Day XXVII

Cherries, western union, and tips

     I got in trouble once because I had a thing for the cherries. That’s maraschino cherries, I loved them so much, I vacuumed them up.

     “Yo kid, ya needs ta stop scarfing up dem cherries, or I’m gonna can ya ass, ya dig!” Blacky, the head bartender scoled me one day.

    “Okay, okay boss, I’m really sorry, man!” He let it go, and I never ate another again.

     At that time I also worked for Western Union on weekends. Yea, I was one of those guys riding a bike, and delivering telegrams. We knocked on peep’s doors, and yelled:

     “Telegram!”

     Sometimes it scared the crap out of peeps. It seems poor people believed telegrams only brought bad news. On Sundays though, it was cool. There were a lot catering halls up in the west Bronx, and many weddings to deliver happy wishes, and money grams. The groom or some relative would take the telegram, and tip you a buck, sometimes a fin if you were lucky. The ladies, sometimes a mom or grandma, invited us to eat. They were mostly Jewish weddings, and I fondly remember the apple strudels, and other goodies. Sometimes they would bundle some things in a napkin, but the thing we loved the most was that they were great tippers.

     Saturdays were a drudge, and tips were like a dime or a quarter if you were lucky. Remember Abbot and Costello? One Saturday, a pal of my mine was sent to the east side for the day. That station was short on messengers, so they sent him there, actually he volunteered. He thought tips would be better on the rich east side.