| |
When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary to kick somebody’s ass, never let it be said that I didn’t try to reason with him first. Look, I’ve been dealing with the public for the better part of ten years here in The Apple. I don’t ask a lot from people. My hotdog cart, The Spirit of Pawtucket, rolls onto the corner of West 4th and Broadway, right across the street from NYU, about 10 a.m., Monday through Friday, come rain or shine. This location is on the lower east side, not far from the huge hole in the ground formerly known as the World Trade Center.
I park her here for several reasons. First and foremost, this is where I’m told I can park. On the second Tuesday of each month, I deliver a love offering of Benjamins to a large, swarthy gentleman whose last name ends in “i”. He’s very nice really, and he never fails to buy a dog for himself and whoever may be standing around at the time. Some of the more enterprising homeless in the area have learned to associate his presence with manna from heaven. In fact, one day a month, The Spirit of Pawtucket starts to resemble a fishing boat whose deck hand is throwing chum over the side. These people seem to intuitively know when he’s in the area. Maybe they have some sort of silent communications network or perhaps it’s just a Pavlovian response, but it never fails. On a few occasions, I’ve forgotten about it, only to receive a mind trigger by the sudden preponderance of street urchins. At the end of each day’s business, I give away the unsold dogs to whoever is around. They don’t keep overnight and I would never intentionally make anyone sick. Anyone who’s ever been in a 7-11 can relate to what happens when you roast a hotdog in perpetuity…
Second, it offers an eclectic mixture of people who stop for a quick nosh. You’re liable to see almost anyone here- rich and famous, poor and feeble- I’m seen them all. I’ve even talked to most of them. Truth be known, most of my customers are men. If they ever pass a law that I have to sell to women only, I’ll have to push The Spirit of Pawtucket into the East River and start selling shoes. I’m sure there’s a chapter in the Women’s Manual that says Thou Shalt Never Let A Hotdog Pass Thy Lips. I haven’t personally read it, but when women start making the Sign of the Cross when they walk past, I'm capable of making the inference without being hit over the head with a brick. Who knows, maybe they have personal issues with the concept of eating pork entrails, it’s difficult to say. But it’s all ground together and the nitrates will kill anything really disgusting, so what’s their problem? Who’s to say that hotdogs aren’t nutritious? Well, other than the FDA, I mean. I figure no harm, no foul, right? Besides, they’re delicious. Glop on a little mustard, a little ketchup… add some relish,onions and jalapenos and you’re good to go! What do you want to do, ladies, live forever? It's not like I'm asking you to eat cheese, for God's sake!
Now look what you’ve done. You’ve gotten me sidetracked. I guess after ten years it’s become an occupational hazard. I enjoy it most of the time. New Yorkers, all things considered, probably talk more than people in other parts of the country. In my humble opinion, this is the result of exposure to the crème de la crème of people ever to grace the planet. When you got it, flaunt it, know what I’m saying?
I’ll give you an example. Where else can you stand across a counter from a customer who might ask you if you’d like to see his ear collection? Admittedly, he did make me a little nervous, being dressed in jungle fatigues. Plus, he started smearing mustard on his bun with a K-BAR. I haven’t seen one of those knives since my uncle brought one home from Vietnam. There was something about his smile that disarmed me a little, too. Of course, I declined his offer, preferring to discuss the large Peace symbol on the back of his camouflaged field jacket. Judging from his reaction, this seemed to ingratiate me to him, an eventuality I considered to be a mixed blessing. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be his buddy.
I think that men feel the need to bond when they feel uncomfortable. I compare it to walking up to a urinal in a public men’s room. The guy standing next to you won’t look at you, hopefully, but it’s nearly impossible to keep from saying something. How ya’ doin’? Yea, good, how you doin’? That’s about it, in most cases, but if you’re the first one to speak, you’ve marked your territory; but remember, no eye contact. The same is true with buying a hotdog, but without the necessity to stare out into space. In this setting, you could never be charged with checking out another guy’s equipment, know what I’m saying? So, being on a level playing field, the games can begin. He’s going to feel the need to explain that he knows more about last night’s Knicks’ game than you do, which, of course, is patently ridiculous. So, that’s where I giggle under my breath a little and clean the counter or start re-stocking the napkins. “Yea, you’re right. That Camby was unconscious!” (Yea, you’re right. Marcus Camby played a hell of a game. For a while, I thought he might even wake up. Shut up and eat…) The customer may not always be right, but unless you’re a total moron, he is the customer.
Well, hell… Look what I’ve done. I started out by telling you that sometimes you just have to get physical. Then, I remembered that I’ve never gone postal on anyone. I stand by my statement, however. It’s not out of the realm of possibility, although someone with the sauve and deboner that I exhibit can usually find a way to avoid confrontation with some jerkoff who doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. I do it hundreds of times a day. I consider it my moral imperative. Now, move along before I call a cop...
|
Help Us Stop Plagiarism -
Nearly all works at PnP are original. However a few people choose to plagiarize.
To check, choose a phrase from the work, then either drag and drop to the search box or copy and paste.
click on search and works at Google will be shown which match. Just to be sure, please do this before
you recommend or rate the work highly...
|
 |
|
|
|
Select a Random Work
from Stories
|
|
Welcome !
