stuff to?
It feels good to be talking to Sev about all this personal shit. I have to admit I like him. I admire the way he always has control of the place. People do what he says because they respect him, not because he’s the boss. In some warped way I think I’m helping him not be invisible. I wish I could have that effect on my mother.
CHAPTER 6
The next few hours at H’s place are pretty interesting. There’s a lot to Sev and this whole industry row. It’s more than a summer job, and there’s something to be gained here although that’s what Georgie probably thought, and he ended up losing his head. These boys are playing for high stakes. It’s hard to know how to proceed.
At some point in my drunken stupor, I agree to participate in the last two fights of the summer. Sev offers me two things. First, I can use some time during the day to work out and train. Second, Sev offers to take me under his wing, teach me the business. Learn stuff inside the factory and the union. That’s the part I can’t refuse.
The way I see it, any situation can be my ticket. Some might look at this as a shitty summer job, but maybe it’s more than that. Maybe there’s a ton of money to be made here somewhere. I saw an infomercial once about some starving junior high science teacher who invented Savage Tan suntan oil. Now he’s driving something with 600 horsepower. This guy Balducci who got me the job here is pretty fucking loaded too, and I don’t see him as the type to split atoms or invent a new artificial heart. The point is that I could be sitting on something huge. You never know. If I’m here, why not make the most of it?
Eventually I stumble out of the bar and make it to the bus stop. The sun is down now, but it’s still north of 90 degrees. Maybe it is really 50 degrees but it feels like 90 because my damn stomach is burning from that crap I was drinking with Sev. Still, I feel kinda good, too, like I am finally going somewhere worth going.
So now I’m getting paid to get in shape and learn the business. It seems reasonable to me. If I avoid getting my head kicked in, then it’s win-win.
This week is the best yet. I’m on a pretty good system. My hours are 9 to five (the gravy shift) with an occasional hour of overtime. No more Industrial Road sunrises. I’m always rotating around to different areas, helping in some and just observing in others. In preparation for the upcoming fights, I work out between 10 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. everyday. I do a bunch of pushups and sit-ups and a ton of punching with 3-pound tongues in my hand. On Tuesday and Thursday I do a lot of leg work. You know, squats and lunges.
The guys get a kick out of helping me. While I’m doing pushups, sometimes they give me target numbers to shoot for and count out as I am going. Felipe brings in his stopwatch and times me while I am punching with the cow tongues in my hands. Since Georgie was killed, Felipe runs the Tongue Room.
Some of the guys from the Tongue Room even train with me. They want to get into better shape, so these six or sometimes seven guys get in a row and we just start going. Johnny’s boombox blasts some hard-core rap, and we grab some cow tongues and launch punches: left, right, left, right, left. All in unison, all to the beat. Just like in the hip health clubs. Maybe they should put Cardio-Cow-Tongue-Boxing on their program list. Yeah, I think I’ll drop that idea in the suggestion box.
When I finish my fight training for the day, it’s back to work. Home base today is the Pastrami Room. These big square slices of beef the size of bedroom pillows are soaking in a vat filled with some kind of solution. I’m watching Miguel at the first station stab at them with a pitchfork, lift the beef out of the solution and then drop it on a large metal tray that can hold about 10 of these slabs of beef neatly spread out to cover all the space on the tray. The eight people at Station One start flinging
It feels good to be talking to Sev about all this personal shit. I have to admit I like him. I admire the way he always has control of the place. People do what he says because they respect him, not because he’s the boss. In some warped way I think I’m helping him not be invisible. I wish I could have that effect on my mother.
CHAPTER 6
The next few hours at H’s place are pretty interesting. There’s a lot to Sev and this whole industry row. It’s more than a summer job, and there’s something to be gained here although that’s what Georgie probably thought, and he ended up losing his head. These boys are playing for high stakes. It’s hard to know how to proceed.
At some point in my drunken stupor, I agree to participate in the last two fights of the summer. Sev offers me two things. First, I can use some time during the day to work out and train. Second, Sev offers to take me under his wing, teach me the business. Learn stuff inside the factory and the union. That’s the part I can’t refuse.
The way I see it, any situation can be my ticket. Some might look at this as a shitty summer job, but maybe it’s more than that. Maybe there’s a ton of money to be made here somewhere. I saw an infomercial once about some starving junior high science teacher who invented Savage Tan suntan oil. Now he’s driving something with 600 horsepower. This guy Balducci who got me the job here is pretty fucking loaded too, and I don’t see him as the type to split atoms or invent a new artificial heart. The point is that I could be sitting on something huge. You never know. If I’m here, why not make the most of it?
Eventually I stumble out of the bar and make it to the bus stop. The sun is down now, but it’s still north of 90 degrees. Maybe it is really 50 degrees but it feels like 90 because my damn stomach is burning from that crap I was drinking with Sev. Still, I feel kinda good, too, like I am finally going somewhere worth going.
So now I’m getting paid to get in shape and learn the business. It seems reasonable to me. If I avoid getting my head kicked in, then it’s win-win.
This week is the best yet. I’m on a pretty good system. My hours are 9 to five (the gravy shift) with an occasional hour of overtime. No more Industrial Road sunrises. I’m always rotating around to different areas, helping in some and just observing in others. In preparation for the upcoming fights, I work out between 10 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. everyday. I do a bunch of pushups and sit-ups and a ton of punching with 3-pound tongues in my hand. On Tuesday and Thursday I do a lot of leg work. You know, squats and lunges.
The guys get a kick out of helping me. While I’m doing pushups, sometimes they give me target numbers to shoot for and count out as I am going. Felipe brings in his stopwatch and times me while I am punching with the cow tongues in my hands. Since Georgie was killed, Felipe runs the Tongue Room.
Some of the guys from the Tongue Room even train with me. They want to get into better shape, so these six or sometimes seven guys get in a row and we just start going. Johnny’s boombox blasts some hard-core rap, and we grab some cow tongues and launch punches: left, right, left, right, left. All in unison, all to the beat. Just like in the hip health clubs. Maybe they should put Cardio-Cow-Tongue-Boxing on their program list. Yeah, I think I’ll drop that idea in the suggestion box.
When I finish my fight training for the day, it’s back to work. Home base today is the Pastrami Room. These big square slices of beef the size of bedroom pillows are soaking in a vat filled with some kind of solution. I’m watching Miguel at the first station stab at them with a pitchfork, lift the beef out of the solution and then drop it on a large metal tray that can hold about 10 of these slabs of beef neatly spread out to cover all the space on the tray. The eight people at Station One start flinging
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