Odd Jobs (2 page)

I decide to face up to my problem. I see Severan Reynard giving directions to two guys carrying a crate of ribs. Sev calls the shots on the floor. Sev doesn’t say much and he really doesn’t have to. He’s 5’11” but seems bigger. He’s got a body as wide as a truck with a decent size gut and skin so dark it actually looks black. His goatee is black and so are his eyes. His eyes are what do the commanding. When he wants something done, he opens those black eyes wide and points. The whites of his eyes are such a contrast to his other features that it shakes people. It’s fuckin’ freaky.

The funny thing is, Sev runs the place but he’s not the real boss. Supposedly, there’s a foreman. I haven’t seen him yet but I heard he’s some lazy sack of shit that got “put” in the job. Sev doesn’t have the title, but I guess running the place beats taking orders from someone else. Everyone, including the foreman, knows Sev’s the best guy, so it just works. Word is he did some wild stuff in the Marines like 15 or 20 years ago. Obviously the guy has been around. Supposedly he’s a pretty straight shooter; I figure that if I go and talk to him and let him know how sick I am, maybe I can pull some other duty today.

Sev is talking to Sal and Frank in the doorway of the employee lounge. The lounge is a large room with 20 foldout cafeteria tables. In the corner there is a soda machine, a candy machine and a table with a microwave. It doesn’t look like the guys are saying anything monumental, so I figure this is as good a time as any to talk to Sev.

“Sev, can I grab you for a minute?” I ask.

Sev shoots me a glance and then quickly turns back to Sal and Frank. Frank is telling Sev that we are behind in June production. But this is good news for Sev because being behind schedule means overtime and some double time. The boys in the trenches are going to be happy.

A minute or two later, Sev looks over and says, “What’s up?”

“Sorry to hassle you,” I answer. “Uh, look, I’m having a little trouble today. I’m uh, kinda sick. Is there any other area I can work today?”

Sev is staring straight at me and his mustang eyes are getting pretty wide. He’s not saying anything, but something is going on. Frank looks surprised and Sal grins. Immediately I know that I’m making a mistake.

“Motha-fucka!” Sev says in the loudest voice I have ever heard him use. “What the fuck do you think you’re pullin’ here?”

“Really Sev, I’m not trying to pull anything,” I answer, trying to avoid those eyes.

“You think I’m a moron? You think I don’t smell the liquor on you? You think I’m blind and I don’t see you stumbling like a fool?”

I don’t answer him. Even if I were on my game, he is pretty much right.

Sev is really going now. “What? You think this is a damn joke?”

I try to recover. “I’m really sorry, I made a mistake. I’m not looking for any.... ”

Sev interrupts. “Look, you want to go out late, fine. But don’t go out at night barkin’ like a dog if you’re gonna be pissin’ like a puppy in the morning. It don’t happen like that in my house. Now get the fuck outta here, you’re done.”

I look around. It’s pretty quiet now. I seem to be the center of attention, and everyone seems to know what just went down.

“Get the fuck outta here,” Sev barks.

Sal steps up and says, “Sev, maybe we should wait a minute.” Sev’s eyes close just a little. “The kid got the job through Jimmy Balducci,” Sal reminds him. “Why piss him off if we don’t have to?”

“I got a floor to run and this little snot deserves to be canned.”

“No doubt,” Sal agrees. “But the kid’s actually been doing all right. He’s a hard worker.”

“So I’m suppose’ to put him on the line where he can kill himself or, more importantly, one of my guys?” Sev growls, “Look at ‘im! He can barely stand up!”

“Why don’t we give the kid a break from the hard labor and give him a nice, easy job today?” Sal says. “I got a great place to nurse a hangover that always needs a few more workers.”

Sal pulls Sev to the side and mutters something. I can’t hear what they say, but whatever Sal says causes Sev to do something I haven’t seen since I began working here. Sev smiles.

Sal and Sev talk for a few more minutes while I just stand there like an asshole. Eventually Sal walks past me and says, “C’mon kid.”

He’s walking pretty fast — at least it feels like he’s walking fast — but eventually I catch up to him. “Thanks a lot for saving my job back there,” I say.

Sal laughs. “You are so fucked up, you have no idea what you’re in for. Don’t be thankin’ me, kid. I’d ask your name but it doesn’t matter. It’s just a matter of time before you quit.”

“I’m not going to quit, and you know my name is Kevin.”

“Whatever.”

“Why do you think I’ll
quit?”

“You, young stallion, are on Sev’s shit list. You are past the point of no return. You can’t possibly imagine the shit detail you are going to be pulling. I’ve been working here 12 years, I know exactly what’s going on, and all you are right now is sport.”

“What do you mean?”

Sal tells me that the guys are making book on my estimated time of departure; lots of money changing hands as we speak. In here, he says, they bet on anything they can think of; it helps the day pass quicker. “And today we got you.”

“Just great,” I mumble to myself. A small man in a black outfit and a long dark beard bumps into me. Or maybe I bump into him. “Sorry,” I say. He just mutters something to himself and walks on. I can see he’s wearing a skullcap.

“What’s up with him?” I ask Sal.

“Rabbi,” he tells me. “You’ve never seen him before, wandering around? I wonder if he has any action on you yet.”

We continue to walk past different huge refrigeration and freezer rooms. They all have names, like pickle box and curing room. We are walking in areas I’ve never been before.

“Why is there a rabbi here?” I ask.

“It’s his job. This is what he does.” Sal pauses. “He blesses the meat.”

“Really?”

I’m not sure if Sal is starting to like me or, he just likes the sound of his voice, but for whatever reason, he explains the situation to me. “Kid, it’s Kosher World, right? Someone has to make the meat kosher. Now, you have your all-star rabbis that lead congregations and save souls. Your B-team rabbis do other stuff like performing a bris on baby boys. I think they’re called moguls. Then you have guys like our Rabbi Silver. He spends his day blessing meat. He has a congregation of dead carcasses.”

Sal and I pass the smokehouse and finally get to the last room on the floor. Sal opens the door and immediately I’m engulfed by a strange smell. It’s a cooked smell, almost like sanitary cleanser, but definitely cooked. It
actually seems a lot tamer in here than the loading dock and the sides of beef I usually haul. I can pull this off.

Sal and I are the only ones in the room. He looks at his watch and informs me the gang will be here in less than two minutes. They start at 7 a.m. today. I ask what they’ll be coming in to do, exactly.

“Kid, you are going to help in bringing a popular and special Jewish delicacy to your local restaurant and delicatessen. You should feel very honored.”

“What delicacy?”

Three people walk into the room, all wearing big white smocks over their orange jumpsuits. “Heya Sal, what brings you to our corner of the world?” one of them asks.

“Morning, Georgie; wanted to bring you a little help today. You’re always looking for a little help, aren’t you?”

Georgie starts looking me over. Georgie is maybe 5’5” tall and could possibly be 5’5” wide as well, but his most noticeable characteristic has to be his ears. They are the hairiest ears I have ever seen; there’s a forest coming out the sides of his face. I stare at him dully.

“What’s the matter with him?” Georgie asks.

Sal tells him I am a college intern who just wasn’t up to the heavy labor today, so he thought Georgie’s line of work might be a better match for me. Then Sal excuses himself, leaving me in the capable hands of Georgie Skolinsky, who introduces me to Felipe Cortez, Ramon Pizzaro and Lily. They are talking and getting ready for what must be the task at hand, but the whole thing has a weird feel to it. After all, Sal did say something about a shit detail. I look around and notice that everyone is a little...odd. There’s Georgie with his hairy ears, and Felipe, who walks with a bad limp, as if one leg was 12 inches shorter than the other. Ramon isn’t talking at all and I’m not sure if he doesn’t want to be part of this group or just can’t follow the chatter. And then there is Lily, who is extremely heavy and has the most god-awful dyed red hair ever. It’s more orange than red. She has on orange lipstick that perfectly matches her hair, but there’s more lipstick on her teeth than on her mouth. What is this, the detail of the damned?

Georgie barks, “Let’s get started.”

Ramon wheels in a huge, tall vat while the others circle around a stainless steel table. There is steam coming from the vat and something is obviously boiling. Between the boiling vat and the cold of the refrigerated room it looks as though the vat is on fire and smoking up a storm. Felipe has a ponytail, and it looks pretty funny when he puts on the plastic sanitary hat that they all begin pulling on. Everyone looks pretty silly; it’s like an operating room.

“Here you go, sweetie,” Lily says as she gives me a hat.

“Don’t try too hard, Lily. I don’t think he’s ready to marry you yet,” Georgie says with a yellow-toothed grin.

I put on my hat and watch as Ramon wheels the vat next to the table. He gets on a step stool and, wielding a huge spoon the size of a shovel, begins scooping something from the vat. The water strains from the holes in the gigantic spoon and he dumps these slimy things on the table. They just slide toward the middle. Within about three minutes there are dozens of huge pink blobs on the table, roughly the size of an NBA basketball player’s foot. Then I recognize them. They are rock-solid huge tongues. I might still be a bit buzzed, but it looks like these tongues are aimed at me, taunting me.

Georgie sees my amazement. “Tongue,” he says.

“I can see that, but from what?”

“Cows, moron.”

I’m watching as the group begins working with surgical precision. Hands move fast and each huge tongue is processed in about three minutes.

Lily is complaining about how the government is too soft on crime and how she can’t even walk two blocks in her own neighborhood. She keeps at it for a few minutes. Man, she can go.

Finally, Felipe interrupts her. “The men in your neighborhood must be all over you. They can’t get enough of you.”

Georgie and the others start laughing. It’s a bit sad that they are having such a good time at Lily’s expense, but I have to admit, I’m grateful that Felipe got Lily under control. Just listening for a few minutes, I could tell she is a runaway train.

Georgie notices me and says, “Someone get the kid involved.”

“C’mon over here, hon, I’ll help you,” Lily offers.

“Quiet down, Lily, I got it. Stand over here, kid,” Felipe says.

That’s a relief; the last thing I need is to be cornered by Lily. Felipe begins to show me the ropes. He lifts one of the gigantic tongues, tosses it up a few inches and catches it again with the back facing him. Now the tongue is sticking out straight at me. I’m doing everything I can to keep down a pint of tequila and Wild Turkey.

“Okay,” Felipe begins. “Three steps, simple as that. First, you take the bone that attaches this lovely tongue to the rest of the beautiful bovine.” Felipe digs his thumb and middle finger into the back of the tongue and pulls on a four-inch bone. It gives him a bit of resistance but he finally yanks it out. “Next, you turn it over and scrape off the USDA grade that was stamped on the bottom part.” Felipe takes a short, sharp knife
and begins to whittle at the stamp. Small pieces of flesh begin to drop onto the stainless steel table until the bottom of the tongue no longer has a mark. Watching him is mesmerizing. I’m staring and getting a fuzzy head.