Dire Straits II

Once Carey, Walter and I were done with school, it dawned on us that we were among the "have nots"; and none of us knew how to deal with it.  In the late 1960s, we wasted several years in a series of desperate attempts to avoid growing up.  When any of us were working, it was strictly out of necessity and never a job that we valued.  None of us could come to grips with the harsh prospect of getting on with our lives.  The three of us made for the worst possible chemistry.  Rather than be alarmed by the lengths to which one of us would go to delay the inevitable, the other two would be inspired by the display of commitment.

Walter worked with Carey at Sparklettes for a while and hated every minute of it.  He set records for absenteeism and the range of excuses was extraordinary.  Nothing was off the table including most non-terminal illnesses, family emergencies, dental appointments, in-law funerals, court appearances, car trouble, backed-up toilet, food poisoning, apartment robbery, jammed garage door, head lice, social services visit, niece/nephew graduation, helping ex-wife move, backed over the neighbor's cat, job interview and driveway blocked by street paving. 

    

Walter found himself at work one morning only because he couldn't figure out a new excuse for not showing up.  He was an hour into his route on a residential street in Highland Park when he decided that he couldn't take it any longer.  He pulled the truck over to the curb, slid over to the passenger seat, and kicked out the windshield.  His intent had been to shatter it, but instead, the full windshield, including the frame, popped out from the truck cab and sat resting on the hood.  He put the windshield inside the cab, drove back to the plant, dropped off the truck, and in an angry huff told the dispatcher, "I'll be back tomorrow morning when hopefully there will be a truck I can drive that won't fucking fall apart."

Rather than call in sick. my approach when I soured on a job was to just quit.  I had no car payments since I was given the worn-out wreckages from my dad when he couldn't bear to drive them any longer.  I was also fortunate to house sit for friends and live rent/utilities free through most of this period.  The jobs I quit included teaching high school art for 8 weeks; teaching art at El Sereno Junior High for 6 days; Vande Kamps Bakery for 9 days; delivery driver for 2 months; driving instructor for Cheyney Brother's Driving School for 7 weeks; 2 very short-lived custodial and grounds maintenance gigs; air courier for 9 months; and sorting parcels at the post office for 9 months.

The only time I ever called in sick was to the U.S. Army Induction Center.  Over a period of 30 months I was summoned to appear 6 different times for my induction physical.  Each time the day of the physical arrived, I slept in until mid mourning, then phoned the induction center to let them know I wasn't feeling well.  You could get away with it back then but it was later became a federal offense.

Carey took the most drastic actions of the three of us.  He wasn't able to escape being drafted into Uncle Sam's Army but he did steer clear of Viet Nam.  He had finished basic training in some God-forsaken southern state and his entire unit of good 'ol boys received their orders to head for Southeast Asia.  The night before they were scheduled to deploy, Carey broke his ankle playing ping pong.  Other than perched on the rim of the Grand Canyon, it is difficult to imagine how it is possible to suffer an injury of any type playing ping pong. 

However odd it may have seemed at the time, his ankle was in deed broken.  While his ankle was healing he managed to find an assignment in an area of the globe where we were not actively at war.  The remainder of his military stint was spent driving some Colonel around Germany.

After the Army, Carey hung in at Sparklettes for quite a while before he burned out.  He pushed more water off of his truck and was paid more money than any other route man.  The more money he made, the more he spent.  The more he spent, the more water he needed to push.  It was a vicious cycle that eventually came to a head.  There was no limit to Carey's spending but there was eventually a limit to how much product you can cram down customer's throats.  There was also a limit to the tons of water a human body can haul up and down Mt. Washington. 

At some point after Sparklettes, Carey went to work for Ace Hardware.  It was only a matter of time before management realized he didn't know a plumb line from a ball peen hammer.  He was on his last day at work putting together a window display for a special sale on Benjamin Moore interior house paint.  He was on a ladder arranging a banner that ran across the 5-foot high vertical wall of paint cans that he had set up…………..

This time the injuries were less clear cut than the broken ankle but the recovery time for the damaged vertebrae and soft tissue was assessed as "indeterminate."  Carey collected disability checks while he waited in hopes of receiving a lump sum settlement.

The best of times was when the three of us ate dinner every week at The Original Pantry Café on the corner of 9^th and Figueroa.  The portions were large and the prices were reasonable.  The Pantry had been open 24/7 since it opened in 1924 and we usually showed up around midnight.  We ate there at least once a week and soon felt as though we had the run of the place. 

Part of the Pantry's vibe was, and still is, the surly waiters.  We used to drive them up the wall.  In the 1960s, few customers realized that they did not have to accept the coleslaw and the sourdough bread that is thrown in front of you when you are seated.  You could ask instead for a fresh tossed green salad and garlic bread toasted on the grill.  There was no additional charge for these options but the waiters never told their customers about it because the waiters had to make the salads and toast the garlic bread.  One of the other extras few people knew about was the strawberry preserves that came in a large open bowl that we used to plop onto the toasted garlic bread.

Once we were on to these and other options, we managed to piss off every waiter we saw until we ran into Rene.  Unlike the others who looked as though they might take a shit on our table, Rene was happy to do as we asked.  Once we found him we always sat at his station and gave him a monster tip – mostly to thank him but also to further infuriate the other waiters. 

Years after we quit going to the Pantry, its claim to have never closed was threatened during the 1980s building boom in downtown Los Angeles.  The threat was erased when Richard Riordan bought the restaurant and the entire block it sits on for 3.5 million.  The Pantry was closed for a 24-hour stretch in 1997 the day before Thanksgiving when it was shut down after an inspection by the health department for 23 code violations.  Riordan, the majority owner and the Mayor of Los Angeles at the time of the closure, saw customers lined up at the door on Thanksgiving morning.  At 7:30 a.m. Riordan called the city's health department to get an inspector out to reopen the restaurant.  Riordan gave his name, was initially put on hold, and 10 minutes later was disconnected.  Riordan called back, gave his name once again but this time emphasized the point that he was in fact the Mayor, and the Pantry was opened an hour later.

When the Pantry first opened in 1924, employable males were in short supply due to WWI, and in those days women weren't considered appropriate for such duty.  Thus, for a short time, the Pantry hired men that had recently been released from prison.  This practice soon ended but it has survived as an urban myth ever since.  The Pantry still on occasion receives applications for work from prison inmates.  The current management encourages its staff to be direct with patrons (some would describe it as gruff) to emphasize the simplicity and no-nonsense nature of the food and the atmosphere.  This of course helps perpetuate the myth. 

When Walter left Sparklettes he very much appreciated the Mt. Washington arrangement with its free rent/utilities.  However, his monthly car payments and car insurance made being unemployed a drag.  One afternoon he drove to his folk's house in Pasadena to spend the night.  He parked his car on the street, sat down to dinner with his parents and went early to bed with everyone else.  A few hours later, Walter snuck out to his car, lit it on fire, and went back to bed.  The fire department arrived a half hour later to put out the fire as Walter and his parents looked on. 

After the firemen drove off Walter surveyed the damage and went back to bed.  His plan had been to bring an end to his car-related expenses in exchange for a nice fat check from the insurance company.  Unfortunately he was concerned that the damage done by the fire was not enough for the car to be considered a total loss.

A couple of hours later, Walter snuck out again to his car, re-lit it, and returned to bed.  It took longer for the fire department to respond to the second fire.  There understandably was some confusion when the address was announced the second time around, causing several of the crew to insist they had already dealt with it.  Eventually it was made clear that yes it was the same location and the same car, but a different fire.  Walter's second effort did the trick but the money didn't last long. 

Walter's next idea was to give boxing a try.  He had seen the deal Carey had landed which was still in play at the time and figured it was worth a shot since at this point he had nothing to lose.  Strangely enough it worked out in a manner of speaking.  He was rescued from a hopeless situation by the queen of hearts. 

Walter brought the same frantic desperation to his training sessions that had kicked out the windshield and torched the car, but he couldn't fight a lick.  There wasn't a single veteran of the fight game that didn't dread the idea that he might eventually be allowed to participate in a real fight.  Then a ghostly-pale, red-headed woman who managed a few fighters took a shine to Walter.  She had at least 40 years on him, and each of those had taken a nasty toll.  She was also filthy rich and terribly lonely.  Walter went with the flow. 

They made quite an impression as a couple.  It wasn't the difference in age so much as the visual contrast of a frenetic young black man matched up with a dilapidated bleached-out troll.  She made sure his boxing days were short-lived to the relief of all concerned.  She gathered him up and set him down for good in her La Jolla Mansion overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

Carey was finally awarded his lump sum payment for the window display disaster.  He used the money to buy himself a panel truck and took off to Colorado looking to make a fresh start.  He was working his way down through the Rocky Mountains on a rain-slick highway just outside of Colorado Springs when he hit a deer.  He was a little rattled and dead tired so he quickly pulled off at a roadside dinner for a cup of coffee. 

He was sitting at the counter when a highway patrol officer approached him and asked, "Is that your van out there?"

Carey, still somewhat shook up, said, "If you mean the one with the antlers stuck in the grill, then yeah, that's mine."

The patrolman said, "Where did this happen?"

Carey said, "Right down the road."

The patrolman asked, "How long ago was this?"

Carey said, "A few minutes ago, I just got here."

The patrolman asked, "What about the deer?"

Carey, completely mystified, said, "Come again?"

The patrolman said, "Was the deer dead, still alive, off to the side, or lying in the middle of the road?"

Carey, still baffled by it all, answered, "Got'em no boats.  Tried to miss it and almost went off the road.  Never looked back, just pulled in here to settle my nerves."

The patrolman took down Carey's information and told him to wait there until he returned.  The Patrolman drove back to the deer, put it down and moved it off the highway.  He returned to the diner, sat down next to Carey and explained what he had done with the deer and why.

Carey said, "Just my luck.  The first time in my life I leave LA and I hit a deer.  I had no clue what to do."

The patrolman said, "The deer is the least of our concerns at this stage.  The real problem is that you have no car insurance.  The State of Colorado is very hard-nosed on this subject.  You have no idea the amount of paper work this is going to involve.  I wish I'd never noticed your van."

Carey said, "Well, you didn't see me then, did ya?"

The patrolman appreciated the brilliance of this simple statement.  He shook his head, smiled and finally told Carey, "Okay son, you can be on your way, but for your own sake, get some insurance."