I'd previously worked in the bargain basement division of men's clothing. Mr. Gold, or "Two Horns," as Metz, the regular stockman, called him, was the "buyer." According to the salesgirls, he'd earned in excess of $50,000 in '67, a lot of money in those days. I immediately had evidence of his shrewdness.
"Take the price tags off these shirts," he told me my first day. "They're goin' on sale."
The tags read $1.47. The shirts went on sale at $1.99. I was not sure if this was dishonest, as the shirts seemed a bargain even at the higher price.
Another of his ploys was the 6PM Special, which was advertised in bold type in the Daily News. Pajama tops and bottoms were sold at $.99 each. A few shirts were tossed in to sweeten the pot. A table was cleared and customers gathered about it, sometimes five deep, almost all female. At six, Metz and I would carry a large cardboard box filled with the items and dump them onto the table. In the ensuing frenzy, we were often knocked aside. Although these events did not bring out the best in human mature, they were always successful. I recall only one item being left -- a soiled white shirt that looked as if it'd been used to wipe the floor.
Mr. Gold, 60, was not the devil Metz claimed. He was simply a hard-worker who expected hard work of others. I respected him and, to my surprise and delight, he respected me. Metz, on the other hand, did not respect Mr. Gold or Artie, the assistant buyer, nor was he respected by them. In fact, the sight of Metz, or his disappearance, as was often the case, often sent Artie ranting and raving with a furor I feared would kill him. He'd suffered a heart attack a few years earlier, shortly after having been named a buyer. It motivated him to lose 50 pounds. He was now in good health and again hoped to become a buyer. Normally soft-spoken and kind, the sight of Metz often transformed him into a maniac. I'd never heard anyone addressed with such harshness. It was a wonder Artie's voice box didn't explode. I sensed Mr. Gold and Artie were ashamed Metz was a Jew. Metz reacted to the tirades with calm annoyance, saying, in an accent prevalent throughout the city: "Vot? Vy are you yelling?"
No one called him by his given name. I cannot recall if he'd ever even told it to me. His appearance put one off. His facial features were large, including his beaverish teeth, which protruded whenever he squinted behind his wire-rimmed classes, which had small lenses. He was always mumbling to himself inquisitively. He had problems with his feet, the result, he claimed, of "pooshing and pooling, pooshing and shahving." He wore odd black shoes that had thick rubber soles. He rarely smiled or laughed. He was unmarried. I assumed he was about 50, although he gave the impression of being much older. I wondered if he'd always been odd or if his oddness had been engendered by a particular hardship, perhaps the Holocaust. If the proletariat were ever to rise to power in America, I pictured Metz as a willing executioner.
Vic's 4th novel: tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx
Vic's Short Story Collection: http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tiny.cc/0iHLb Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kx3d3uf
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/rP7o9
Vic's Short Story Collection: http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tiny.cc/0iHLb Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kx3d3uf
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/rP7o9
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic's Horror Screenplay: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Vic's Blog: http://vicfortezza.blogspot.com/
Vic's Web Site: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
No comments:
Post a Comment