LA VENDETTA
The guy’s name is Gentile. We call him Mr. Gentile cuz we’re polite kind of kids…he was my first real experience in dealing with an adult bullshit artist. So, Gentile is known as a real pillar of the community type, y’know? Family man, good Catholic, God-fearing, tax-paying - the whole deal. He has a nice, respectable house on this street in Roselle, NJ, where me and my cousins and some of the neighborhood kids play stickball, right?
It’s the summer of 1976. I’m 16 - and suddenly I’ve gotten ‘big’ - due to a hearty regiment of of weightlifting, boxing and exercise. Gentile sees this as a perfect opportunity to exploit me. Says he’s putting up a new Fabco shoestore in Hoboken, NJ - and if I clean out and dismantle the old store that was there - he’ll pay me BIG MONEY. And - gimme a job after school when the whole thing was finished! So, yeah, of course, I’m down with it.
Now, Gentile has these delusions he’s like Sonny from - ‘A Bronx Tale’, right? The pinky ring, gold chains…wears WAY too much Aqua Velva - and the wave on the front of his hair is, like, crunchy from an excessive amount of Vitalis. In reality, he’s just a short, chubby guy with glasses. He drives me to Hoboken every morning in his silver Cadillac, regaling me with tales of grandeur while chewing Trident gum. The conditions in this building are incredibly BRUTAL. Musty, dusty, and I’m slaving away every day without even a fuckin’ fan to help relieve the relentless summer humidity. Probably saved him thousands from not having to hire a union crew. Then…the day the store opens? This guy unceremoniously FIRES me! WTF?! And he’s so cavalier about it, too - like he just totally disses me. At first, I’m kinda confused - until I figure out what’s going on.
PLAYED! This guy just clowned me, man…now I am pissed. Alright - what goes around comes around, y’know? Finally, I see my perfect opportunity. It’s right around Halloween, and Gentile’s got these two huge jack o’ lanterns on his front steps, with candles inside them to light up the night. So, me and my cousin Skinny sneak over there one night with a bunch of packs of firecrackers we got left over from 4th of July. Skinny delays the fuses, tosses them into the jack o’ lanterns, we ring the doorbell, then bolt across the street, laughing maniacally as we hide behind the bushes.
Gentile opens up the door, sees nobody is there, and starts making all these threats into the night air - like he’s a real tough guy, right? All of a sudden, the firecrackers start going off - BANG! BANG! BANG! Gentile is jumping around - like - like he’s being shot at! Yeah…like it’s a MOB hit, or something. Hahahaha…me and Skinny are DYIN’, man. Skinny laughs like a crow - like that cartoon Heckle and Jekyll - which only serves to further infuriate Gentile.
Then, both the pumpkins EXPLODE - and the insides splatter all over Gentile’s head - his face - and his glasses! He’s shaking his fist, cursing out into the sky, but he can’t see a fuckin’ thing - first, cuz it’s pitch dark out - and second, he’s got pumpkin shit all over his glasses. Hahahahaha…
Revenge is sweet, man.
THE LEGEND OF DAVID ROSS
Exhaustion. The kind of severe exhaustion one can only experience after just slaving through another 11 hour catering shift for the fourth consecutive day. Trudging slowly and painfully against the icy wind and pounding snow of a December blizzard, my co-worker, Danny, suddenly freezes in his tracks, an expression of pure horror apparent on his otherwise deathly pale face.
“Oh my God! I - I think I just saw…David Ross….lying on that park bench - covered in snow…I…I think - he’s - he’s dead!! Oh…
“Nah, don’t worry, man, he ALWAYS does that…he’s just taking a nap before his next job.” I assure him.
We’re in Central Park, near the entrance of 59th Street and 8th Avenue. Danny looks up at the towering building with the time and temperature.
“But…it’s 2:55 in the morning….should - should we call an…ambulance…or something?
“No - I’m telling you, man, he’s been doing this for YEARS - as long as I know him…he just goes from one job to another - for any catering company that will pay him ANYTHING…he likes it!
Danny gulps, looks confused. He’s new to the catering world. He’ll learn, though. Oh, he’ll learn - that’s for sure.
David Ross is another kind of legend in catering. Just as Duncan Valiant was famous/infamous for his incredible acts of insubordination and unparalleled alcohol consumption, David Ross is famous for his insane work habits and inhuman feats of strength. He works in sanit, which is arguably the most heinous job in catering - actually, he could be a one-man catering crew. He delights in sanit - LOVES it! In fact, rumor has it that on the rare day he does has off, he is actually building a house - with his bare hands! And he does all this work while proudly wearing a 100 pound weighted vest and 50 pound wrist and ankle weights - while routinely grabbing 15 lugs of water glasses. He is also known to have killed a few malingering waiters while driving a forklift at an event on Randalls Island, yelling:
“Out of the way, ladies!”
The waiters were male, by the way.
Whatever you do - PLEASE stay out of David Ross’s way!!
THE LEGEND OF DUNCAN VALIANT
“No way!”
“Get outta here - even HE wouldn’t do that!!”
“Really?!”
It was true. Duncan Valiant had finally gone too far - and was summarily and exasperatedly dismissed from his catering job.
You see, Duncan Valiant was a legend in the catering industry…not for any monumental work ethic, like so many goody-goodies admired and gushed over. No, it was for his tremendous ability to drink enormous amounts of liquor - even to the point of falling to the floor in a drunken stupor - and yet, never getting fired! People were incredulous at his amazing feats of endurance, often pounding down full bottles of white wine in a single sustained gulp while standing behind a potted plant - during service! Then even tending to his table! It was truly an amazing act to witness.
He was also noted for bringing plastic bottles of Poland Spring water filled with nothing but vodka to the job - and finishing them before the night was even over. When he was later suspected of such treachery, he switched to Diet Coke and vodka. Then it evolved into Diet Coke and red wine - all concealed inside a reliable aluminum Diet Coke can. And this is to say nothing of the cleaning crew, many times finding 5 or more empty bottles of white wine in the men’s room stalls!
But alas, this latest endeavor proved to be his undoing - considered shocking even for a legend of his magnitude! He was discovered intoxicated making out with the event planner - in the LADIES room, of all places! When Hubert, the mercurial and punitive captain for the night’s event, made the discovery - there were gasps of horror! Other waiters were simply aghast at this outrageous act of defiance. When he was finally dismissed from his duties, there was a kind of emptiness, a somber buzz throughout the room.
But even legends die eventually.
A MOST UNFORTUNATE PAIRING
It was a bad pairing. A terrible pairing. In fact, it may have been the worst pairing in the history of catering.
The captain for the fateful event is Hiram Shalefsky - widely known in the catering industry as a very reasonable man. Some would even describe him as “fair but firm”.
But, alas, this was not to be his day.
Nothing in the day could have foreshadowed such a terrifying calamity. A picture perfect mid-June day, the charter bus taking us from the city to the event on Long Island arrives with plenty of time to spare, there were no MIA’s among the catering staff - a truly harmonious group ( and multi-ethnic at that!) if there ever were one - genuine comraderie here. Everybody that is - except two people.
The first omen of trouble, however, arrived in the form of horrendous weekend beachgoer traffic - rendering us almost two hours late for the event at CW Post! A flurry of desperate activity immediately followed, as miraculously, the band of waiters courageously banded together to somehow set up the entire room - 50 tables - just minutes before the start of the event!
Valiantly battling the ticking clock, Hiram Shalefsky nimbly made his way down the roster of waiters, mentally noting the particular strengths of each of the waiters he was pairing up for the 50 tables. Almost, that is, except for two tables. There were two names left - names which Hiram Shalefsky hoped to avoid. And they were the last two tables - 49 and 50 - the tables which were the absolute furthest from the kitchen for serve -out!
Oh no!
The names were - Jethro Fury - a blond, hulking good ole boy from deep in the heart of Alabama, known as much for his mercurial temper as for his love of possum hunting.
The other is Prince LeVonne - a muscular, extremely angry black militant, who everyone also thought was gay, except, oddly enough, himself.
There were only moments left before the commencement of the party - an alumni fundraiser for CW Post - a predominantly Catholic crowd whose main tenet was : God. Country. Family. It didn’t take long for the muttering, griping and fireworks between the two to begin. Then one of them dropped a plate on the floor - we didn’t know exactly which one - but this exchange immediately followed.
Jethro: “That’s it! Get this boy outta here! I’m doing all the work here!”
Prince: “Oh yeah, cracker? I’ll kick your mo’fucking ass all the way back to Appalachia, or wherever it is you rednecks come from!”
Jethro: “Boy, I’ll hunt your darkie ass down and shoot you like it’s coon season…”
And so it went…each trip back and forth to the kitchen a new adventure in hatred. Hiram Shalefsky tried to intervene, but, really, there was not much he could do. He had the whole weight of running the event as smoothly as possible fall on his shoulders.
Meanwhile, Gwendlyn LaFarge - the owner of our company sat in the kitchen knitting - a scene comparable to Nero fiddling while Rome burned.
It was a day that would go down in the annals of catering history.