A Red Bikini Dream by Max Martinez

Author:Max Martinez
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Arte Público Press
Published: 1990-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

A Sandwich at Blimpy’s

The Blimpy’s in Greenwich Village teemed with its daily lunchtime crowd. The noisy chatter in the room came largely from the workers behind the counter who made a big production of rushing to and fro. They shouted orders across the make-up line. They yelled to a processing area in back to replenish supplies. Each shout was more urgent than the one before, designed of course to flatter and impress the customer.

“Quick! Quick! This beautiful lady has been waiting a long time!”

“Hurry! This gentleman has to go back to work!”

“Come on! Come on! Come on! Can’t you see this boy is starving? Look at his face!”

All of it, the exaggerated bustle, the yelling, had little effect on the slow line of customers. They kept their faces immobile, moving at a measured pace. They held their trays tightly, oblivious to the histrionics of the serving line.

Most of them were regulars who would eat at the same restaurant on the same day each week. Some of them reserved one day, usually a Friday, a payday Friday, for a new place, or a more expensive one. These regulars were accustomed to Blimpy’s, the shenanigans of the workers.

The stock company behind the counter could fill three orders at once, after which they took orders from three more customers, and the let’s-put-on-a-show noisy rush would begin again.

The tourists were awestruck by the spectacle. They kept their eyes on the performance behind the counter. It was to these customers, the once-in-a-lifetime visitors to New York, that the workers played. It would be something to bring back home, to relive among incredulous faces in the warmth of a winter evening or a long summer’s afternoon.

The natives of New York made use of their indifference by turning to look over the eating area and scanning with the radar of experience for a place at a table. The adventure of the noon hour was finding a place to sit and eat.

Blimpy’s regular customers came from the shops and brownstone offices nearby. There were actors, dancers, singers, and musicians who waited for the big break. Writers, playwrights, and philosophers who thrived on the cheap lunch. There were students, too, from NYU, a few blocks away.

But, by far, the most interesting were the tourists. The tourists were easily identifiable. Their eyes tended to remain wide open, constantly alert for the sudden occurrences of notorious New York. They knew to be careful, not to stare at anyone for too long. Back home, to stare was impolite. In New York, their intuition told them, eye contact, to stare, would be threatening. It could be taken as a challenge, an invitation to violence. They had been warned about pursesnatchers, pickpockets, and panhandlers; prostitutes and junkies; all manner of human beings unlike those to be found in the cities and towns where they came from. New York was a place in which to be wary.

The couple in front of Lennie Uriegas was from Kansas, or Indiana, or from some place flat and of minor population.

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