It’s 6:30AM, a biting cold in the air, cars and and vans belching exhaust from their tailpipes, vehicles kept idling while their inhabitants rush in to get a hot cup of “joe”. There are a dozen places like this on my way into work… Dunkin Donuts on Route 6 in Southbury, the Doughnut Inn on Route 25 in Monroe, the convenience store opposite Bogey’s in Westport, McDonald’s on the Post Rd in Norwalk, Mr. Bagel further down the Post Rd… and finally my destination: the Exxon Mini-Mart at the intersection of Route 1 and Business Route 7.
It’s a rare day when I’m not in the Mini-Mart to get my medium black and pay my respects to Maheesh, the Maitre D’ of the morning shift. And the folks who are there grabbing their coffee, picking up a LOTTO and a pack of smokes have the look of regulars… the landscaping crews, the HVAC guys, the Cablevision/Optimum guys, cops… it’s mostly a male crowd; but not exclusively.
And for the faces that don’t have the ring of familiarity, if they greet, and/or are greeted by Maheesh, they are strangers no more… they are part of the regulars. Most of the talk takes place between Maheesh and the individual patrons; but on occasion folks make small talk to each other while waiting on line to pay for their morning fix.
“You’re fast! You got right to your coffee.”
I barely noticed the comment… or who said it. Why the heck is he talking to me? I make little eye contact with folks in the morning. There’s lotsa reasons for this (we’ll save it for another time).
“Mighty cold today!”
“Sure is.” I shouldn’t have said anything… it left the possibility that I was going to engage in chit-chat. I didn’t hear Maheesh greet this guy, nor did he say, “Whassup Maheesh?” Or something like that. Regulars, I’ll say a word or two to. This guy? He could be a serial killer.
“Thank God for Jimmy Hoffa”
I nearly spilled my coffee putting the cover and the “heat shield” on the cup. I’m paying and getting out of there as fast as I can. I take a glance at the guy. Slight of build, a bit unshaven, hair tosseled but not messy… and a smile on his face. The smile was warm; but I haven’t changed my mind… this guy is definitely a “looney tune”.
Jimmy Hoffa? He didn’t look old enough to know about Jimmy Hoffa… but then again maybe he was thinking of his son, James P. Hoffa who is the present head of the Teamsters.
Look, maybe the guy was a student of history? Or, just Pro-Labor? I don’t know… maybe I’m numb to aspects of current affairs; but I don’t have the sense of Labor tensions that seemed to be more routine when I was growing up… transit strikes, garbage strikes, teacher strikes in NYC. Still… Jimmy Hoffa?
I start to cycle thru ideas… “how did we get here?” First… the coffee comment, next the cold weather… and then we finally we get to Jimmy Hoffa. Maybe I missed the connection? Let’s see… Hoffa had a cup of coffee, it was cold outside, then he was murdered and dumped into the construction site of a mall in Bloomfield, Michigan?
No. That’s not it. Hoffa disappeared in July.
OK. Coincidence? Maybe there is another Jimmy Hoffa… other than his son. Maybe a religious guy or hotshot football prospect that will take the Jets back to the Super Bowl? Uh, oh. I glance to see if he’s wearing anything green. Well… it’s too early for the NFL Draft… I put that small portion of Jets-phobia to the side.
No. He has to be thinking of the classic Jimmy Hoffa… the Union Racketeer who disappeared in 1975. Call me insensitive; but I can’t think of why we are thanking God for Jimmy Hoffa. Well, look… maybe Jimmy donated some of the money he embezzled from the Teamsters to an orphanage or something, and this guy is an orphan. That’s it! Hoffa created this huge trust fund with the money he stole to help out orphans… Jimmy, age 7, had lost his coal miner father to cancer… and although he broke the law, he was trying to do the right thing. A Labor Robin Hood. Thank God for Jimmy Hoffa!
Possible. But unlikely. Still… this cuckoo-charlie might think that’s the case, and that’s why he is sipping coffee and thanking God for Jimmy Hoffa.
Maybe it’s the coffee! Maybe if it wasn’t for Jimmy Hoffa and the Teamsters we wouldn’t have coffee!
Bingo! We get coffee from overseas, right? You bet! We talk about the “coffee republics” all the time! Are we talking about South Carolina? No! Those beans have to be shipped into us… the Longshoremen have to bring them in, and then the Teamsters have to move them around the country… See what I mean? Maybe if we don’t have Jimmy Hoffa, we don’t have coffee!
Yeah… thank God for Jimmy Hoffa!
I nod to the guy… pay Maheesh and step outside into the cold air, sip my coffee… Thank God for Jimmy Hoffa!