Day CLXlV

Super's Job

     There’s a building on Walton Av, and 158^th St in the Bronx. Its back is on River Avenue, and my out of work pal got the super’s job there. Barely a week on the job, and he discovers the basement’s back door- opens right on the corner of 158^th St. and River Av…just two blocks from Yankee stadium. As soon as he opened the door, he realized he could sell stuff there on game days, and make a buck. After getting permission from the landlord to park a hot dog cart in the basement, he got a few a pals to help him clean it up. The place stunk, it was musky, dark, dank, dusty, and covered with cobwebs, it was disgusting.

     “Haaaack, cough cough, yo dude is ya sewious!”

     He flipped a switch, and the lights came on:

     “Hey man, we gots light!”

     “Yea now we can see alla shit hea, so we won’t step on it, uh.”

     They swept it, mopped it up, white washed the walls, and after several days of hard, back breaking work, they were finished.

     “Hey man, we can play cards hea, ya na.”

     “Yea we can doodat too, and I’ll take my ten percent off the top, okay.”

     “Ya modafocka, afta alla woik we don putted in hea fo ya!”

     “Kidding dude, kidding, can’t ya see a joke when ya heas one?”

     “He he he heee, ya funny a ite!”

       After all of that, he had to endure the horrors of the city bureaucratic maze, to get a permit for his hot dog cart. Even though he was a veteran, he still had to go through the nightmare, the crap they make you do, and the disdain with which they treat you...it’s not only insulting- it’s humiliating. It’s as if they’re ring masters, and vets are trained to leap through hoops or they won’t get their permits. It's a freaking shame!