There's a great satirical sports website out there (think The Onion) called www.sportsonastick.com
I just got an article published:
http://www.sportsonastick.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=234:cooper-manning-finds-hundred-dollar-bill-on-street&catid=49:nfl-team-news&Itemid=109
Check it out if you want.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Year of the Ox
The Ox is the sign of the virtue of fortitude. Men and women born in the year of the Ox tend to be logical, intelligent and patient. They are positive and caring people, who believe that hard work is the righteous path to make one's way through life, and are rarely driven by greed.
This should have nothing to do with OTB.
But, every twelve years, this year included, they become inextricably linked, inseparable. Today began the first of fifteen days of celebration for the Chinese New Year. And the Chinese love to gamble.
This isn't racist. Well, maybe it is, but it's not Michael Richards racist. The customers of OTB come from every race, and maybe there's just a lot of Chinese because there's a lot of Chinese people in general. A good chunk of the workforce, my co-workers, are Chinese-American as well. So when the New Year rings in, OTB likes to party. It's arguably the biggest holiday of our calendar, beating out Christmas and rivaling only the Triple Crown races. They go all out in some branches--the ones in Chinatown, obviously, but a few others in Brooklyn and Queens where the Asian population is strong. Decorations and lights on the walls, oranges and candy in each window for good luck. The company even sets aside a little money to give to customers and employees, in the traditional red envelopes, so the new year starts right. (Apparently I'm worth two-dollars of luck, I didn't earn a fifty-dollar envelope. I think I can't make the luck last 'til at least August, though, if I'm careful.) It kind of feels like a bar-mitzvah, with any chair-lifting being purely coincidental.
Today I was fortunate enough to work in Chatham Square, the heart of Chinatown and the center of OTB's celebration. I was part of a bonus staff to handle the surplus of customers. The mood was very upbeat, even among most of the customers (both their surplus and smiles probably had a little to do with the red envelopes.) Even the racing programs were free. We had gourmet Chinese food in the back which I'm afraid to admit I wasn't brave enough to eat. I did chow down way too many little Chinese candies, though, some fruity-butterscotchy things, that ended up setting some firecrackers of their own off in my stomach.
We had plenty of guests going in and out all day, too. Retired employees, workers from other branches, executives from uptown, even some little kids and grandkids. The JBC even dressed up in a snazzy shirt and vest, which, while looking great in it, probably regretted the decision once he got down to scrubbing the urinals.
It's the closest an OTB branch comes to being an official community center-- I noticed some people weren't even there to bet, they were just there to share in the fun. By far, the highlight of the day were the dragon visits. You've all seen them, the paper-mache or whatever dragons with oversized heads and being controlled by one or a few or several people under them. Throughout the day they'd veer off the parade path and come right into the branch, making laps and then dancing to live drumbeats in the middle of the room, between the TVs and the odds charts and the customers--usually, a dangerous place to be. No one seemed to care, though. For once, the races weren't top priority. They were co-top priority. Customers joined in with some managers and some of us clerks in rubbing the dragons' heads for good luck. I wanted to post some cell phone video I took but I'm an idiot and I have zero clue how to get anything on my computer. Bluetooth, maybe? That's a thing, right? Am I saying that right? Bluetooth?
A great celebration, sure, but not a miracle. Many parts of the day were exactly the same as any other. Machines broke. Some customers were still dicks. Others were completely oblivious to there even being a holiday, seemingly indifferent to the giant multicolored dragon cutting in front of the line. (In their defense, on any given day, there could be a lot weirder shit going down.) But for the most part, it was a momentary break from the mundane and downright misery of working a real job and not a dream job to pay the bills. It's refreshing and even a little jarring to see an OTB branch become a positive, joyous room. OTB employees will enjoy every minute of New Year's they can, because the rest of the year--whether it's Ox or Tiger or Boar or Rat--is probably going to suck.
This should have nothing to do with OTB.
But, every twelve years, this year included, they become inextricably linked, inseparable. Today began the first of fifteen days of celebration for the Chinese New Year. And the Chinese love to gamble.
This isn't racist. Well, maybe it is, but it's not Michael Richards racist. The customers of OTB come from every race, and maybe there's just a lot of Chinese because there's a lot of Chinese people in general. A good chunk of the workforce, my co-workers, are Chinese-American as well. So when the New Year rings in, OTB likes to party. It's arguably the biggest holiday of our calendar, beating out Christmas and rivaling only the Triple Crown races. They go all out in some branches--the ones in Chinatown, obviously, but a few others in Brooklyn and Queens where the Asian population is strong. Decorations and lights on the walls, oranges and candy in each window for good luck. The company even sets aside a little money to give to customers and employees, in the traditional red envelopes, so the new year starts right. (Apparently I'm worth two-dollars of luck, I didn't earn a fifty-dollar envelope. I think I can't make the luck last 'til at least August, though, if I'm careful.) It kind of feels like a bar-mitzvah, with any chair-lifting being purely coincidental.
Today I was fortunate enough to work in Chatham Square, the heart of Chinatown and the center of OTB's celebration. I was part of a bonus staff to handle the surplus of customers. The mood was very upbeat, even among most of the customers (both their surplus and smiles probably had a little to do with the red envelopes.) Even the racing programs were free. We had gourmet Chinese food in the back which I'm afraid to admit I wasn't brave enough to eat. I did chow down way too many little Chinese candies, though, some fruity-butterscotchy things, that ended up setting some firecrackers of their own off in my stomach.
We had plenty of guests going in and out all day, too. Retired employees, workers from other branches, executives from uptown, even some little kids and grandkids. The JBC even dressed up in a snazzy shirt and vest, which, while looking great in it, probably regretted the decision once he got down to scrubbing the urinals.
It's the closest an OTB branch comes to being an official community center-- I noticed some people weren't even there to bet, they were just there to share in the fun. By far, the highlight of the day were the dragon visits. You've all seen them, the paper-mache or whatever dragons with oversized heads and being controlled by one or a few or several people under them. Throughout the day they'd veer off the parade path and come right into the branch, making laps and then dancing to live drumbeats in the middle of the room, between the TVs and the odds charts and the customers--usually, a dangerous place to be. No one seemed to care, though. For once, the races weren't top priority. They were co-top priority. Customers joined in with some managers and some of us clerks in rubbing the dragons' heads for good luck. I wanted to post some cell phone video I took but I'm an idiot and I have zero clue how to get anything on my computer. Bluetooth, maybe? That's a thing, right? Am I saying that right? Bluetooth?
A great celebration, sure, but not a miracle. Many parts of the day were exactly the same as any other. Machines broke. Some customers were still dicks. Others were completely oblivious to there even being a holiday, seemingly indifferent to the giant multicolored dragon cutting in front of the line. (In their defense, on any given day, there could be a lot weirder shit going down.) But for the most part, it was a momentary break from the mundane and downright misery of working a real job and not a dream job to pay the bills. It's refreshing and even a little jarring to see an OTB branch become a positive, joyous room. OTB employees will enjoy every minute of New Year's they can, because the rest of the year--whether it's Ox or Tiger or Boar or Rat--is probably going to suck.
Monday, January 12, 2009
George His Mother Is 84 Years Old
Working at the Brooklyn Borough Hall branch today, I had the pleasure of meeting George, a customer I've never seen before. I'm not sure if he's new to the game or if we've just been star-crossed until now, but here we are. George is white, healthy looking and relatively clean, and seems to be in his mid to late 50s. Like your typical OTB regular, he has at least one mental disorder, though I can't exactly say which ones. Maybe OCD, I don't know, we didn't really get a chance to do some Rorschachs. He's hyperactive, constantly walking around the branch at a brisk pace, and is extremely talkative. It's pretty annoying but fortunately, he's also really friendly and nonaggressive, which is a huge plus when it comes to customers (and other clerks.)
What made George stand out from the other bettors, even the mentally unstable and possibly-obsessive-compulsives, was that he'd reintroduce himself to me every time he made a bet. This also could be more annoying than it sounds, but he had the habit of adding a little bit of information with each reintroduction, keeping it interesting. Kind of like Memento, except not at all.
As soon as I opened my window he speed walked (sped walked?) up to me and asked me my name. A lot of clerks never give out their names, many women just give fakes. Usually I'm too lazy to lie but this time I didn't mind anyhow; he seemed friendly enough at the get-go to let him know what my parents tagged me. He replied: "I'm George my mother is 84 years old." I didn't forget any commas or ellipses, he just never pauses during his sentences.
About ten minutes later he cashed his winning ticket and asked me: "Jack, right?" Yes. "I'm George my mother is 84 years old, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews." Alright. I paid him, and he just stared at me awkwardly. Was that part of his introduction or had he commenced a topic of conversation in which I had not yet participated? After a couple of uneasy beats, I went back to my Spanish flashcards. He sped away.
Five minutes later: "I'm George my mother is 84 years old, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews, I'm Jewish German Mexican and Italian."
He added a refrain the next time, almost making it melodic: "I'm George my mother is 84 years old, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews, I'm Jewish German Mexican and Italian, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews, I grew up in Bed-Stuy in the projects." I don't think the order was random, I think what he was implying was that he had a lot of nieces and nephews because his family loved to multiply and hence the diverse DNA. Maybe.
"I'm George my mother is 84 years old, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews, I'm Jewish German Mexican and Italian, I grew up in Bed-Stuy in the projects, eighteen years ago a woman threw a pot of boiling water onto my back." He then tried to lift his shirt to show me the scars but stopped. That last line seemed a lot more dramatic than the other ones, but to him it was just another personal tidbit, one whose elaboration he never intended on giving.
He also was talking to the two ladies I was working with, and told one that he loved her and wanted to marry her and make babies with her. It was so innocent that it was barely sexual harassment but our manager rebuked him and he got scared and hid in the back by the vending machine for about a half hour before coming back to us (a half hour is probably like six months George time.)
The fun ended pretty early though, about two hours into the shift, after he made one final bet. He was eleven cents short and painfully tried to ask me to spot him the money, which I did with no hesitation. He lost the bet and then came to me and apologized, like I was going to break his thumbs for not paying me back the change. I said it was okay, he apologized again, I went back to my Spanish flashcards, and when I looked up again, George His Mother is 84 Years Old was gone. Maybe for good. Maybe not. He has 21 nieces and nephews.
What made George stand out from the other bettors, even the mentally unstable and possibly-obsessive-compulsives, was that he'd reintroduce himself to me every time he made a bet. This also could be more annoying than it sounds, but he had the habit of adding a little bit of information with each reintroduction, keeping it interesting. Kind of like Memento, except not at all.
As soon as I opened my window he speed walked (sped walked?) up to me and asked me my name. A lot of clerks never give out their names, many women just give fakes. Usually I'm too lazy to lie but this time I didn't mind anyhow; he seemed friendly enough at the get-go to let him know what my parents tagged me. He replied: "I'm George my mother is 84 years old." I didn't forget any commas or ellipses, he just never pauses during his sentences.
About ten minutes later he cashed his winning ticket and asked me: "Jack, right?" Yes. "I'm George my mother is 84 years old, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews." Alright. I paid him, and he just stared at me awkwardly. Was that part of his introduction or had he commenced a topic of conversation in which I had not yet participated? After a couple of uneasy beats, I went back to my Spanish flashcards. He sped away.
Five minutes later: "I'm George my mother is 84 years old, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews, I'm Jewish German Mexican and Italian."
He added a refrain the next time, almost making it melodic: "I'm George my mother is 84 years old, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews, I'm Jewish German Mexican and Italian, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews, I grew up in Bed-Stuy in the projects." I don't think the order was random, I think what he was implying was that he had a lot of nieces and nephews because his family loved to multiply and hence the diverse DNA. Maybe.
"I'm George my mother is 84 years old, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews, I'm Jewish German Mexican and Italian, I grew up in Bed-Stuy in the projects, eighteen years ago a woman threw a pot of boiling water onto my back." He then tried to lift his shirt to show me the scars but stopped. That last line seemed a lot more dramatic than the other ones, but to him it was just another personal tidbit, one whose elaboration he never intended on giving.
He also was talking to the two ladies I was working with, and told one that he loved her and wanted to marry her and make babies with her. It was so innocent that it was barely sexual harassment but our manager rebuked him and he got scared and hid in the back by the vending machine for about a half hour before coming back to us (a half hour is probably like six months George time.)
The fun ended pretty early though, about two hours into the shift, after he made one final bet. He was eleven cents short and painfully tried to ask me to spot him the money, which I did with no hesitation. He lost the bet and then came to me and apologized, like I was going to break his thumbs for not paying me back the change. I said it was okay, he apologized again, I went back to my Spanish flashcards, and when I looked up again, George His Mother is 84 Years Old was gone. Maybe for good. Maybe not. He has 21 nieces and nephews.
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