I phone another barowner I know less well and say “I need a good cheap dependable linen service to cut down on my garbage bulk because of what you must’ve heard is my trouble with Stovin’s and the Health Department.”
“I don’t know any service. But go to a phonebooth and tell the operator you’re having a hard time dialing my number and could she personally dial me?” and hangs up.
I lock the bar, cross the street to the booth and tell the operator what he asked and she does her business and he picks up and she says “Linix Bar?” and he says “Yes, this from a public booth, Miss?” and she says “It is, here’s your party,” and he says “You off, operator?” and there’s nothing and he says “That wasn’t infallible but best I could do spur of the moment. Honestly, my heart bleeds a thousand miles for you, Shaney, but I always thought you were much smarter than this. What happened to you?”
“You went through all this to ask, then you know.”
“I meant what happened to your smarts? In the past if I ever needed advice in this business I’d pick up the phone first to you. But with this garbage thing and an outfit like Stovin’s and your not dealing in directly, something in you must have snapped. Hey — and I mean it and will always be your pal from way back — give me a ring when things stop sizzling for you,” and hangs up.
I phone from a list of linen services in the yellow pages which advertise “lowest prices for restaurants and bars” and get estimates and they’re much higher than I can afford. To the last, under Z, who gives me the one halfway reasonable estimate, I say “I won’t go any further, I’ll rent from you. I want to be straightforward also, since I don’t want to lay any later headaches on you, so do you know of a Stovin’s Carting Company?” and he says no.
“Really?” and he says “Really, and why should I? There are five million of them.”
I tell him about Stovin’s and why I need the linens and he says “Look, my theory in business like my father’s in the same line was—”
“Yeah? Me too. Same place and my grandfather in it too.”
“Terrific. Like me and both our pops, we’re all good sons. But my theory is that your business is your business and mine’s mine. Mine’s to turn a profit and if yours isn’t then that’s your business too. But I can’t turn without your business’s business, got it? — so whatever problem you have with somebody else about business isn’t my business at all. You’re my business. You!”
“I just thought that this carter could be linked to linens or something, both of you in the restaurant business or part. So I just wanted to warn you—”
“What have I been saying?”
“I know. And I don’t want to make a row now that you’ll linen for me.”
“What row? You couldn’t, because I love you for your business. I love all my customers who pay. And that carter and us: you sound like you can take care of yourself, I can certainly take care of myself, so we struck oil together and let the rest of the world dig for piss. I’ll deliver a bundle tomorrow and pick up and deliver twice a week after that. In two weeks I’ll know how much you need and that’s the amount you’ll get weekly except for the big drinking holidays or if my linens start helping you double your trade. I’ll need a week’s deposit from you,” and quotes it and I say “That’s fairer than I figured.”
“Maybe I should jack it up for you then so I don’t look like a schmo.”
“No, it’s way above my means as it is, and thanks.”
“Like I told you, bro, you’re not on this earth to thank me, I’m here to thank you.”
“Still, thanks.”
I phone my beer distributor and tell him to send someone over to exchange my unused disposables for only returnables from now on. He says “Who has returnables? You want them, join the pro-deposit rally next month, which you’ll see us there howling and maybe swinging against them, or move to another state.”
“Then bill me for two kegs more of beer and one of ale a week of whatever you got me down for, because that’s the only kind of brew my customers are going to get,” and he says “Will do.”
I phone my soda distributor and he says “I have no returnables nor does anyone in the city except for imported tonic and bitter lemon that’ll set you way back. What I’d do to avoid nonreturns is get one of those five-drink soda guns. It’ll cost you a pretty but in the long run you’ll wind up a saver.”
“What are the five? Soda, ginger, cola, tonic and what?”
“Water.”
“Water I get out of my tap.”
“So now you get it from the gun. It looks as if purified it shoots so soft out and with no glass cloud and I swear also tastes better in the mouth. I bet it raises the respect of your place and so along with that the bar prices to people who love the fanciness and gadgetry of it. I’ll still send you the mixers but in big drums the gun tubes are tied to and my cousin will set up and sell the CO2 and guns. You want two or three?”
“One.”
“You need one for each bar side at least. Looks great with the five tiny button lights and saves plenty of wear on the feet.”
“One. I don’t even see how I can pay for that.”
“Don’t speak to him of not paying, we’ll worry about that after it’s in. I’ll arrange things now and get back.-”
I tell my customers that if they want beer and soda in bottles or cans they’ll have to take the empty containers with them and leave them somewhere outside but not in front. Most say they don’t want to lug any junk out and they’ll have their drinks straight or with water or peel or this time their beer or ale from the tap. A few can live with getting rid of their empties, but after they leave I find their bottles and cans on the bar or floor or tables in back, probably because they’re just too tired or lied to me or aren’t used to taking them from a bar so forgot.
That night I end up with two big plastic bags of garbage for the day, put them in the basement with the others, get rid of one of the smaller old ones by emptying it in four shopping bags which I drop in different trash cans on my way to the night deposit box and hotel.
“Phone message for you,” the nightclerk says, “which I won’t, if you don’t want, relay.”
“What’d they say this time: welcome back?”
“Practically that exactly, you’re really onto their game. By the way. There’s a new truly beautiful young lady who checked in today, so pretty and bright I don’t even know why—”
“No, I already told you — yes, sure, send her to me please if she’s not too steep.”
“Never spoke about it with her so work it out yourself.”
When she comes in my room I say “Lookit, I don’t want to do anything, but have so much on my mind that I’ve got to spill it out to somebody who’ll maybe only say something at the end if you like. So for the same amount you charge for the regular thing, I’ll just talk.”
“Thirty dollars is what I normally charge for twenty-five minutes, but for just talk, twenty minutes for twenty-five.”
“I thought fifteen dollars for half an hour.”
“Twenty-five and for a half hour. If you want I can also get undressed while you talk or play with you while I’m dressed and you talk. But for the twenty-five you don’t touch me back either way unless you pay more.”
“I don’t want to be touched or played with, I only want to talk. It’ll be more than half an hour also. Sit down, have a drink. Let’s act like friends. Drink as much as you want to. Finish the bottle, I’ve another. I also have a couple of tasty meat and cheese sandwiches I made and brought from my bar and they’re tonight’s, one with mustard the other mayonnaise, but make it fifteen dollars tops for the half hour and five dollars for every ten minutes after that.”