February 10, 2009
Hey guys,
As you might imagine, a lovable guy like me would get along well with most customers. Some of them you might even call lifelong friends. But there’s one customer for whom I have mixed feelings.
Imagine the scene – you arrive at eleven AM to open the shop the morning after one of those pub quiz nights gone a little too wild and just as you’re trying to get a little more sleep before greeting the first customer the most annoying part of this job announces itself with a thud like a muffled snare drum: a box of unrolled quarters – the bulky, unruly currency of the laundromat and its mustachioed overseer, Jezo Frontenakis.
Every month Jezo brings over the change bin from his second most profitable dryer. It’s part of a long-established deal he made with Steve: in exchange for the change and eternal free laundry, he has unlimited access to our movies, which he watches in prolific quantities at his shop.
On that particular day, just looking at the silvery jumble was aggravating my headache. I desperately wanted to ignore it, but the pull of my duty was too strong. “What can I do for you, Jezo?” I groaned.
“Steve said I could take movie from behind counter, one not yet officially release.”
“You can’t watch those in public. Haven’t you seen the FBI warnings? I would be an accomplice to fraud.” I paused for dramatic effect, “I can’t do it.”
Jezo waved aside the comment, “FBI will never catch me! New Spiderman, I watch fast.” I was in no condition to offer any further resistance. Jezo’s surly repetition of ‘come on, it’s me’ several times was enough for me to abandon my conviction. Wanting to get rid of him I handed over the goods, fully conscious of my violation of chapter 12, section 6b of the newly revised 1981 Film Act – a code of ethics I’d sworn to uphold the moment I first donned my embossed plastic name tag.
Jezo left and I was stuck with the raw end of the deal – hand rolling twenty-six dollars worth of quarters.
Since then things have changed. The enchanting girl at the cafe has me floating on air, so when Jezo came in earlier today for his monthly ritual I was able to look beyond the loose change and the terrible dirty jokes he shares with my boss and felt grateful for this loyal member of the video store family. He’s not so bad, just a guy with too many quarters trying to catch a flick a few days before its official release on DVD.
We talked for a long time and he showed off his encyclopedic film knowledge, catching me off guard by showing a sensitive side to his personality. I was equally surprised when he told me that his favourite director is Spike Lee. I admitted my ignorance of his work.
“He great storyteller of Brooklyn,” Jezo claimed, “right on za beat.”
That comment was enough to set me on a Spike Lee marathon.
First was Do the Right Thing, which got me thinking about my own neighbourhood and the fragile balance people maintain. Society could crumble into tribal violence any moment. But all doom and gloom aside, I love my neighbourhood and I’d like to tell you about it.
It’s a more or less upper-middle-lower class zone. You could run into anybody here, from Congolese asylum seekers to Swiss transplants who design trendy shoes in their home offices. You can hear people yelling after their children in Spanish, see Caribbean people hanging at the barber shop or enjoy an espresso with the hipsters at minimalist Café Moon. If you stroll down Columbus Avenue you’ll find a wealthy gated community with a golf course at the far end and just to the East is the exhaust oozing L’Acarrie Expressway, which daily pumps thousands of cars out of the city’s left ventricle to its outer limbs.
Next door to us is the Korean grocer. I like to pass the time perusing the shelves of exotic pickled products and flirting with the owner. She’s been teaching me a few words in Korean – I can say, ‘hello, would you like to rent a movie?’ and ‘Tuesday is 2 for 1.’
On the corner is a pub with a pool table, peanut distribution machine and video slots where people sing Bon Jovi on karaoke night. There’s a Portuguese rotisserie joint beside that, whose sweet charcoal smoke is laden with chicken fat that entices local taste buds, but is also behind many a false alarm at the fire department. I sometimes split the half-chicken combo with Steve. The owner, a great fan of Bruce Willis, throws in extra fries.
Behind us is a school whose students wear uniforms so I can identify them readily when I catch them smoking weed in the alley behind the store. On rainy days they kill time wandering obliviously through the aisles and gazing glassy-eyed and cotton-mouthed at whatever movie I happen to be playing.
The principal is also a customer here. He strikes fear in the hearts of the stoners, who flip up their hoods, put on their sunglasses and flee like gazelles before a cheetah when they see him coming. But once you get to know him you realize he’s no predator, just a regular guy trying to maintain order within the herd.
“I don’t envy your job,” I once told him after the kids had scurried out leaving behind torn candy wrappers and the smell of dollar-store deodorant, with which they douse themselves freely to cover the stench of misaligned hormones. “Taking care of those little monsters must be exasperating. I could never do it.” But he struck a broadminded attitude.
“Don’t let Hollywood fool you, it’s not Dangerous Minds high. It’s in the nature of adults to make rules and for kids to break them. I play the role of the principal – it’s a kind of game and I actually enjoy it.”
I thought back to my own high school days. I must have been a real handful: always daydreaming about movies and graffitiing archaeological trivia in the bathroom stalls. A rebel among the nerds crying out for attention, struggling to find his niche. Despite that, look how I turned out. That principal guy has a point, the kids are alright.
Above our store there is a dance studio run by a beautiful Mexican salsistadora, Vicky Santa Uberta. She’s a mother of four who has managed to maintain, thanks to her tireless tangoing, the ideal dancer’s body. She gets around town on her greatest asset: the shapeliest pair of legs this neighbourhood has ever known. We’re talking legs that turn heads, drop jaws and cause traffic accidents. Legs that can simultaneously take your breath away and fill your sails with a stiff gust.
When the store is quiet I can sometimes hear her classes tapping out a lively rhythm. She’s invited me to join but I’m too much of a free spirit to follow any preset steps. Instead I love to talk movies with her.
You might be wondering why I never asked her out. The fact of the matter is she’s miles out of my league. I’ve seen the men she goes out with: suave, tight-shirted Latinos who wear sunglasses indoors and have no problem covering her late fees, buying overpriced soda for the whole family and renting multiple new releases – always her choice. I could never measure up. With my bland, scholarly physique I would never be taken seriously in tight attire and even though I could use my employee discount to buy movies and candy, I could never satisfy her expensive tastes in clothes. I also suck at dancing.
The store really lights up when she brings her kids. The oldest is a girl named Goyera and the other three are boys; Barclé, Lintòn and Beits, the youngest. He’s always running off misplacing the most violent looking DVD cases and trying to open any door he can. Sometimes he hides behind the counter, expecting me to go along with his mischief but I wink at his sister and give the game away. With those kids around, this place is more than just a video house, it’s a video home. Maybe one day I’ll fill it with a video brood of my own.
As much as I now love Spike Lee, I couldn’t watch two of his movies back to back and I never made it to the finish line of my marathon. In fact didn’t get very far at all. My mind wandered up and down the block thinking about all these characters and the others that I haven’t had time to mention. Someone should make a movie about this neighbourhood, using my blog as the basis. I’m sure we would rent a lot of copies.
Comments:
averagejoe66: I remember back in the day when Mr Mentana’s candy store was on the corner. It was a quarter for a milkshake. Principal Mactavish would box our ears if he caught us smoking weed. We were always eating french fries cause they were so cheap. The price of fries is out of control these days.
doctorphyllis_MD: We moved out of there in 86 but I still miss it. I grew up there. So much has changed. That chicken place used to be a pool hall, where my father got me a job as ball setter one summer. Could you imagine all the smoke, I had cigarette burns on all my dresses. I was so proud of myself though, it was a great experience. I learned so much.
Spliffany: It’s a nice area with lots of organic food available. A lot less scary than most comparably priced neighbourhoods, my cats can walk around safely at any time of night.
jenkins: My cousin was in the FBI and he told me about how he busted all sorts of video stores. I knew there was something fishy going on at the laundromat. You better watch out Vic.
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