The Routine
The fourteen of us who had passed the difficult “do you know how to calculate change” test were split into teams of two and assigned a truck each. Barry’s lieutenant Kevin (who actually oversaw the day-to-day operations) and his roomate/sometime-girlfriend Annie were assigned the remaining truck. I was paired with a first-year university student named Samantha, whom we always called “Sam”, just like on the TV show Bewitched. Sam was assigned the role of “driver” — the person in charge of the truck, cart and machinery — and I was designated the “runner”, the driver’s assistant. The runner’s job involved a lot of running between the truck and cart to fetch more blocks of ice and gas for the generator. While I was disappointed that I didn’t get to be in charge of a truck, I didn’t mind my role. I was still getting paid better than most of my friends and got to work outdoors. Being one who lived in the ‘burbs, the opportunity to spend most of my time downtown was very welcome.
The day started with Sam picking me up at my house and then driving across town to the warehouse to be there by 10 a.m.. At the warehouse, we’d see Kevin tending to the terriyaki hot dogs on a large charcoal barbecue (we often had some of them for breakfast). Once the ‘dogs were done, he’d divide them into 8 equal portions, put them in ziploc bags and hand them to each team. I would go to the large freezer in the warehouse and load the truck’s cooler with a day’s supply of ice while Sam got our syrups, hot dog buns and other supplies. We used our proven ability to make change to check out a float for the cash box, hand in any receipts for gas and parking expenses, check which street corner we were assigned, load the truck and be on our way.
Setting up and tearing down took about a half hour. Sam would stop the truck right be the street corner where we were to set up, while I climbed into the pickup’s trailer to start unloading. First the cart, then the generator, then shaver and microwave, followed by smaller supplies. I’d set up the cart while Sam parked the truck. When Sam returned, she’d continue setting up the cart whil I dragged the generator as far away as the power cord would let me. While the shop was “open” I ran back and forth between cart and truck, fetching supplies or refueling the generator.
At night, we tore everything down. I’d retrieve the generator while Sam cleaned up, then continue cleaning up while she got the truck. We loaded the truck and go to some place downtown to meet our co-workers and unwind, after which I’d get dropped off at home.
The Believers
One of the reasons I liked the job so much was that I got to meet interesting and often freaky people.
The first of these was Zach, a born-again Christian who “witnessed” around the corner of Bloor and Yonge, the intersection of Toronto’s main east-west and north-south streets, where Sam and I were first assigned. Zach always had a pocket full of Jack Chick comic book tracts that he was always handing out at the corner. Sam and I loved reading them; we thought they were hilarious. We’d read them out loud and go into giggling fits, which Zach seemed to take in stride.
“Laugh all you want, God can take it,” Zach would always say. The apple pie-faced teenager who always wore a t-shirt saying something like “Jesus is Lord” or “In the beginning” in cheap iron-on letters. Zach made a special effort to save Sam and me. Sam and I always gave free shaved ice to street kids, which in his eyes made us “good unsaved people”. Even though we were both Catholics — me being a rather laid back one — we were still unsaved, as Zach believed that the Catholic Church and its corrupted version of the Bible were tools of Satan.
“If you want a real tool of Satan,” I said, “there’s this guy at a swimming pool you should meet.” I told him about how the Satanist Antonio and I met made it rain.
“The Prince of Lies often gives his servants powers,” Zach replied, “I witness with a girl who used to worship the Devil; she could move objects with her mind.”
Riiiiiight. It turned out that Zach’s church often had testimonials given by people who claimed to once be into devil-worship, Santeria and voodoo. Many of them claimed to have been given fantastic powers by the Devil in exchange for their souls, but Jesus had cleansed them of their sins. They often came to the corner where Sam and I worked with their portable public address system; the sidewalk was wide and had plenty of room for them to stage their “revivals”. We always gave them free shaved ice and hot dogs; we found it more entertaining than TV.
The best testimonial we ever saw took place one evening when Zach’s full congregation gathered outside the Eaton Centre. It wasn’t our usual corner, but Sam and I switched corners with another team just so we could watch the show. It started with gospel singers in purple robes sang beautiful three-part harmonies; I recognized Mahalia Jackson’s Move On Up A Little Higher and some old number from Aretha Franklin’s earlier years. While the music was beautiful, the fun didn’t really start until the minister started the testimonials.
The best testimonial was delivered by a young black girl from the Carolinas dressed in her Sunday best. She talked about how she’d come to be in league with the Devil and how he’d given her the power of telekinesis, which she pronounced as “tuh-luh-ku-NEEE-sis!” with great gusto. Sam squealed when she heard this.
“This is the ‘Carrie-girl’ Zach was talking about!” she whispered, barely able to contain her excitement.
Carrie-girl, as we now called her, told us a story of how her powers nearly got the better of her. “One night, I was very mad at my Daddy. I was seein’ red. I got so mad that I subconsciously used my powers to throw at kitchen knife staright at his head. It was only at the last split-second I realized what I was doing and made the knife his him by only a couple of inches. He would’a been DAY-ED!”
“Day-am!” whispered Sam.
I had to keep nudging Sam; she seemed on the edge of bursting into laughter. “You’ll upset the Bible-thumpers,” I said. I wasn’t as big a smart-ass back then.
Sam began to silently mime Sissy Spacek’s actions in the opening scene of Carrie: gingerly touching her crotch with a bug-eyed expression, lifting her hand up so that she could see the blood on her fingers, and then screaming silently while curling into the fetal position against the cart. I completely lost my composure. I wasn’t able to stop laughing now, and I thought the Bible-thumpers were going to give us a lot of static.
They didn’t. Some angry teenage girl with the AC/DC logo drawn on her denim jacket blue ink had already got their attention. One of the congregation had tried to tell her that “AC/DC” was short for “Anti-Christ/Devil’s Crusade” or “After Christ the Devil Comes” and that she was a sinner.n She didn’t take too kindly to this, and an argument had ensued. The argument had turned into a shoving match between her and one of the members of the congragation. She clearly had the upper hand and knoced him to the ground with a hard shove.
He sat up, pointed a finger at her and yelled, “Cheesus loves chu, chu stupid bitch!”
Sam and I completely lost it. This was just too funny, and the crowd that gathered around thought so too. The cops broke up the scuffle and sent the congregation home for the day.
Next: Why you shouldn’t try to convert bikers or date the boss’ girlfriend’s sister.
Slashdotted!
In the past two days, this site has had over 16,000 hits! I can understand yesterday’s hits — they came from an article I’d submitted to Slashdot. But I have no idea why I got over 8,500 hits the day before.
Anyhow, I’m certain that this means I might have some new readers. Welcome!
Recommended Reading
How to run a successful shaved ice business. If only Barry knew…
Telekinesis World. Your one-stop Web site for information about telekinesis. They even have reviews of Carrie and Carrie 2!
History of and little-known facts about AC/DC. Did you know that guitarist Angus Young worked as a typesetter, or that they got the band’s name from the back of a vaccuum cleaner?