God Darn the Pusher Man
by Tim Heer, Sr.
It was the 60’s, not the summer of love, a little before that, and I was wearing my first uniform for that decade. It was all white. White pants, white shirt, white hat, and with a brown and pink polka-dotted bow-tie. It was an era of innocence, of unknown wrong doing, a time as I look back from adulthood I am not too proud of.
Had I known then that I was profiting off of other’s wickedness, taking advantage of their need for escaping from the realities of the 60s by escaping into a den of earthly pleasure, where I was always ready to take their last dime. I was no better than that one down by the whirlpool, looking for a new fool. Just another pusher man getting their customers hooked on the new flavor-of-the-month, offering them a free taste with a small pink spoon. This concept was not clear to me then, but what was clear at the time was the feeling that I was feeding the animals at a zoo. At times I can still see the little overweight people, grabbing the cone from my hand with a glazed look in their eyes and drool on their lips. The worst part of the job was the constant worry that someday, someone, would come in and order… a licorice ice cream soda…
One would think that being a Baskin-Robbins 31 Flavors Soda Jerk would be the job made in heaven. But most of the time the smell of ice cream and the roar of the crowds as they impatiently waited for their next fix was more than I could take. I do remember one night working with Joe, the San Jose City College baseball star. I had just had my first date with Marie. Now I was all excited and singing songs from West Side Story, as I cleaned up during a slow time. Joe was taking care of the few customers that came in and giving me a bad time about how he had been out with her the week before. This jibbing with one another was kind of fun, after I realized that he had no idea who she was. It did make a slow night go by a little faster.
The very next time we worked alone it was a Saturday night and he had spent all day with his new, latest flame, Marilyn. Now how many Marilyn’s could there be in the San Jose area? Because fifteen years before in the third grade, I had a crush on a Marilyn. Of course, there was no way Joe was going to believe me, after what he had put me though the week before. I tried to persuade him to just ask her, the singular-sensation Marilyn, if we were not boy and girl friends back in third grade. It took most of the night, but he finally promised to ask her…
It must have been a long time before I saw Joe again. He was working more nights and closing the shop. But one hot Saturday, with a store full of people, he came in to pick up his last check. He was moving down south to play for San Diego State. On his way out the door he stopped, looked back at me and said “Oh. She said you were wrong—it was the second grade!” I guess it was at that moment that I realized that it really was not the “life’s work” that matters. It’s the people you go through life with that count.
Had I known then that I was profiting off of other’s wickedness, taking advantage of their need for escaping from the realities of the 60s by escaping into a den of earthly pleasure, where I was always ready to take their last dime. I was no better than that one down by the whirlpool, looking for a new fool. Just another pusher man getting their customers hooked on the new flavor-of-the-month, offering them a free taste with a small pink spoon. This concept was not clear to me then, but what was clear at the time was the feeling that I was feeding the animals at a zoo. At times I can still see the little overweight people, grabbing the cone from my hand with a glazed look in their eyes and drool on their lips. The worst part of the job was the constant worry that someday, someone, would come in and order… a licorice ice cream soda…
One would think that being a Baskin-Robbins 31 Flavors Soda Jerk would be the job made in heaven. But most of the time the smell of ice cream and the roar of the crowds as they impatiently waited for their next fix was more than I could take. I do remember one night working with Joe, the San Jose City College baseball star. I had just had my first date with Marie. Now I was all excited and singing songs from West Side Story, as I cleaned up during a slow time. Joe was taking care of the few customers that came in and giving me a bad time about how he had been out with her the week before. This jibbing with one another was kind of fun, after I realized that he had no idea who she was. It did make a slow night go by a little faster.
The very next time we worked alone it was a Saturday night and he had spent all day with his new, latest flame, Marilyn. Now how many Marilyn’s could there be in the San Jose area? Because fifteen years before in the third grade, I had a crush on a Marilyn. Of course, there was no way Joe was going to believe me, after what he had put me though the week before. I tried to persuade him to just ask her, the singular-sensation Marilyn, if we were not boy and girl friends back in third grade. It took most of the night, but he finally promised to ask her…
It must have been a long time before I saw Joe again. He was working more nights and closing the shop. But one hot Saturday, with a store full of people, he came in to pick up his last check. He was moving down south to play for San Diego State. On his way out the door he stopped, looked back at me and said “Oh. She said you were wrong—it was the second grade!” I guess it was at that moment that I realized that it really was not the “life’s work” that matters. It’s the people you go through life with that count.
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