Another day on the waterfront. I drove my little red pickup over the worn cobblestones down a deserted, seemingly lifeless Custom House Wharf to the bait shop at the end of the dock. It was 4:00 AM and the stark floodlight shining from the end of the dock was the only illumination casting an eerie shadow over the long, dismal lane.The wharf smelled of rotting fish, salt and diesel oil, a strangely comforting and familiar odor in this fishing port city.
The crew of 10 men had already arrived to begin the heavy work of loading boats and trucks with barrels of fish for baiting the lobstermen's traps. They were garbed in orange Grunyons, blue rubber globes, black boots and layers of dirty, hooded sweatshirts to combat the October chill. Their faces were gray, fatigued, expressions hardened against the advent of another day of backbreaking labor. Cigarettes hung limply from lips cracked from exposure to the elements, acrid smoke curling around their heads.
No greeting were offered. None were expected. Keep your head down and your mouth shut. Suffer without whining. An unspoken waterfront creedo. All had spent time in jail, had criminal records, Some had outstanding warrants and were "hiding out" in plain sight on the docks. In 2 years I had yet to see a cop car drive down the dock. It was a safe haven of sorts.
We sucked our 7-11 coffee in the darkened shack trying to capture the liquid warmth and the caffeine rush before the boats began to line up for loading. Just another dismal start to another miserable day. Until Kevin walked through the door carrying a cardboard box.
Kevin had a story just like everyone on the waterfront had a story. He was down on his luck, had lost his marriage and his daughter, his job and his license. He couldn't make his child support payments and was battling the state and the legal system for his manhood, his pride and his very existence. It was, unfortunately, a story common to many. He had worked as a cook and took pride in his culinary skills. But Fate had landed him here and he worked like a man possessed to earn his place on the waterfront. He was respected for that and only for that. Except that this morning he had made a cardboard box full of chocolate chip cookies. A ripple of excitement swept through the crew. They were like a class of first graders on cookie day. COOKIES!!
Kevin was swarmed by hungry dock workers eager to grab a tasty treat to dip in their morning coffee. I waited my turn and thanked him for the still warm pastry. He pulled the box back. "Are you sure you want a cookie? he asked. My radar should have fired at the question, but it was 4:00 am, I was cold and hungry, and I wanted a cookie. "May I", I asked. "Certainly", he smiled as he offered me the box. In the starless night, I did not notice the cookies were green.
I don't ever remember a tastier cookie than that morning's chocolate chip delicacy. And I would have asked for another except that the boats started to stream in and I got real busy filling orders. It was half an hour later when the sun began to rise over the ocean. It was always an extraordinarily beautiful sight, but this morning it was heart-stopping. I found myself frozen in place just watching the beauty. The colors, the birds, the boats... unlike anything i had ever experienced. And then fragmented thoughts began to run through my head... "Where in hell am I? What am I doing? What is my name??" I turned to find Kevin and a couple other guys grinning at me like mindless fools. "Good cookie, old man?" he laughed. And the crew broke up in hysterical laughter. I was, like everyone else, stoned beyond all recognition on those incredible, tasty marijuana cookies.
Just another glorious, surreal day on the waterfront...
The crew of 10 men had already arrived to begin the heavy work of loading boats and trucks with barrels of fish for baiting the lobstermen's traps. They were garbed in orange Grunyons, blue rubber globes, black boots and layers of dirty, hooded sweatshirts to combat the October chill. Their faces were gray, fatigued, expressions hardened against the advent of another day of backbreaking labor. Cigarettes hung limply from lips cracked from exposure to the elements, acrid smoke curling around their heads.
No greeting were offered. None were expected. Keep your head down and your mouth shut. Suffer without whining. An unspoken waterfront creedo. All had spent time in jail, had criminal records, Some had outstanding warrants and were "hiding out" in plain sight on the docks. In 2 years I had yet to see a cop car drive down the dock. It was a safe haven of sorts.
We sucked our 7-11 coffee in the darkened shack trying to capture the liquid warmth and the caffeine rush before the boats began to line up for loading. Just another dismal start to another miserable day. Until Kevin walked through the door carrying a cardboard box.
Kevin had a story just like everyone on the waterfront had a story. He was down on his luck, had lost his marriage and his daughter, his job and his license. He couldn't make his child support payments and was battling the state and the legal system for his manhood, his pride and his very existence. It was, unfortunately, a story common to many. He had worked as a cook and took pride in his culinary skills. But Fate had landed him here and he worked like a man possessed to earn his place on the waterfront. He was respected for that and only for that. Except that this morning he had made a cardboard box full of chocolate chip cookies. A ripple of excitement swept through the crew. They were like a class of first graders on cookie day. COOKIES!!
Kevin was swarmed by hungry dock workers eager to grab a tasty treat to dip in their morning coffee. I waited my turn and thanked him for the still warm pastry. He pulled the box back. "Are you sure you want a cookie? he asked. My radar should have fired at the question, but it was 4:00 am, I was cold and hungry, and I wanted a cookie. "May I", I asked. "Certainly", he smiled as he offered me the box. In the starless night, I did not notice the cookies were green.
I don't ever remember a tastier cookie than that morning's chocolate chip delicacy. And I would have asked for another except that the boats started to stream in and I got real busy filling orders. It was half an hour later when the sun began to rise over the ocean. It was always an extraordinarily beautiful sight, but this morning it was heart-stopping. I found myself frozen in place just watching the beauty. The colors, the birds, the boats... unlike anything i had ever experienced. And then fragmented thoughts began to run through my head... "Where in hell am I? What am I doing? What is my name??" I turned to find Kevin and a couple other guys grinning at me like mindless fools. "Good cookie, old man?" he laughed. And the crew broke up in hysterical laughter. I was, like everyone else, stoned beyond all recognition on those incredible, tasty marijuana cookies.
Just another glorious, surreal day on the waterfront...
No comments:
Post a Comment