gas. There was no way I was going to make it back by two but at least I had the leeway of Lenny not needing his car till three.

I passed the Junction Bar on Flatbush Avenue at exactly 2:00PM. At the back of Brooklyn College's Gershwin Theater, I turned onto Campus Road. The narrow street, two blocks from my destination was gridlocked. It took five minutes just to get behind Boylan Hall where the (basement) book store was. Unfortunately I never took into account the school's reputation for parking difficulties and it was too late to pray to Joe Vanilla.

I TREATED BROOKLYN COLLEGE LIKE THIRTEENTH GRADE. ON THE QUADRANGLE (above) I HONED BY MY FRISBEE THROWING SKILLS TO MARKSMEN LEVEL. THE BUILDING HIDDEN BEHIND THE TREES (left) IS BOYLAN HALL, (WHERE THE BOOK STORE WAS). THE HIDDEN BUILDING (right) INGERSOLL HALL WAS WHERE MY SMELLY FRIEND MARY INTRODUCED ME TO MY WIFE SUE, (MARCH 1974).

They say that necessity is the mother of invention. So I got an epiphany in the form of creative parking. Just outside the book store, I left Lenny's car in an inclined spot, at a hydrant with the butt slightly blocking the delivery entrance. What could POSSIBLY go wrong in one minute.

I ran down the ramp, into the store, found the book, paid and ran out...no problem! When I got to Lenny's car, a delivery truck started up the ramp. I waved to the driver and stuck my index finger in the air to signify that I would be out of his way in a sec. I put the car in neutral and it started right up. I shifted the automatic transmission into reverse and tapped the accelerator. The car didn't move. I double-checked to see that I was indeed in reverse. Within seconds, frustration exploded through my body. I floored the gas petal. The revving engine roared but the car wouldn't move. Things got worse because I didn't make a precise parallel park and larger cars on Campus Road were struggling to pass.

Maybe it would happen to a lesser extent somewhere else, but in Brooklyn, I bet I set the Guinness World Record for being given the most middle fingers in ten minutes. Plus, I took the brunt of constant, angry horn honking. Luckily the windows were up, otherwise, I would have heard all the cursing too.

Lenny was going to kill me. I decided to tell him that I was late because I had to wait two-hours for gas. That's when I saw the pissed-off truck driver coming up from the bookstore turning as red as a beet. At the same time, I heard the shrill wail of a fire engine's screech alarm. I turned around and saw five vehicles back, a fireman jump off his super-pumper and squeeze through the traffic towards me. I was in a panic, I didn't know what else to do. In desperation, I turned the car off and restarted it...still nothing. Then I made sure all the doors were locked as the truck driver got out and strode to my door. Together with several other passersby, they were so close that their faces were almost touching the window while, MFing me.

I was relieved when the fireman cut through the crowd and took control. I could see his name tag read McKINLEY, as he calmly motioned me to roll down the window. When I did he said, "What seems to be the problem?" I was so nervous that I stammered, "W-w-we slice 'em, you Edam." He said, "Heh?" I then went into a whole story about borrowing the car, the gas shortage and ... He cut me off and said, "Buddy, what's wrong with your car?" I said, "It's not my car..." "Forget that," he snapped. "Is the transmission locked?" I demonstrated that the transmission was moving free and clear and said, "I put it in gear but it won't go." McKinley said, "You're kinda parked on a hill...did you use the emergency brake?" I scoffed, "No," as looked down. I'm not sure if I was happy or sad when I moaned, "Oops, it IS on."

I BET FIRE-FIGHTER McKINLEY NEVER EXPECTED TO SAVE A LIFE THAT WAY. EVEN WITHOUT A REAL EMERGENCY THOSE VIGILANTE KNUCKLEHEADS WERE READY TO HANG ME, BURN ME AT THE STAKE AND TURN ME INTO A NEWT.

Somehow despite losing 99% of my dignity and surviving the homicidal mob, I brought Lenny's car back at ten to three...no questions asked.

The odd thing was...if I would have taken the city bus, I would have escaped all the drama and would been home ninety minutes earlier.

Even stranger, at the end of that week, Bert fired me. He said that they were re-hiring a kid who worked there for two years because he was already a seasoned counter man. I guess Lenny thought I was going to turn him in so he put the kibosh on me first. I feel strongly about that assumption because SRUB33 told me that my replacement never worked there before.

The true irony in all this was...I NEVER opened that book.