Hillcrest

TS got a job at a bowling alley, telling MR and I that they were still hiring, we got jobs there. What a pit! Ah, the job. We had the illustrious job of "porters", which was do-whatever-menial-job-there-was. Because of a limited level law at that time, the owner Schmitt could pay us less than minimum wage because we were students. I never did read this small ruling in its entirety, but suffice to say that since we were fully time students, he could pay us 15% less. He also made it great defying the curfew rules and times allowed for enrolled and attending high school students. One some evenings, we worked until 2 a.m. or so.
Anyway ... the 70s decorated bowling alley was our workplace for some time. These workers are supported by two separate but equally important groups: the management who moneys tons of money and the butthead patrons who make their working necessary and aggrivating. These are their stories. [synthesized xylophone sounds]

"We need more beer from the back! Go bring it to Terry!" The scene was tragic, there were empties everywhere. Hundreds of super-cheap (it isn't any more expensive now) Miller, Bud, and Pabst bottles were sitting dead on tables, their lives drained out of them. There was no time for a proper investigation. This one died of consumption, that one of a fatal fall from a table.
Anyway, The trick throughout the evening was to take the moutain of empties and repack them into the cases, then take the cases of empties to the cooler and retrieve the fresh cold ones for the bar. That was simple enough until you found out that with a 2-wheel dolly, you generally could take only 6 cases at a time and you had other work -- always. One of us came up with a stacking strategy for taking 13 cases precariously stacked on the dolly. This was bad news if you dropped a full one. I don't think any of us did. As for the empties ... there were accidents.
Porters walked around gathering the mess from the pigs known as league bowlers, ashtrays were to be cleaned out, empty anything to be picked up, for the trashcan sitting 12' away was clearly inaccessable to the lazy. As well as the general mess, there were calls when someone didn't know how to use the scoring terminal or the machines were a bit flakey or there was "deadwood", a pin in the gutter.
Deadwood -- I remember several times running down the strip of plastic to get the pin ... "Do not touch the gutter. Do not touch the lanes" I followed these rules for two reasons: boss would throw tantrum and worse still ... the bowlers would "blame bad luck on the mariner". This would make the evening terrible for any violator like terrible in number of calls for nothing, exaggerated mess in area and verbal abuse.
Some nights were better than others, like Thursday night, you'd think would be better than Friday, but no. There was a late night league that loved peanuts. Seyfert's (TM) league, no, but the Planters (tm) made an unbelievable mess every week. You'd think they'd grow tired of peanuts. Not every lane had them, but three did and the gluttons greedily gobbled them, then dropped them onto the floor like then-restaurant Ground Round, or today's Lone Star or Logan's or Texas Roadhouse. If anyone would notice, those places have solid wood floors with a hard wax finish. You'd think that the floor to ceiling carpeting would be a clue there, but not to them.
They were one of the reasons that the porters had to be there late because they were pickled and could barely talk, let alone bowl. Many of the bowlers would chug the cheap beer (tap was especially profitable for the bar --- plastic cups of cheap draft). Many of the bowlers would finish bowling then go to the bar to drink more ... yes, please do. That sitting, waiting for your turn, really burned up calories.

As with any sevice job, I could write about the nastiness of perpetually cleaning. I never entered the fast food industry, which would have been even grimier. I can mention that when you mix old food, new food, greasy food, beer, soda (way old to fresh -- fountain tended to be more syrupy than from the can), cigarettes, cigars, oil, and cleaning chemicals; you get a wonderful toxic-level stench that churns anyone's stomach. It was foul, sweet, acidic ... road kill has a more tolerable odor. When the trash was loaded, then compacted (steps are repeated) until this lump of goo is in a bag, you had to trek through the alley to pitch it in the dumpster.
"Eeww! That's gross." "Get rid of that!" "Why do you have to bring that over here?" -- a few idiotic responses from the populace. After reaching the self-locking door, the trick was to prop it open, take the leaking bag to the dumpster and put it inside. The trash was collected on a Saturday, so on Friday, the dumpster had a week of grime. Several times I wore some of the charcoal gray puke-inducing liquid on my shirt, trying to push the bag on top of the dumpster. MR and I were working one night and I had my fill of much of anything. The bag was around 80 pounds and I didn't want to wear it. I angrily threw it up, but it completely missed the dumpster, splatting 5' from target. MR was holding the door -- we had 2 mintues until we could leave.
"Hey! Did you see those vandals?" "Vandals?" "Yeah! They messed up the trash!" MR got my anaalogy.
MR got the great eye-opening adventure of "someone made a mess in the stall". According to MR, it was fecal painting without direction. It was smeared throughout. I'm not sure if MR quit that day or not. If it wasn't that day, it was soon after.
Carpeting ... floor to floor, wall to wall. Why carpeting? It keeps the noise down, but also hoardes odors. If you think vaccuuming the floor will get rid of the smoke smell, you are wrong! Cheap Schmitt never replaces the air filters. So, one day, after 6 years of non-replacement, he was forced to replace them after a failed inspection. He shed tears about the price of the filters. The old ones were as sold as concrete, packed full of smoke, lint, dirt, dust, mess. The little ecosystem never knew it was going to be evicted.
That was also a time when they had cigarette machines. Does that make me old ... yes! I know that they had a vending sign indicating sales to minors, but that was if you bothered to read it. Anytime I got home from work --- despite the showering, I never felt or was ever really clean. Staying up til 2 working, then going to school -- not smart!
While there I met many a different character ... like Bonnie, who was a 30 some year old illiterate woman who wanted to molest me. I was naive, but smart enough to get out of it. Had I been wiser, I probably would have agreed. I know that she was illiterate because she read (MR do not elaborate on this name, please) a name as a month. She also read, minitures as, "mini-watch-es".
There was the bubble-headed bleach blonde than came on at five. She could tell you about being a virgin with a gleam in her eye. It's interesting that Schmitt finally died. (That job) gave me dirty laundry. BTW: I understand that Schmitt was a dealer and his son, more so. Hi son took over the business, the alley was an effective front, but the son I think was more open about it. The girl -- curvey, blonde, empty-headed, was hotly pursued by many, but was with one of the desk guys. His brother would have jumped on her if he thought he could have. This same guy, very rude ... would see a hot or reasonably attention-getting woman then make pounding noises under the desk, as though he were ____bating.
There was L Beaucheon who was a dippy guy who lived out north (see a later post)
Kristie, who was a 14 year-old naive little girl, who TS pursued and "got". Although there was only a four year difference in age -- the developemental and emtional difference was significant. MR found her immaturity to be laughable, such as an unfamiliarity with the term, "bought the farm", and a couple of other more typical phrases. She was 14 and should have been allowed to stay on the vine a bit longer.

to be continued

-- for clarification, in prior posts I mentioned that I met MR and TS in middle school.