Grrr

I was driving home from work the other day, stopped at the corner of Oak and James Streets. A late model Nissan waited ahead of me at the light, and as it changed and they drove away, the passenger tossed what looked to be a snack-size potato chip bag out the window. It fluttered to the ground as they drove away.

 

Big deal, right? Look at the trash you see on the streets all the time. I see these everywhere for some reason:

 

 

Why are people flossing their teeth on the street? What’s next, cutting their toenails, or using a Ped-Egg?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vp6trGdGDsg

(I think we can all agree, yum!)

 

And if I could resell all the masks I see, I'd be a rich man:

 

But that potato chip bag made me mad, and sad. What goes through a person’s mind when they use the planet as a trash can? Look, I’m no Pollyanna, and there are worse things people do, and do to each other.

 

Don’t litter. And don’t floss your teeth on the street. I don’t want to get hit with a flying piece of your burrito.  

And, for the love of God, use your Ped-Egg behind closed doors.

Song of the...Week: (I've been calling it "Song of the Day" but since I only post once a week)...

Oh Sharon, look what you do to those men.

And now, part TEN of Tougher Than the Rest:

Mark’s car was an old Chevy Nova and it smelled like an ashtray, mainly because it was an ashtray, with a car wrapped around it. Driving a rolling ashtray was the least of Danny’s problems, because he was driving a rolling ashtray that didn’t consistently roll. The Nova stalled at lights. It stalled at right turns. It stalled, terrifyingly, at left turns. Danny slipped the car into neutral at stop lights and feathered the gas, which helped, but the Nova had it in for Danny, it seemed. Danny stalled as he drove the busy and chaotic Carrier Circle roundabout but managed to get her started again. He got a lot of dirty looks as angry drivers zoomed around him. “Yeah, asshole, I’m doing it on purpose! I’m a thrillseeker!” Danny yelled out the window.

Finally, Danny arrived at the huge industrial park where Burnett Process was hypothetically located. He pulled out the directions his dad gave him and realized they were no help at all. Danny, like his father, was very directionally challenged and often got lost turning around. He stopped at two different factories to ask directions, then promptly got lost again, all the time trying to keep Mark’s Nova running.  I’m gonna die in this industrial park, he thought. Discouraged, he sat in front of a building he had already seen twice. Then he looked at the sign above the door: BURNETT PROCESS.

Danny found his dad, said a quick hello, grabbed the registration, and, more or less, sped off. It was already one-thirty. He promptly got lost as he tried to get out of the industrial park, stalling all the way. Finally, he made it to the Thruway and headed to Liverpool. At least he knew how to get to his dad’s. He coaxed the Nova all the way to the typically pretentiously named Casual Estates trailer park.

Danny knocked once and practically burst inside. “Oh, hi, Danny. I didn’t expect you,” said Lulu. Oh, please don’t say that! Danny thought.

“Hi Lulu,” Danny said, and gave her a hug and a kiss. “I came for the title, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. I’ll get it. Do you have time for coffee?” Lulu asked. If I had a time machine, yes, Danny thought. But the way things are going today, a time machine would probably stall and leave me in the year 1879 or something.

“No, I’m sorry, Lulu, I’m very late already,” Danny said, as he stuffed the title into his shirt pocket.

“Oh, come on! You can stay for a cup of coffee!” Lulu said. She was normally not one to take “no” for an answer, but this was no normal day.

“I promise when I get the car on the road I’ll come out and have that cup. Gotta go—bye!” Danny said with another quick kiss on the cheek, and then he was off.

The Nova didn’t stall. This time, it didn’t start.

 Danny waited a few minutes, then tried again. He couldn’t tell if the Nova was flooded but smelled gas, and assumed it was. He popped the hood to let the gas evaporate more quickly, which took a few minutes. “Hey Lulu, I’ll have that cup of coffee,” Danny said.

“I told you that you had time,” Lulu said.

Ten minutes and one gulped cup of coffee later, it was two-thirty, a mere two and a half hours since he left work. Danny pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor and tried again. The Stallmobile turned over and started. Danny wasted no time and hightailed it out of there, stalling all the way. He hoped the Nova would behave long enough to get to the DMV. Danny raced down Route 57 towards  the highway. The Department of Motor Vehicles was on West Genesee Street, not far from work, where Mark Longley had to be wondering if Danny had stolen his car. It was three-fifteen when Danny pulled into the DMV parking lot.

Danny practically ran inside. His first break of the day—not much of a line and he was at the window in about ten minutes. “Hi,” he said, nearly out of breath. “I bought this car off my dad for a dollar and need to get everything switched over so I can get her on the road.” He smiled at the middle-aged woman behind the desk, who, unsurprisingly, did not return his smile. Danny didn’t care. He was so happy. He was going to Marilyn’s tonight and—

Danny’s reverie was interrupted by the DMV clerk. “The title isn’t signed.”

What? What? Title what? “What do you mean? Everything is signed, no?” Danny felt a little lightheaded, almost uncomprehending.

“The title isn’t signed by the previous owner. I can’t proceed without a signed title. Please get it signed and come back. Please step aside. Next!” said the woman, unaware and unconcerned by Danny’s plight.

Just then, behind her, Danny saw Ziggy Sadowski. Ziggy was a regular at Motronics. He was an electronics hobbyist and came in every couple of weeks for something, and even though he always dealt with Ray, all the guys knew him. Ziggy was also, Danny knew, the DMV supervisor. Ziggy, his pal.

“Ziggy! Ziggy!” Danny started, and then spit out a string of words that probably, but not assuredly, got across the quandary he faced. “Ziggy, you gotta help me!” Danny implored him.

Ziggy’s face was impassive. “Danny, all I can tell you, is the title has to be signed.”

It was after four, and so, impossible to take the Stallmobile all the way out to Casual Estates and back again. “But Ziggy, you don’t understand what this means to me! I—”

Ziggy cut him off. He put his face closer to Danny’s and enunciated each word, slowly and clearly so Danny couldn’t miss the meaning. “Danny, all I can tell you is the title has to be signed,” then he paused. “Get it?”

The dim light bulb above Danny’s head finally brightened. “Oh, yeah, sure. My stepmom is in the car. She’s in the car. I’ll go out there and have her sign it. I’ll be right back,” Danny said, triumphantly. Ziggy just smiled.

Later that evening, Danny’s new-to-him Plymouth Belvedere sat in Marilyn’s driveway as the two chatted, horizontally. “If you told me this was your first time, I would have baked you a cake, or something,” she said.

“Ah, Marilyn, you’ve done more than enough,” said Danny.

 

 

1981: E-Street

 

                Danny headed out the front door of Motronics at five o’clock that July evening in 1981. He was already in uniform-- black pants and gold jersey, big number 0 on his back--headed to his team’s softball game. He also had a matching black satin jacket, jauntily slung over his shoulder. The team’s name was stitched in flowing gold script on the front of the jersey and the back of the jacket: The E-Street All Stars.

                There was no bigger Bruce Springsteen fan than Danny, but he didn’t come up with the name. Danny’s choice was “The Destroyers,” the name of George Thorogood’s band, then enjoying their first burst of fame. Co-worker and teammate Frank, though, cautioned that with a name like the Destroyers, “We’d get beat up,” and suggested the E-Street name.  So, E-Street All Stars it was. The team had the flashiest uniforms in the league.

The E-Street All Stars talent, unfortunately, was not flashy. The E-Street All Stars couldn’t field, they couldn’t pitch, they couldn’t hit the cutoff man, they couldn’t hit, period. They were the slo-pitch softball version of the Bad News Bears.  Danny himself contributed a couple of plays for the “highlight” reel. In the first inning of one game, with the team already behind 11-0, Danny sprinted from his post in right field into foul territory and attempted to catch a foul pop-up. He ran full tilt, keeping his eye on the ball, until he looked down to see how close he was to the fence, which was: extremely. Danny, about a quarter inch from the fence, had just enough time to think oh, shit. He not only didn’t catch the ball (of course) but smashed into the fence, cut his lip, and bloodied his face. Undaunted, he jumped up and snarled, “C’mon! let’s get these guys!” a scene right out of a “B” movie.

Postscript: They didn’t get those guys.

Another time, Danny was in centerfield and fielded a base hit on one bounce.  The runner from second had just rounded third. Danny’s throwing arm was surprisingly strong and he thought, this guy is dead meat. Danny uncorked a strong throw, nailed the runner at the plate, and ended the inning, providing the emotional lift for a comeback rally that won the game for E-Street…

No.

Danny instead accidently let go of the ball early, like one of those fake-out “throws” you fool your dog or little brother with, and it plopped harmlessly behind him. Danny wanted to dig a big hole right there in centerfield to hide in. Lucky for him, misery sure loved company. Big, strong, athletic guys came to play for E-Street and turned into terrible hitters and clumsy fielders. Maybe it was contagious. As a result of this lack of talent, the E-Streeters usually spent the season in last place. Their uniforms continued being flashy, though.

After the game, however, the E Street All Stars were at their best. Danny bragged they had the highest “fun-to-win ratio” in the league. The team decamped to Lee’s Restaurant on Westcott Street after every game and did what they did best; drinking, laughing, and dancing, sometimes all three things at the same time.  They hung together, even the married guys and their wives, and had an absolute ball every Friday evening. The Lee’s DJ spun Motown hits and other danceable oldies, and almost everyone boogied on the crowded, too-small dance floor. One wife or girlfriend, designated “Diana Ross” for the evening, sang lead to a Supremes song like “Baby Love,” while ten drunken ballplayers in their sweaty, dirty uniforms, were the “backup singers.” CF made it hard to keep up, but he was game. He never missed a dance, even if he was sidelined briefly with a coughing jag after an especially energetic song

The All-Stars usually closed the place, and the song the DJ played last was Kate Smith’s iconic version of “God Bless America.” The whole team sang along mightily, if not tunefully and when the line, “White with foam” played everyone sloshed their beers and made a sloppy, happy mess. Then they all staggered to their cars, if they could find them, and drunkenly drove home. Nobody was worried about getting a DWI, incredibly--just making it home okay. It was a different time--everyone who drove drunk was wrong, but that’s just the way it was in the late seventies and early eighties.

Danny almost made it to the door as he left Motronics that July evening, but he was stopped by Ray Ronson’s voice crackling over the ancient intercom.  “Danny Martini, I gotta see you,” Ray said.

                Shit, I’m gonna be late for the game, he thought as he walked back to Ray’s office. He knew what Ray wanted to tell him, and he dreaded hearing it. The rumors had flown around the place all day. Dave DeSocio was getting canned, and Danny felt terrible. He really liked Dave, who was a few years older than Danny and a mellow presence on the counter. Danny and Dave worked together for a couple of years and usually got along great.

                Danny didn’t understand why they had to give Dave the axe—he was newly married and had a two-year old son. Danny was just sick about it and anxious to get it over with. “What’s going on, Ray?” he said, as he pretended not to know. Danny prepared a response in his head. Oh, Ray, Dave’ll be okay. He has a lot of experience,

                “Danny, I gotta let you go,” Ray said.

Danny began his prepared answer. “Oh, Ray, Dave’ll….ME?!” So much for the rumors. “Why me? what happened?” Danny asked.

Ray genuinely looked lost. “It came from upstairs. Who knows what they are thinking? This is the worst thing I’ve ever had to do.” It sounded like he meant it, at least.

                “We’ll give you a week’s severance and you’ll get a good recommendation from me and Mark,” he said. Danny was stunned, too stunned to say much. He almost said a modified version of his prepared answer; Oh, Ray, I’ll be okay. I have a lot of experience.

He instead said, “I’m so thankful you took a chance on me, what, seven years ago, man.” He meant it. If Motronics hadn’t hired him, and he started work at another place, he would have washed out in weeks, maybe even days, train wreck that he was then. He might have started and quit one job after another, just like Helen.

                The funny thing was that Danny had secretly started working part-time at Sounds Great, an audio/video retailer on Erie Boulevard. The Boulevard, as it was known, was a bustling arterial that straddled the city and DeWitt. In the early eighties it was known for its many stereo shops. A couple of weeks before he got canned at Motronics, he stopped in to Sounds Great and asked if they were hiring. Danny loved Sounds Great’s cool TV and radio ads and thought it’d be a fun place to work. He told the manager he was looking for part-time hours. Two weeks later, he went to work and told the manager, “Hey, change of plans.  I can work full-time if you want me,” and was immediately bumped up to full time. Danny was out of a job for zero days.

                The TV and radio ads fooled Danny. The hip and irreverent Sounds Great portrayed in the ads was a product of an advertising agency. Danny was spoiled by the friendly and nurturing atmosphere at Motronics. At Sounds Great the climate was cold and cutthroat. Commission sales can be that way. Danny never worked on commission before. He liked the idea until he butted heads with the salesmen (all men) who were unhelpful and often untrustworthy.