I'm going to tell you a wee bit of a story. The names and places are mostly all changed up, but the essential details are true. I was reminded of this story today during my vacation ... because today I stopped in the tiny little sandwich shop where I worked when I first moved out of the house at 19. (Stick with the story ... there's a murder in this one ....)
Once upon a time, there was this awesome little sandwich shop chain called Gio's. The owner, Giovanni, of course, was a refugee from Hell's Kitchen, but had been in Texas long enough to have lost most of his accent, if not his pattern of dress and love of fast, hot cars. He was married and had four kids, so naturally he was a family man to the core. (Uh-huh ... I got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you, too.)
There were two Gio's in Arlington, another in Coppell, and a brand new one in Dallas. Things were beautiful.
The first time I met Giovanni, I had been working in the original store for just a few weeks. All I knew was this big dude holding a young girl walked into the mostly deserted restaurant and asked for "a bit of pickle." Now, we sold pickles, half pickles and quarter pickles. So, I asked him if he wanted a half or a quarter of a pickle. He replied that he just wanted a bit of pickle. He cocked his head toward his kiddo, "For her," he said.
Wanting to get everything exactly right, I decided he meant a quarter pickle, sliced him one, handed it to him and then moved down to the register and rang him up. "Sir? Sir, that'll be 27 cents, please."
Richie, our store manager, about dropped his jaw to the floor, and I'm certain that his eyes popped out of his head, hit his thick, military grade glasses and then popped back in to their sockets.
"You rang him up????" Richie exclaimed.
"Well, yeah, he ordered a bit of pickle."
"Do you know who this is?"
Gio, waved Richie aside, chuckling. "No, no, no ... she was doing her job. It's already rung up, let me pay."
That was the first meeting with the infamous Gio. I quickly learned that I had been lucky. Sometimes Gio would scream at someone for the same thing. Sometimes he'd threaten them. Sometimes he'd fire them. He had the stereotypical Italian anger issues. I thought that was odd. I'd never met anyone who embraced a stereotype before, but Gio reveled in the stereotype of the Italian goodfella.
Then, I discovered the reason for Gio's quick flips between being magnanimous and being, well, scary as hell, to be honest. More than once I saw Richie blanch while on the phone with Gio. I saw another manager, Thera burst into tears after talking with him.
Dude was a coke addict. Probably dealt the stuff, too, given his Cadillac sports car. He was magnanimous to the extreme while high ... and a real a-hole right after he came down. And there was no telling which way he'd be until after you'd opened your mouth and stuck your foot firmly in it.
An example ... Gio brought his kids into the store fairly regularly. One day, he brings in the whole family and little Frankie comes barrelling up to me, cuts in front of the sole customer in the joint and demands a candy bar. I tell him to get one from the machine. He looks at me in utter disbelief and says:
"Do you know who I am?"
I looked this 10 year old brat straight in the eye and said, "I know you're not going to pay for the candy bar. Now, you can let me serve this customer and then I will take you back to the cooler with me and let you pick your own, or you can sit out here and wait until I'm done with this customer and take whatever thing I give you. Your choice. Which do you want?"
Thera stared at me from across the room ... she made shooing motions at me to go get the candy bar for the brat when she thought Gio wasn't looking.
I finished up with the customer, Frankie sat absolutely quietly in a chair nearby and waited pretty patiently for me ... considering he was about 10, he did really well. When I finished with the customer, I called to him to come back into the cooler with me and pick out his candy bar.
I never did have a lick of trouble with the boy after that ... but I did hear my co-workers talk about how he completely ran over them. He was daddy's boy and they were all afraid of him and Frankie knew it.
I refused to fear a child, and, to be honest, while I'm not sure I would behave any differently today, I would be far more afraid than I was that day.
You see, a few months later, I began putting all the little pieces together. Keep in mind, I was all of 19 and had led ... well, not exactly a sheltered life, but I did think that things you see in movies and on TV were just things that happened there. I didn't know that "based on true events" really meant that this shit sometimes happened for real.
One night, a Friday night, we were fast running out of our special bread. No bread, no sandwiches. Richie called the baker in Dallas and then looked for volunteers to drive the hour, hour and a half round trip. We were all young idiots and didn't even think of asking for mileage. If I'd known what we were driving into, I'd have asked for hazard pay, because of course, I said I'd go. We got directions and took off for one of the sketchiest areas near Deep Ellum (remember, this was late 80s). Now, I'd been out to Deep Ellum before and was cool with that. But this neighborhood, whoa. I mean, this was a bad neighborhood. Enough so, I stayed in the car and kept it running while my co-worked literally ran to the door, snagged the bread and RAN back to the car.
I felt stupid when I got back to the store with the bread ... I mean, we'd not seen anything actually happen. Sure the neighborhood was terribly run down. Sure, there were some odd looking guys just hanging around in the doorways of some of the abandoned buildings. But nobody did anything. I mean, streetlights aren't always lit everywhere you go. The world's an imperfect place, light bulbs fall out all the time, right? (Get the movie reference and I'll give you 20 BlogMad credits.)
The next week, though, I was a bit vindicated. We didn't have a baker anymore. His bakery burned down.
Then, Thera let me and another person in on the real story.
Actually, our baker had been shot between the eyes.
Then the bakery was burned down, after the workers were told to leave.
It was a mob hit. Gio was connected. He wasn't playing at being a Goodfella, he really truly was one. Perhaps on the periphery, perhaps not.
And, while no one ever said it ... there was the fear that this hit might have been a warning to Gio.
Things were getting worse at the stores. The Dallas store went under. Then the Coppell store. He lost the sportscar. He was edgy all the time.
I found another job.
I still love Gio's, though. It's a great little sandwich shop. So, of course, I went back there today and swapped stories with the current employees. Almost everyone from "my" time period was gone. Richie, Greta - the main store managers, operations managers ... gone. Gina, VP of the company during the hey-day ... long gone. Thera had left about the same time I had.
I found out that little Frankie ... Gio's son ... went to Padre Island for spring break his senior year. Always one to live for today, to enjoy his priveleges, including his sports car.
Seventeen. Padre Island. Spring break. Sense of entitlement. Sense of invulnerability.
I was glad to hear that Gio apparently stopped his coke habit as I spoke with the employees tonight. But I have to wonder if he cleaned himself up because of the mob hit, or because he lost almost all of his stores.
Or because Frankie didn't come back from Padre that year. Because Frankie'd wrapped his car around a tree doing God knows how many miles an hour.
You know, I have to wonder ...
If someone else had told Frankie to sit down and wait his turn, would it have made any difference at all?
I was so happy to eat at Gio's tonight. I was happy to see the food was the same, sooooo delicious.
But I'm haunted by the picture of Frankie waiting so patiently in that chair for me ... just so he could come back to the cooler and pick out his own candy bar. It was a small thing for me at the time. But remembering the joy on his face when he got to go to the back room ... this was a big thing for him.
It's odd when you suddenly miss someone you met only fleetingly, some 15 or more years ago. When you realize he oughta be about 28 right now ... securing himself in his career ... and instead, he's been dead for about 10 years now.
I can still see him so clearly, sitting in that chair, alone, in the dining room of the store.
Posted by Red Monkey at July 12, 2006 8:51 PM |
Storytelling: She was, of course, supposed to be sleeping.
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Okay, so I absolutely cannot let it go (and you just knew I couldn't). Of course it is Judd Nelson's John Bender in the Breakfast Club. "Screws fall out all the time, the world's an imperfect place."
What a life of intrigue you lead.
July 12, 2006 10:39 PMmartin said:
Hey! I normally just flick through some blogs but I read a few lines of your Gio story and ended up reading it all the way to the end. You have a fantastic writing style....love it.
I am going to bookmark you and come back and read some more.....you lucky lucky girl! hee hee
Greetings from sunny England! (yes you heard me, it IS sunny!)
Martin
July 13, 2006 6:37 AM
Great story. And I think I know what you mean with the What If for Frankie. Some people, it won't matter; they seem determined to self-destruct. But yes, I'd wonder too.
July 13, 2006 10:24 AMblueyes said:
Man what a time you had there. I wonder if Gio actually cleaned up his act once his son died sort of an eye opener. Glad the place is still up and running though.
July 13, 2006 1:32 PMReflekshins said:
life is so full of many poignant moments. Fascinating story - haunting ending
July 14, 2006 7:07 PMNotBean said:
Just a repeat of what others have said. Great story well told. Thanks for the entertainment.
July 15, 2006 10:35 PM
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seawave said: