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Monday, December 16 Money, Smoke and Fish Vans
Like most of you, September 11th hit me hard..in my heart, in my soul, in the part of me that’s usually protected by a thousand feet of steel. Now it’s a year and 3 months later and September 11th is starting to hit me again, only this time it’s in my wallet. I readjusted my allowable taxi budget when my liability insurance went up 2,600 bucks annually. I figured a few less days ordering in Chinese food when my heath insurance went up 100 bucks a month. I congratulated myself on having a great fall when my Christmas season croaked due to a lowering of many corporate budgets. The first thing to get the ax is always the holiday cocktail party. I was undaunted. Then I refinanced my mortgage to save myself a little over 1 percent and before I had a chance to celebrate I got hit with the 18 and a half percent homeowner’s tax increase, (the biggest one in NYC history) thanks to Mayor Bloomberg who thinks pissing off New Yorkers is a great way to heal. This is the same lovely mayor who has decided that just cause he doesn’t inhale, he should ban smoking in bars in NYC. Bars FYI, are the last horizon for smokers. They’ve already been pushed out into the cold everywhere else. I don't smoke anymore but for crying out loud...DON"T TURN US INTO L.A!! But don't get me started. On Friday the 13th I hired Peter, the guy who delivers my fish to drive me out to New Jersey for my sister’s 40th birthday. In the torrential rain, we went. Our one-hour trip turned into 3 hours between the rain and the Friday night rush hour traffic. We plodded along in the wholesale fish van. I tried not to breathe thru my nose. I got to know Peter a bit during the ride. He told me how he pays 80 bucks a week to sleep in the bottom bunk in a bedroom that he shares, in an apartment that belongs to someone else. He gets to work at 6 AM and spends the day delivering fish and meat. He makes very little money, but enough to get by on. Once a week he has a few beers in the Village. He’s 44 years old and to some extent he’s homeless. Half a room in a three bedroom apt in Spanish Harlem, at which he is not permitted to bring guests or liquor doesn’t seem to quality as a home. He says that he’s saving up to get his own place. He can afford 700 dollars a month. I’m not sure where he can go these days for that amount of cash, maybe the Bronx, maybe New Jersey. But he’s happy. He loves working. He doesn’t sleep much so the lack of his own bed doesn’t seem to faze him and he’s glad just to stay warm, make honest money and keep on going. We survived my sister’s birthday bash. One of her drunken guests smeared cake icing in my face, a small child stared at me and picked her nose all night, a bird tried to shit on me, a dog attempted to steal my food and several boys with skin head hair-dos tried to pop balloons in my ear. Peter had a blast. He loved my sister. “She’s so down to earth!” He loved the kids, the dog, the cats, the bird, the drunks, the knish and cold cut platter, the many, many, many cakes. On the way home the rain picked up again. The drive was treacherous. But Peter was smiling. He was thrilled to get out of the city and to be earning some extra cash. I thought about my little gripes, the higher bills, the lower income and felt like such a jerk I wanted to kick myself. I tried but I’m not that limber. I thought about the families of those lost on September 11th and how they must be feeling this holiday season. I thought about the fireman in fire-houses filled with new faces hired to replace their fallen brothers. I thought about Peter waking up at 4:00 AM. five days a week in Spanish Harlem so he can be dressed and at work in downtown Manhattan by 6. He picks up his paycheck once a week and hopes enough will be left over so he can have his own place next year, or at least his own room. He carries a hundred pounds of salmon and never asks for help. I’m sitting here now in my own chair, typing this on my own computer, which sits on my own desk, in my own living room,under my own ceiling. I am the owner of my own business, a business that took a hit but pulled through, is still pulling through and I’m thinking. I need to shut the fuck up.
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