Day XXVIII

Funny guy

    On his route he had a telegram for Abbot or Costello, he couldn’t remember which one. When he got there both of them were in the room, but he couldn’t remember to whom he delivered.

      The next day, Sunday morning, we were in the messenger room. It was a small smoke filled space; with wooden benches against both walls; a long, wooden table in the middle, with ashes all over it, and a bunch of overflowing ashtrays. There as we waited for our assignments, Flash showed up, biting his lower lip, with a sullen look on his face. He worked the in city the day before, and straight away he says,

     “Canya be leed dem effing cheapskates?”

     “Who ya tawking bout man?”

     “Abbot and Costello, man.” He cried, “Bum takes da gram, and reaches inna his pocket. Man, I’m
thinking a fin fo sho…rich as they is, ya na!”

     “Yea!” Somebody agreed.

     “Then he says, dar yar are kid, a nice shinny dime for ya!”

     “No, I sez, ya keeps it! Gi it ta ya muddah, she may need it mo,” and I left. I hoid im yell sompen as I walked down the hall, but I dunna wat he said, I wasn’t paying no tenshion. Man, I’m neva, eva gon watch they stupid show again. Scweu em bof adem!”

     I earned my smokes. The summer after my junior year I worked in the kitchen of St. Claire’s hospital, in Manhattan. The kitchen was always hot, and I still remember the steaming plates coming out of the conveyor belt. Every day we did something different; mopping or sweeping the floors; stacking the dishes; or loading the diners into the meal caddy. We worked our asses off, but the pay was good, the sisters gave us dinner.