Homo-Hetero-Retro (Russian Tour 07)

I would like to think that Danny Klecko is noble, fair and trustworthy.......but if I've learned one thing about anything in the last few years, its that everybody has a point where they will sell out, even me. As a Master Bread Baker who has been in the "Show" for 30ish years, I get people approaching me constantly to whore myself to levels you'd never guess a baker could stoop.

Sure I didn't cause irreparable damage by consenting to making those dinosaur head hamburger buns, or create trans fat filled buns for school children like a local meat company tried to pimp me into doing..........

I have had some of the biggest corporations lock me into their sound proof booths to scribble musings that would later have to be presented to a boardroom of suits......I can't tell you the company since I signed a confidentiality agreement, but rest assured, they are a front runner in the Global Feeding System, but the proceeds sent my son to Washington D.C. (funny....I've been to the Kremlin twice but never the White House)

Another time I was doing bread lectures at a State convention and some wily cat sidled up to me. He told me that he thought my presentation was fantastic, and then he proceeded to ask me if I would be willing to do some international consulting.

"Hells Bells" I told the guy, I'm a middle aged man with HBO and 4 dogs, why would I want to go anywhere.

The guy looked flummoxed and reminded me that my unique skill set may offer me opportunities to go ANYWHERE in the world that I desired. When I realized the guy was serious....I handed him my business card and issued instructions that I only wanted Poland or Russia.

2 days later my phone rang and I received an opportunity to tour Moscow, Novosibirsk and then the Asiatic Arctic diamond city of Aikhal......but that will have to be written about later. It was the most intense journey of my life, my own "Apocalypse Now" and I will have to pray about which details I will share with you.

My 2nd excursion led me to a city called Gelendzhik which rests on the Black Sea, these government "scopes" are queer because you never are certain as to who really is sending, financing, sponsoring your task, and even stranger....you are never told what the fruit of your labor will be plugged into.

My understanding is that in my tours the United States government sent funds to Russia, and they in turn contacted me and hired me out as an independent contractor. I received special clearance to places that most Russian citizens were not allowed to go. Quite thought provoking when you stop to consider that I've attended around a dozen short term jail visits over innocent misunderstandings.

During the Spring of 07, I was sent to the Gelendzhik Bakery with the mission of looking at their Moline Line and discussion theories concerning exponential growth.As far as the Moline Line went....the Administrator was tickled pink that they got it at a reduced price to knock out croissant and Danish pieces. The only problem was that the unit they scored was really meant to work with doughnuts. This put me in an awkward position......if I corrected this mishap....somebody would have to answer for being a dumba** and buying that rat trap.

The highlight of these scopes tends to be the relationship I develop with my interpreter. The Russians will usually assign an educated woman between 20-25 years old. These women are bright and will spoil you rotten. I think for them their street cred raises when they walk through a town with the sole "Americone."

My Black Sea attendant was a young lady named Jenya, she was 20 and was unusual by the fact that she had actually done some study in NYC. She hadn't been there in over a year, so much of our time was spent discussing Hip-Hop and Reality TV. The first couple days we hit our mission pretty hard. Direct instructions are seldom issued, typically you needed to unravel truths and be very willing to adapt.

At this point I started hearing about hotels and other concepts going up at a record pace around this region. It was explained to me that the Russians were battling the Austrians for the 2012 Winter Olympics bid. Most thought that Salzburg was the front runner, but Sochi (the district which I stayed in) was pushing hard and had a lot to offer. On any day of the year the conditions made it favorable for skiing, but yet when you came down to the Sea...it was warm enough to swim in.

Most of the gossip I picked up was in an Ukrainian Cafe, but when Jenya found out I was hanging there, she just rolled her eyes and mentioned "If you want to be with pigs....it must be so". Many younger Russians are not supportive of counties like Ukraine or Georgia for breaking away from the Republic. They view them as unpatriotic.

So that's pretty much how things went down, but now that you know the WHO-WHAT WHY....let me discuss my first day on the job. It was May 9th and in Russia this is known as Victory Day. This is where all of Russia celebrates the defeat of the Nazi's in WW2. Putin is shown in Red Square with tanks, war movies rotate throughout every TV channel, Vet,s squeeze into their uniforms and march through the city streets, I mean I'm telling ya kid....the whole country shuts down.

You gotta remember the Russians stood chest to chest with the Gerry's years before Uncle Sam got involved. In the Motherland...every family, not some....every family suffered numerous casualties. Even beer guzzling punks, and skater kids take time out of being rebels to honor their fallen during this holiday celebration.

So now that the history had been revealed to me, Jenya told me that on this day off we had a situation of importance, so I followed her down to the boardwalk where she told me to take a bench. Even though I am not a smoker...I was handed a pack and was told that we were going to play that game that they play in New York. I squinted with a look that indicated my ignorance and Jenya said....

"Surely you know the game, I thought you worked in a restaurant, when I was in Brooklyn we played Home-Hetero-Metro."

After assuring her that I was unfamiliar with the rules she informed me that basically you just sat in one place and smoked cigarettes, then one person might say to the other...."Girl in Green dress" or "Dude with flip flops" and the other person would attach the appropriate label to them.

Anybody who seemed generic received the Hetero tag. guy's that wore shorts registered as Homo in her book, but to be honest........anybody who could be deemed weird by any culture were Metro....and she would say it with such abject glee "Zis vomen with zee blue streak in her hair...PHEW.....zo Metrosexual - no?"

In Russia many of the people use words like faggot and nigger as common slang. There is no political correctness, and even less people who will show disdain towards such slurs.

But I believe that many of the people who make these off colored remarks, or cruel comments are perceived as being malicious. I would never endorse such names or condone there use, but in my opinion, those horrible names have no malice attached to them. The definition is different over there. When Russian decide to gather a collective hatred, you can make book that both barrels are pointed at gypsies.

As this day of celebration came to an end I was told that a climatic fireworks display would conclude the evening. Thousand's of people lined the boardwalk....then one after another, what mounted to be individual bottle rockets were shot off.....POP.........POW.........POP, and then for the grand finale.....they snaked like 5 or 6 at once and everybody jumped up and down like they were watching JON BON JOVI live in Jersey.

BTW......the Russians did get the bid, so when 2012 rolls around and you are watching the Winter Games...just remember who brought that sourdough to the host country.

Bosses, Vegas, and Officer Friendly

Have you ever met somebody who owned a business, or had a top spot in its management chain and wondered....."How on Earth did this idiot get that position?"

As a young grunt worker, these people always befuddled me. I couldn't comprehend how such incompetence could align with success, but as I've gotten older, I do believe with all my heart that 1/2 the people who hold positions in the world are bumbling dolts.

This doesn't mean that these folks are bad, it just means that they stumbled onto an acorn that fate has relegated to them. But, fate can be a cruel mistress, and often times shes willing to take things away from you much quicker than you obtained it.

Back in the day, I was working at a shop that was run by a collective of entrepreneurial people who couldn't make a loaf of bread if their life depended on it. The concepts platform was really strong (for a small business) but unfortunately the owner died of a heroin overdose.

Within months,the company was purchased and the son of the biggest cash cow in the ownership group smiled because this said purchase landed himself a baking position.

We'll call this guy Jimmy Stone, and Jimmy was in his mid 30's, father of 2 and certainly had a case of halitosis like I had never or since seen.

Nobody was really certain of his employment history, and since all he wanted to talk about was his turbulent past which consisted of a series of years that were divided by chasing personal whimsy, while gang banging on the West Side of Capitol City.

Jimmy Stone didn't mean harm to anybody, if you caught him on a calm day you could actually have some fun. The following are just a few of the events in his life that we found entertaining.

OFFICER FRIENDLY

One day I came into the shop and told the boys that the Saint Paul Police Department sent Officer Friendly over to my sons elementary school and they did a demonstration that was geared at raising young kids awareness of drugs.

The cops had a 10 foot long table set up in the lunch room and it was covered with all kinds of drugs and drug paraphernalia.

Jimmy Stone had a glazed look on his face when as I mentioned this. When I asked him why, he just shook his head while panning rolls and told the crew about a little mishap..........

"You know Klecko, those dopey F-ing cops came to my daughters school. My kids go to Catholic school ya know, so there was teachers, Nuns and a bunch of parents from the neighborhood at that God-D drug presentation right? One of the officers opens a bag weed and stuffs it into a big a** bong and lights it up so the kids can smell it. When the s*** starts flaming, they started fanning the smoke across the auditorium while telling the kids that this smell means trouble, and if you smell it...you should run and tell your parents or a law official. Then out of the blue one of my daughters raised her hand, and when the cop asks her if she has a question she just says "No I don't have a question, but I am going to have my dad call you because he goes down into his woo dshop ever night and that smell gets into our house. I don't want the bad guys to get my dad."

Klecko, the F-ing Nuns were on the phone pronto and I got my a** called in and I had to lie my way out of my daughters comments, I'm pretty sure they didn't believe me,but how were they going to prove it. I really hate that F-ing Officer Friendly, I think it should be illegal for him to pester our kids.

THE FAUST THEATER

In Minnesota, snow can drop hard, fast and wet. Often times if you have an important engagement you'll want to leave much earlier than usual to compensate for the unknown conditions. Your E.T.A. won't just hinge on the level of the weather, but what part of the winter it is, and how much money the city has budgeted for snow removal.

On one night like this we were short a couple people who were still en route. Those of us who were there worked at a reasonable pace, our thought was that we didn't need to burn ourselves out, there was a good chance we'd be snowed in, so why not get paid for it huh?

The only conversation I remember from that evening was Jimmy Stone telling us of one of his famous sexual exploits.

"You guys think it sucks getting stuck here, that's nothing. I'll tell you whats really nerve racking, try get stuck behind the Faust Theater."

For those of you who are not familiar with this place, it used to be a porno theater on University Avenue in Saint Paul. The neighborhood is run down, and for decades this part of the city has been home to our cities newest immigrant groups that will be forced to wade through the Twin Cities politically correct caste system..

Prostitution and drug sales were always strong in this neck of the woods, and coincidentally.....this iconic show hall rested within the shadows of our proud state capitol.

Stone continued......

"Sometimes I'd tell my family I was going off to work, but I'd head over to the Faust and spend a good chunk of time (and cash) there. I remember once when it was snowing out at a really good clip. I went in to see a movie, but ended up watching a double feature. Afterward s when i decided to leave, I went back to the alley where my car was parked. There was a whore standing back there, and she told me that she would give me (some attention) if I would give her a ride to her place. I decided to do it... so we went back into my car, but after I was done and it was time to go, my car was stuck.I tried everything but I couldn't get it out. The b**** was really pissed at me, but what can you do. Usually for s*** like that I call my brother in law, but you can't call him when your parked someplace like a brothel. I ended up calling a tow truck, but I ended up having to wait another 3 hours and spending over $100. I'm just glad I didn't buy the sex, I wouldn't of had anything left for the tow....then I would have really been F-ed"

VEGAS

One day as our shift started Boss Man came in and told us that he hired 2 experienced bakers from a rival bakery that went defunct. The Boss Man marched them into the production area (much like you would live stock) and introduced the new hires by name while reminding us that hours were limited, and nobody was guaranteed a sure 40.

The shop wasn't union, and tactics like this used to be common. If you wanted to keep your position....you were always pressured to maintain excellence. Although I was never in the school band, I imagine it was a lot like trying to hold the top chair for trombone or clarinet.

When Boss Man was walking away, he stopped turned around facing us again and pointed to the shorter of the 2 and told us that he was a pretty good card counter in Vegas, and was really sharp with numbers so basically each and every one of us were getting called out.

When new guys get dropped on you, the baking standard is that current employees don't really talk to them, include them, or God forbid help them. These pricks are like scab umpires in the MLB, if all parties concerned stayed in the same shop, it wouldn't have been unheard of to not talk to each other for years.

Stone hated newbies more than anybody. No matter who flew into our nest, he knew they would be a better baker than him. But, with that said, you still have to run the shop in a fair manner, so when the new guys join your crew it is only right to show them there tasks and at least give them the briefest instructions, but Jimmy Stone had something else on his mind.

"Hey card counter, so you're a Vegas guy huh? I don't play a lot of cards, but I like to go to the Chicken Ranches out there. Do you ever visit the ladies, or are you just about the money?"

The card counting guy started rambling off a list of every house of ill repute and every woman who was employed by them in the state of Nevada. Stone was so impressed by this that he Judased the crew and ended up hanging with those 2 clowns for the rest of the night. When the card counting dude found out Stone was married he asked how he molded his wife to let him spend so much time alone in Sin City, Jimmy's answer was so Jimmy.

"S***, I never go alone, I always take my wife, but just like in cards I imagine, you gotta have a system. What I like to do is catch an afternoon flight, by the time we touch down and check into our hotel she is pretty tired. So then I push her into going to the buffet where I encourage her to try a little of this, and indulge in some of that. After desert she can barely keep her eyes open. So that's when I tuck her in and encourage her to take a nap. I tell her I'm going to do some low stakes gambling, but actually I have a limo waiting for me to take me out to my date."

As he told the new guys this, it wasn't said in a bragging kind of way, just matter of fact. I gotta admit I thought the system was flawless, and in a sick way I was impressed. Not so much because I wanted to try this, but because this immoral ruse actually took some thought, and I had worked with Jimmy Stone for awhile and he stilled struggled putting 2 dozen rolls on a pan.

So the next time you start a new position, or even a new career, remember just because somebody else owns it, or has a title, it doesn't always mean their skill set is stronger than yours. Who knows, if you're in Capitol City.....they might even be related to Stone, he has a large family.

A Thanksgiving Story by Klecko

Many years ago I was working at a bread plant in small town, and my start time was 3 a.m. When I'd show up the mixer had 1000# doughs spinning for pan breads. The other guy who would be there was the bread machine specialist whose name was Trugnut.

Trugnut was a big biker looking dude, who would take the dough and place it into a huge hopper (he had an automated hoist which would assist him in this) and the dough would run through a machine that was as big as a McDonald's restaurant.

The whole process was automated.... dough scaled, rounded,run through a Ferris Wheel looking contraption, so the bread would relax and become more pliable, then it was run through a series of rollers, formed and panned.

Trugnut stood at the end (which he called the butthole)and this is where these finished loaves would get "pooped" out.

Trug was probably 6'2" and easily 300#'s, but when that bread came firing down the line that big man moved like a ballerina.

I was a bench hand "Roll Mole" at the time, so while the higher paid people did important things, I carmeled - Carmel roll pans, ran folds in the Danish and croissant slabs, or tied knots out of 1 1/2 ounce burger dough pieces.

One morning at about 4:30 Trugnut started screaming, at first I thought he got his hands caught in the rollers or something, but as I got closer I could make out his voice over the droning of all the machines in the bakery

"Dude-owwww-owwww-owwww get over here, I got to go take a s***! I was drinking rum last night!!!!"
The place we worked at was huge. The bathroom was about 2 blocks from where he was standing.

So I jumped in and started panning. I had messed with this machine before, but always at a much slower setting. When Trut broke away, I told him to reduce the speed setting, but he just turned his back and B-lined towards the toilets.

Within seconds loaves started stock piling on the bread panning tray, and I must have looked like a bad out take from the I LOVE LUCY show.

Super White Velvet loaves were bunching up, getting caught in the delivery shoot, falling on the floor. As embarrassed as I was, the sole fact that brought me any solace was that only the Mixer, Trugnut and I were in the plant.

There was nobody of significant stature to witness my shame.

When the run had expired, I did my best to straighten up the mess. Just about the time when I had completed this task, Trug came marching in with a grin on his face "You haven't finished yet huh?" before I could offer any excuse or explanation he was quick to show his gratitude by sharing

"Well, I wouldn't worry about that at all. I'm the one who should be embarrassed. I s*** myself before I even made it to the crapper. It took me so long because I had to switch uniforms."

Dude laughed as he shared this horrible confession.

It was at that point that I came to the realization that certain people are done trying to be cool. Middle aged folks seemed a lot more forgiving of themselves than my twenty something demographic.

Next, a guy named Snuffy came in. They called him that because he looked like the Snuffy Smith, that hillbilly cartoon character. Snuffy was easily in his 50's, but unlike Trugnut, he really thought he was cool. He wore a black motor cycle jacket and used Vitalis hair tonic to grease his hair back into what he called a duck a**.

He also wore tight T-shirts that were somewhere between white and gray, and his little pot belly would pop out. Since the bottom of the shirt seldom touched his belt line, Snuffy was often guilty of sporting severe plumbers crack.

I'll never forget the day Trug stumbled into him (and while doing so lodged a quarter into his butt crack) and whenever the Snuffy walked by somebody they say

"Play me a song Snuffy" or "Don't play B-17. It was our song, it was his song, but its over".

The old man was just too cool to ask in on the joke, but working in a bakery as long as he had, he knew he was the victim of something. It actually took a couple hours, but when Snuffy finally realized the source of attention....Holy Mary - Mother of God was he pissed.

We all had him in are peripheral, so when he stormed Trugnut we saved him from an a** kicking. one embarrassment for the day was enough.

Nobody liked Snuffy, but no one really hated him either, so a 1/2 dozen of us ended up holding him back as he made threats against Trug. I seriously doubt the threats were not meant to be taken literally, dude was just trying to save face, kinda like when a wide receiver drops an EZ touchdown pass. Instead of popping up and rushing back to the huddle, they almost always lay in the end zone clutching an ankle to make us think that this alleged injury was the answer to their failure.

But I digress, back to the dealio. Me-Trug and the mixer are by ourselves at the plant. It is Thanksgiving Eve and now Snuffy pops in. He has oven mitts hanging off his wrists and doesn't say a word to any of us.

Instead of helping me with prep like he usually did each morning (before the dough was ready in the proof box), he walked over to 6 - 55 gallon drums that were filled with pecans. He opened them all, dumped them onto sheet pans and placed them into a couple of roasting ovens (this process is usually 325 degrees for 10-12 minutes) When the last pan was in....he ran outside to have a cigarette, and worse yet, he didn't tell anybody.

Shop protocol is to scream out "Mixer is taking a crap" or "Ovens out -1 cigarette" or even "Ovens out -2 cigarettes" and that way if some bizarre Incident occurs where you can't get back, a teammate can assist you, but for whatever reason Ol' Snuffy ended up staying out too long and when he came back.......he was greeted by an oven load of burnt pecans.

Now I know that Christ raised Lazarus from the dead, but I'm willing to bet that even the Messiah would agree that once a nut is scorched....there is no resurrecting it.

Snuffy had a sick look on his face and quietly he dumped the burnt pieces back into the drum. Jeff the Mixer came over and did his best to offer kind words, but Snuffy was just sick about it. Most people in the Food Show take pride in what they do, and in Snuffys case he just fumbled on the goal line.....during the Super Bowl.

The only question remaining was would he get fired....and we had just entered the holidays. they wouldn't dismiss a family man at this time of year, would they?

Boss man wouldn't be in for about another 90 minutes so everybody just worked in silence. when he finally entered the shop, he smelled the foul odor immediately.

The scent stuck out like a French whore in a tree fort. Boss man waddled his little pudgy torso over to Snuffy, blasphemed Christ, and then fired him loud enough for all of us to hear, and then he turned back around and left Snuffy standing alone on a warehouse floor....all alone, in a space that was the size of 5 or 6 football fields.

A couple other bakers had just come in so they, Jeff and Trugnut went over and shook hands and said stuff, but I was so far away that i couldn't hear anything.

I didn't go over because I was the "Shop Kid",so i figured that it wasn't really my place to issue anything to an elder,and to be truthful, I didn't really care for the guy that much, but when all that was finished, Snuffy walked all the way over to me (which was in the opposite direction of the way he would eventually leave) and he reached out his hand.

When I shook it he said "Listen kid, you are really doing a great job. I know you don't get to hear that very often as a new guy, but I've really enjoyed working with you. Learn a lesson from my mess up today. an oven man just has to stay alert, that was my bad this morning, and there's no excuse for it. I cost the company a lot of money, but I'm sure I'll work with you again somewhere down the road. Take care and have a great Thanksgiving with your family."

I just stood there in shock and I am certain I felt worse for the opinions I had been holding about Snuffy, a guy that nobody liked, but nobody hated.

I never saw him again.

Hector the Cuban

If you are ever going to succeed in the Food Show it's best to learn one thing, be a team player! For those of you who equate that with a** smooching, all's I can say is grow up. If your'e going to accomplish goals in a restaurant,bakery,hotel or casino......every single day you will need to rely on the person next to you in your culinary fox hole.
About a billion years ago I was spinning doughs in a shop when I heard that we had a new employee that was Cuban. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant, did that mean he was fielding ground balls in Havana with Fidel or was he one of many sweet roll bakers that left the East coast to pursue a more slackened pace of baking?
Within the first hour I aknoledged him with a comment that would let him know that he was welcomed aboard, but at the same time that wouldn't mean that I wanted to be friends with him. Whenever you are the "New Guy" you know that part of the acclimation period consists of taking a little flack. Your new crew is basically just elvaluating if you are thin skinned, or if you have the ability to let bullets bounce off you.
Hector the Cuban must have determined that he wouldn't subject himself to inspection because for the entire week all he would do was answer "Yes" or "No" and if he wasn't spoken too he bacame an inanimate object.
At lunch time he never ate, while employees stowed away in a mutilated breakroom, he continued working. When it was hot, he never drank pop or water.He came across like some pompus yogi who was designed by some robotic firm.
One winter evening everybody was working under typical circumstances when all of a sudden there was a knock on the shop's back door. The entire crew was perplexed because it was way past delivery hours, and our personal guest always entered through the front enterance.
When several cops marched in all authoritative, you could just feel everybodys adreniline spike. You could just sense something was about to take place that we would gossip about for months to come. They asked us if "So and So" worked here, none of us knew the name, but all of a sudden they pulled out a picture, just like the private dicks do on TV series. The guy in the picture was Hector the Cuban, but in a split second it occured to all of us.....he had vanished.
Two of the coppers split up and covered the entrances while the crew kind of joined them in the man hunt. The shop was small so it only took us seconds to finally realize he was in the break room.
When Hector was being read his rights, everybody shut up because we wanted to see if we could hear what crime he commited.
Just as they prepared to cuff him, Hector the Cuban mentioned it was below zero outside and therefore requested that he could go and grab his jacket. It was in the mens restroom hanging on a series of hooks. The breakroom was unGodly, and you actually felt safer putting your personal items in a room where the entire staff room crapped and smoked pot.
The Saint Paul cops are usually good guys, so they granted the request w/o much thought, but as Hector the Cuban calmly opened the door, he snapped it shut and locked himself in immedietly.
The Heat freaked out and starting yelling into walkie talkies, the biggest dude kicked in the door only to find that the culprit had vanished into thin air.
All of us bakers kinda wanted to laugh, but most of us had been on the wrong end of a police baton at one time or another so we just smiled in silence.
The big cop looked up and pointed that their suspect removed ceiling tiles and was trying to escape through the ceiling. Every cop in the house fled out of the building to set up a perimeter around our shop. We all ran back to the center of the production area, and you could hear loud scurrying coming from the above our heads. The volume would have lead you to think that there was a legion of rats in the rafters.
At the very peak of excitement......BOOM!
The ceiling burst open and Hector the Cuban spilled out onto a tall tower of bread meant for a casino account. He's blessed that he landed there, it broke his fall. A foot to the left, or the right and we'd certainly be talking broken bones or much worse.
Just like a cat on it's last life, Hector the Cubam sprung to his feet and ran towards the walk in cooler. Just before sliding in he turned to us and flashed pathetic puppy eyes and pleaded for our compliance.
Within seconds a cop rushed back in and asked for any knew developments.In unison 10-12 bakers all pointed to the cooler. They drew pistols and went in and grabbed their man.
As Hectot the Cuban was being hauled out he mumbled how he had been Judased, but a bench hand named Helmutt reminded him "This isn't the God "D" Anne Frank story".
Later that night i think I had to spin a couple doughs to replace the sqaushed casino loaves, but who's kidding who, it just gave us extra time to laugh like harpies!
The excitement was discussed for months, and when things got slow in the shop we'd talk about who we'd rat on and who we'd take a bullet for.
One of our oven men named Pee Wee (who eventually got sent away for drug dealing) would scream out "Stiches for Snitches - Stiches for Snitches).
But using hind sight, I'd be willing to bet that if the cops would have gone after anyone else in the shop that night, we wouldn't have impeded their prograss, but we sure wouldn't have pointed to the cooler with smiles on our faces.
When you work in the Food Show, there are know 41k's, retirments plans or incentive bonuses. All you get is a paycheck, and the respect of your peers, and in hospitality that respect is never manditory, its earned.
Nobody is an island in the Food show, you are only as good as the crew that supports you.

The Pastry Chef, Seduction and the Robbers

The names have been changed to project me from getting sued, but I swear to Polish Jesus not an iota of this story has to be embellished, c'mon......if you work in the Food Show long enough, you don't need too

When I was in my early to mid 20's I took a job at a bakery where I was working the bench. during the last 3 hours of my shift each night a woman named Doris came in to do the Pastry. Doris must have been in her late 30's and she had that special "Aunt Bea" quality about her.
I'm trying to be nice here....can I say that she was portly, or is that an adjective best used with male torso's? OK then....Doris was pretty fat, had long straight hair, about the same length and color of Susan Day (back when she played Lori Partridge). Her vision was horrid, so she had to wear glasses which were made from the same kind of wire that math teachers and youth pastors choose.
For a couple months we didn't talk much, but when we did it was usually focused on our days immediate tasks. That's why I was shocked on a mid November evening when she called me over to her station. After offering me a treat from her finished pieces, she pulled an envelope out of her purse. The contents were a pile of photos that was as thick as a stack of I-Hop pancakes. OMG how I hate moments like this, It could have been tolerable if I thought there was a remote chance that I would be featured in some of the shots, but I knew that just wasn't the case.
During situations like this I typically rifle through the pack as quick as possible and make generic comments that let people know that I really don't care, but at least I fulfilled my minimal social obligation.
However - However - However....LOL, on the top of the stack there was a picture of Doris posing in prostitute like clothing (not that I know how brothel attendants dress). I chuckled out loud. I was shocked that Doris had a fun loving side to her. Remember.....we were just a couple weeks past Halloween so I assumed that these were pictures from a party, but when I got down to the 8th or 9th shot.......she had a plastic ball bungee corded into her mouth, and a big out of shape man was lording over her with things in his hands this i have since mentally blocked out.
I swear to Caesar I blushed so hard, so fast that I had Casper feet within seconds. My eyes must of shot out of my head like Buckwheats used to in the Little Rascals because at that point Doris didn't wait for me to resume looking at the pile, she gently took them from me and put them pack in her purse.
I did my best to act all cool and unaffected, but we both knew I'd need to run for shelter.
During the next couple days nothing "David Lynch" like happened and I just kinda figured we'd ride the moment out together on an awkward wake, but then when nobody was close by she called me over. I figured she was either going to apologize or delude her previous actions......BUT, SHE STARTED UP WITH ME AGAIN!!!!!!!!
"You know Klecko I was talking to my husband, and I told him that I showed you our pictures and he said that he'd love for you to come over after work tonight and he would share me with you. He works security and gets home around midnight, so we'd have about 1/2 hour to get started without him!"
HaHaHa, I don't know what freaked me out more....the invitation, or the fact that these people even thought I was in their league (you gotta remember i was a young Golden Adonis at the time).
I didn't say anything, I just turned my back and she issued the question....
"C'mon Klecko.....Yes or No"?
I swear I didn't know how to respond to such a thing, as much as I hate to admit it, Danny Klecko has always been a naive rube. I ended up turning around and stretching out my arm (palm facing her) and said "I rebuke you in the name of all that's holy!"
I stole this quote from Mr Rourke on Fantasy Island when he got into a 2 episode conflict with Roddy McDowell who wore a black suit / red tie and represented some sort of Satan character.It was a "go to" phrase in the neighborhood I grew up in when somebody really pissed you off, but you could only use it on special occasions that denoted urgency.
Doris kinda freaked out after I rebuked her, and then I followed up with some other phrases that I won't repeat. By this time our co workers started to mill around, and when my supervisor came to investigate I yelled out loud enough for all to hear that Doris was trying to "do it" with me and her husband at the same time.
The supervisor turned and looked at her and asked her if the allegations were true, and to the ol' girls credit she said "Yes-yes they are." and then she punched out, went home and never came back.
A couple weeks later on a Tuesday night (i remember cuz i always had Saturdays and Tuesdays off) I was watching the news and they showed video surveillance film of a bank robbery. The culprits were Doris and her husband. They got caught and ended up getting sent away for a long time.
When I look back there is an element of disbelief in my mind, but w/o a doubt the hospitality industry introduces you to such a diverse element.
For awhile I kinda felt bad and painted scenarios as to why Doris still had some redeeming qualities, but as time marched on. I became content that in all journey's you're going to get weirdness placed in your path, how you respond to these situations (not if you resond) will define your charactor.