12-01-2020, 07:17 AM
"It's better than diggin' ditches, it's better than diggin' ditches..." he thought over and over.
This was just one more pep talk Eugene had to give himself before work. The glamorous life of a performer
wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He loved the freedom but being self-employed did come with drawbacks.
"Make it while you're young and you can put your feet up a little when you get my age" was a line he always
remembered hearing from his old man. He never made out too good but he didn't die penniless neither. Never
one to be afraid of hard work, Eugene's father made sure to teach his boys that sweat and a sore back were
the hallmarks of a good man. "Don't ever shortcut your way through life" he would say. Another one was
"A man is only as good as his word". Eugene agreed on all counts, but did he live up to them? In total?
Time to punch that clock! He gets out of his car and walks to the front door of his next client. The sound
from inside bleeding through and even though it made his heart sink, this was his thing. Choice! No boss
breathing down his neck with judgement or a superiority-complex. He could take as many jobs as he wanted
or he could tell them all to go to Hell and just sit on the couch until eviction day. That was power. At least
the only power Eugene had.
The door opened and it was show time! Oh the life of a clown magician...
After the birthday party extravaganza, Eugene needed a drink. More than likely several. There was this little
place in the neighborhood he liked and would go every now and then. It was run by the same family for at
least three generations. Spinetti's. You could drown your sorrows and feast on the best mortadella hoagies
in the zip code! While it was more of a bar, the deli next-door of the same name would cross-contaminate
in the most beautiful way. Who wouldn't want a nice Italian sandwich with crisped-up pork fat after knocking
back several cold ones? This was that place.
Eugene Kaluza was a sometimes fixture here. Growing up in the neighborhood, he knew the Spinetti family
like they were his own. And they nearly were! Eugene's father was Polish, hence Kaluza. Meant "puddle" in
their language. But his mother was 100% Sicilian and could trace her roots all the way back to the old
country. Marino was her maiden name. After a couple buca's she'd get to telling you how her grandmother
came over on a supply ship to make America her home. She was feisty that one! Good as gold, just like
her son.
He was Eugene to the world outside that door but in here, he was Geno.
"Aaaay, how you doin?" asked old man Spinetti.
"Above ground! Lemme have a Carlsberg pop!"
Alfredo Spinetti, also known as Al or more lovingly as "pop", stood behind that bar with a huge smile on his
face to greet every single person that entered. It was that way for more years than he could remember and
would continue to be until he went on to Heaven. Medium height, plump and rosy-cheeked; he never made
an enemy. To know him is to love him had to be coined for old man Spinetti. As honest as the day was long,
he never had any under-the-table dealings. Although he knew what his boys were mixed up in, they knew
better than to ever bring it home or to the bar. But those kinds of lines always had a way of blurring at the
worst times.
"Aaay, who's dat sad lookin bag?" called out a man in the back.
Geno looks over to see his long-time friend, Bobby Spinetti. He walks back to the booth and joins him.
"They still let you in here?" Geno asked smiling while throwing short playful punches.
"Hey, I'm what customers come to see!" Bobby returned as he hugged his friend.
They both sit and pop brings that nice cold pint over to Geno.
"Thanks pop! Lookin' sharp!"
"Always good to see ya kid!" the old man said.
Geno takes a drink, Bobby sits staring at him, knowing that life couldn't be treating him very well. He had
that tired look. Not like "I've been working a lot lately" but more "Can I die now?" He had an idea.
"So, you still pullin' rabbits outta hats?"
"When I can catch 'em." Geno replied.
"Ya know, anytime you get sick of those little bastards kicking you in the shins and throwing cake into
ya face, I could line something up for you. Say the word. Capiche?"
Geno knew what he was talking about. But he didn't want to go that way. He didn't see himself as that
kind of person. But something was for sure: He needed a change. And he needed it now!
This was just one more pep talk Eugene had to give himself before work. The glamorous life of a performer
wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He loved the freedom but being self-employed did come with drawbacks.
"Make it while you're young and you can put your feet up a little when you get my age" was a line he always
remembered hearing from his old man. He never made out too good but he didn't die penniless neither. Never
one to be afraid of hard work, Eugene's father made sure to teach his boys that sweat and a sore back were
the hallmarks of a good man. "Don't ever shortcut your way through life" he would say. Another one was
"A man is only as good as his word". Eugene agreed on all counts, but did he live up to them? In total?
Time to punch that clock! He gets out of his car and walks to the front door of his next client. The sound
from inside bleeding through and even though it made his heart sink, this was his thing. Choice! No boss
breathing down his neck with judgement or a superiority-complex. He could take as many jobs as he wanted
or he could tell them all to go to Hell and just sit on the couch until eviction day. That was power. At least
the only power Eugene had.
The door opened and it was show time! Oh the life of a clown magician...
After the birthday party extravaganza, Eugene needed a drink. More than likely several. There was this little
place in the neighborhood he liked and would go every now and then. It was run by the same family for at
least three generations. Spinetti's. You could drown your sorrows and feast on the best mortadella hoagies
in the zip code! While it was more of a bar, the deli next-door of the same name would cross-contaminate
in the most beautiful way. Who wouldn't want a nice Italian sandwich with crisped-up pork fat after knocking
back several cold ones? This was that place.
Eugene Kaluza was a sometimes fixture here. Growing up in the neighborhood, he knew the Spinetti family
like they were his own. And they nearly were! Eugene's father was Polish, hence Kaluza. Meant "puddle" in
their language. But his mother was 100% Sicilian and could trace her roots all the way back to the old
country. Marino was her maiden name. After a couple buca's she'd get to telling you how her grandmother
came over on a supply ship to make America her home. She was feisty that one! Good as gold, just like
her son.
He was Eugene to the world outside that door but in here, he was Geno.
"Aaaay, how you doin?" asked old man Spinetti.
"Above ground! Lemme have a Carlsberg pop!"
Alfredo Spinetti, also known as Al or more lovingly as "pop", stood behind that bar with a huge smile on his
face to greet every single person that entered. It was that way for more years than he could remember and
would continue to be until he went on to Heaven. Medium height, plump and rosy-cheeked; he never made
an enemy. To know him is to love him had to be coined for old man Spinetti. As honest as the day was long,
he never had any under-the-table dealings. Although he knew what his boys were mixed up in, they knew
better than to ever bring it home or to the bar. But those kinds of lines always had a way of blurring at the
worst times.
"Aaay, who's dat sad lookin bag?" called out a man in the back.
Geno looks over to see his long-time friend, Bobby Spinetti. He walks back to the booth and joins him.
"They still let you in here?" Geno asked smiling while throwing short playful punches.
"Hey, I'm what customers come to see!" Bobby returned as he hugged his friend.
They both sit and pop brings that nice cold pint over to Geno.
"Thanks pop! Lookin' sharp!"
"Always good to see ya kid!" the old man said.
Geno takes a drink, Bobby sits staring at him, knowing that life couldn't be treating him very well. He had
that tired look. Not like "I've been working a lot lately" but more "Can I die now?" He had an idea.
"So, you still pullin' rabbits outta hats?"
"When I can catch 'em." Geno replied.
"Ya know, anytime you get sick of those little bastards kicking you in the shins and throwing cake into
ya face, I could line something up for you. Say the word. Capiche?"
Geno knew what he was talking about. But he didn't want to go that way. He didn't see himself as that
kind of person. But something was for sure: He needed a change. And he needed it now!
