FSA Follies

        Old FSA represented one of the various means of employment we were forced into for the sake of making ends meet during the college years. As with most of the situations we accept when young and inexperienced, it, aside from the people, righteously sucked. This is by no means a request for sympathy as all readers have had their share of shitty McJobs. I would, however, like to share in the experience and allow all readers to respond with their own fun times, and lengths they took to meet the heavy burdens imposed on Knauses quarterly or biannual revelation of sums owed.

        Before delving into my own stories, I would like to first touch upon my favorite job held by someone else; that someone being Aaron and that job being his position at Parkside Candies on Main and Windspear. I don’t recall when he started there, but it was in the first year. What made it so enjoyable was Sunday afternoons when he would be left to man the joint solo, ruling the environs as he wished in his tyrannical German way. During these days, my cousin Ann and I would stop by for lunch and partake of the all you could eat soup bar, sometimes a sandwich, and always some candy for desert. The price was more than right as a check was rarely, if ever, written, and certainly not paid. In addition, we also received extensive tours around the back of the interesting and ornate old building. Sunday afternoons became dull and grey once the gravy train ended. As I remember it, Aaron came home one day a bit early and after almost no coaxing, admitted that he got the boot that afternoon. The owner’s pain in the ass son was incensed by the thickness of the roast beef Aaron was cutting and worked furiously to secure his dismissal. He succeeded and the days of free lunch evaporated like a beautiful dream. I have been bitterly resentful of his slicing ability ever since.

        Shortly after he got the can, I decided to help out my shiftless, unemployed housemate by getting him considered for a bright future career in food service. After taking a short hiatus myself, I accepted a position cooking mornings at Norton. This is where I had begun two years prior with CK before we were both shipped off to the flagship enterprise Putnam’s, and subsequently quit due to the tyrannical whip cracking of the dread manager Scott. The old days of Norton were a fond memory, making subs with CK and washing dishes with Emmanuel, who called everyone his cousin. The manager was Sue Wozniak, who took the hands off approach, much to our collective satisfaction. Posh and prim, she never allowed the drudgery of food service work sully her impeccable appearance. The best part, however, was the presence of the outstandingly attractive student manager, Adrianna. We all found it a shame when she hooked up with John Improta, a nice guy in his own right, but a killer to any fantasies that may have been brewing while admiring her from not far.

        Making subs was the most enjoyable part of this first stint, as I gained unrivaled popularity with student body. Not only did CK and I maintain a jovial relationship with our customer base, but I took to eschewing the use of the scale to properly weigh the lunch meat. My internal mechanism for correctly measuring portion sizes was out of calibration by several orders of magnitude in the favor of the customer rather than the establishment. This was a quality greatly appreciated by all but Sue and the perpetually dieting Long Island sorority girls who demanded low fat ‘toikey’ pitas on a nightly basis, reaching for them with their well manicured and emaciated hands. As mentioned, my success led me to Putnam’s where I fell out of love with the food industry and left around the same time as CK did, due to graduation on his part and a sense of ennui on mine, whatever the hell that means.

My triumphant return originated from a visit to my aunt. Dave Green, the new day manager, was looking for a hired gun to come work the grill, as they had a hard time keeping anyone for more than a few days. Since he couldn’t find one, I agreed to take the position, I think for the princely sum of $3.90 an hour. Paydirt! It was better than Collectors where I worked night; a place that will receive it’s own due in course. Once in, I soon found out why the position was difficult to fill. The difficulty was apparently Helen, a fiery redhead with temper to match. We got along just fine, but I knew bearing the weight of this duty was no one man job. I eyed Aaron as the perfect foil to her lunacy, and after greasing the skids with management, got him in.

        Working Norton this second go around was half heaven and half hell. The heaven was in the free food we were allowed to scarf down during our shifts. Although student workers had a limit to what they were supposed to take, a blind eye was turned for Aaron and me due to our taking a slot no one else wanted or lasted in. I was generally able to pack in enough calories that I only needed to eat the smallest of meals for dinner and still managed to gain weight. I can also admit that the work itself was marginally enjoyable as were the people. It didn’t hurt at all that my aunt was the union boss in back, and I never doubted that her presence gave me more of a carte blanch to do was I would more than the rest of the workers.

        The hell was in the customers. For a liberal college crowd attempting to dine on a shoe string budget, the average customer had higher expectations than the patron of a 5 star restaurant. Several in particular would fire off Napoleonic demands and often reduce the poor order taking girl almost to tears. Bad idea. I believe it was St Thomas Aquinas who once said, “Never fuck with he who prepareth thy grubbage”. Or maybe it was Paulie Shore. In any event, for those particularly annoying folks, shielded from view, we would play kick ball with their breakfast sandwich rolls, lick their toast and allow it fall butter side down, and other such tomfoolery. One woman, who complained each day that her dish was too cold, even seconds after being removed from the grill, caught my ire particularly. I suspected she was making the outrageous claim out of hand, just to get my goat. Exasperated, I took it back one day, ceremoniously removed the toast, and dumped her eggs (sunny side up), bacon, and homefries into the fry basket and plunged it all into the boiling oil. It was all then dumped back on to the plate and handed back to her, swimming in hot tainted grease. The message was successful as the plate never was returned again.

        Working with Helen was a treat unto itself. While it had been said for ages that no one could survive for more than a day with her on the line grill, both Aaron and I didn’t seem to have any trouble, and grew fond of her quirky, high strung ways. It was pathetically easy to get her worked up into such a tizzy that she had to go sit outside for a spell in order to calm down to a more workable level of ‘freaked out’. We of course attempted to actively cause this at every opportunity. It was a stressful gig at times with orders flying in faster than we could read them, with Helen wigging out, frantically splashing hot oil everywhere with wanton urgency, often getting as much on me as the hot plate. Like a cat with a can tied to its tail, I always expected her heart to finally explode within her tiny frame, but she somehow soldiered on, inspired by the thought of her pets and nightly glass of wine awaiting her after the shift.

        The day finally came when Helen decided to take on a less stressful position and thus extend her lifespan considerably longer. We said goodbye to her with reluctance, knowing the grill would never be quite the same. It certainly wasn’t as her replacement was a force of nature, a man mountain if you will, in the form of Big John Thomas. Where Helen had been a flighty nervous wreck, John was relentless as a glacier and utterly unflappable. “Make it happen” was his catch phase, and a strong sense of teamwork was inspired though it. John deserves an entry all his own, so that is all that will be explained of him at the moment.

        The most interesting of the characters we didn’t work with directly was Big Weave. I’m sure he had a real name, but can’t put my finger on it. Big Weave, a wholly enjoyable individual, was absolutely impossible to understand. I think my whole college career went by without me comprehending a single sentence the man ever uttered. He made ‘King of the Hill’s’ Boomhauer appear an eloquent orator in comparison. The story behind him (unconfirmed as I could never understand his answer when I asked him) was that his previous occupation was pimping and that he left it for food service ‘cause his mama didn’t like it’. Frankly, I never had any difficulty picturing him in a broad brimmed hat with peacock feather, burst free from the set of ‘I’m Gonna Get You Sucka’. I can only guess is that is that pandering is not so lucrative in Buffalo if accepting a food service job was the logical lateral move to keep up the lifestyle to which he had become accustomed, and if so, he chose wisely.

        Also worth a mention was Ron, who Aaron and I took to calling ‘Big Shirtless Ron!’ for some reason that escapes me, though never to his face. Like Big Weave, Ron also had a murky background I was never completely sure of. There were alternating stories that he was either developmentally disabled or had completely melted his mind on drugs. I think possibly both, although he readily admitted to the latter. He kept a pet rabbit named “Rabbit” that he doted on, and in whose honor he turned to vegetarianism, at least until his cravings for succulent cheeseburgers won out. Never exactly svelte, he had an issue with comments on his weight, and every so often some ill intentioned individual would make some snide remark, thus sending him into a rage. My aunt once caught wind of the plans of some scurrilous chaps who planned to egg him on to the point of violence, but fortunately she was able to nip it in the bud. Taking pity on him, she invited him to family functions where his presence always added flavor as he sought the constant attention of the elder generation and received it. He is a good egg, and I have heard from my aunt that he is still doing well.

        During the summertime, my involvement with old FSA extended to a catering gig, managed by the wise and powerful Berrafado clan, Buffalo’s most savvy restaurateurs. Although I had a summer job, I took the catering to both supplement my income and use the opportunity to pursue my quest for the affections of Joanne Zemszal, who was having boyfriend troubles at the time, and appeared ripe for a trade up as I saw it. This of course never came to fruition as I had not yet gained the life experience to know that a woman crying on your shoulder over some brute has already placed you in the same class as her girlfriends, but without the fear of you seeking her man’s affections behind her back. Ah the lessons we wish we could go back and tell ourselves, but this too is deserving of its own entry. Joanne, CK, and I worked hard those summers dishing out pancakes and roast beef to the ravenous CIPSI conventioneers. The following summer I didn’t bother as the additional work lacked the attraction brought by friends in previous times.

        The day finally came when the FSA elder Don Hosey saw fit in his inscrutable view to shut down old Norton and move operations down the hall to Talbert, where it was cleverly renamed ‘Berts’. Aaron had already taken leave of the service gig to instead spend his time lurking in the basement of Crosby, helping clueless students attempt to set up flashy modern VAX accounts, the certain wave of the future. To replace him, I once again applied my likely less than considerable influence to get Dan hired on. Dan, perhaps not entertained enough by the washing of dishes, took to accusing the Chinese foreign student working with him of being a communist spy. This agitated the poor guy to an alarming degree, who somehow must have taken the notion that the foul talking dish boy beside him had some sort of governmental influence. When nothing came of it, I think he finally got it that Dan lacked the connections required for late night abduction and questioning under torture.

        During his tenure at Berts, Dan also managed to embarrass me in front of the entire assemblage of employees at the annual Christmas luncheon and gift exchange. It was just my luck that Dan pulled my name to be my ‘Secret Santa’, and must have enjoyed himself immensely in shopping for me. There, in front of about 50 people, of whom half were elderly women, I had the pleasure of unwrapping ‘The Amazing Pocket Pussy!’, a hot pink molded rubber self pleasuring device reported modeled in exacting details of the flesh and blood region of the same area of a well known porn star. My face instantly turned red as I attempted to stuff it quickly back in the shredded wrapping as curious old biddies crowded around me asking to get a look at what I got. Most disturbing was that Ron asked me to borrow it for the weekend and give it back to me Monday. I still wretch a little at the thought.

I        spent the last year of my college life cooking there every morning, Monday though Thursday with Big John and Eileen, our order taker and toast butterer. There we would work furiously to feed the demanding masses who would foist dozens of orders upon us at once, expecting service in 5 minutes or less. To entertain ourselves, we would compete as to who could make the most outlandishly grand blueberry pancakes, quickly becoming a favorite item. We also experimented with flash frying different items, which is why I still maintain to this day that I invented the fried pickle. A claim no more verifiable than the rest of my crackpot ravings, and likely false, but one I will continue to boast all the same. After each shift I would leave for class, reeking of hot grease and eggs, and wondered why my attempts to chat up comely coeds in my classes never ended satisfactorily.

        The day finally came when I graduated and as I had been a student worker, found this passage of my life done. While I cannot say that I would trade the time spent, I was glad it was over. The benefit of working such a job is that it serves to inspire in some of us the desire to gain future employment that never involves cleaning up after oneself or asking someone if they would like fries with that. It was a long and rocky road getting to that point, but FSA was a fine first step.

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26 Responses

  1. The incident of my firing from Parkside Candies was when I was slicing ham, not roast beef. The owner’s son saw me slicing them too thick for his liking, and when we yelled and held a piece in front of me, “would you eat a slice that thick?” I calmly replied with “I don’t eat ham.” So perhaps my firing was due to the dislike for ham 🙂

    Whatever, the owners were jerks, and the only thing keeping me there for any length of time was the store manager, who quit when the owners demand he go him immediately to get his visor. Earlier in my career at Parkside Candies I was looking for a promotion to shift supervisor, so I agreed to work a day in the candy factory. I stood at the end of the lollipop line and boxed them up, and removed the broken ones. Some Rube Goldberg machine would take the lollipops off the conveyor belt from the giant vats that heated and poured the lollipop syrup into molds, and this crazy (old) machine would wrap them. Aside form the box boy (me), there were three others who just removed the jammed pops, and an old Russian guy who stood by to fix the machine when it broke. It broke no less than four times when I was there. Usually the very capable Russian had the machine back to producing sweet joy on a stick within 10 minutes, but once it was down for 40 minutes. All the candy this places shipped all over the country, and thy could not buy a machine newer than 1950.

    I attended high school with John Improta, I forgot all about his interjection into your fantasy life.

    Wolf and I used the time-honored tradition of simply ignoring Helen; it worked like a charm, and we often wondered why others did not try it, but kept the secret to ourselves, for fear of loosing our privileged status.

    I am anxious for the article of Big John Thomas, so I will hold back my comments on that.

    I spent a summer working at the grill in Ellicott and most of my time was spent with Big Weave. Like Antonio Banderas in The Thirteenth Warrior, I eventually learned to decipher his speech, and my polite nods of pretend understanding, eventually gave way to actual nods of understanding. I also spent a portion of a summer working in Ellicott cleaning the dorms. I was part of a crew of students hired for six weeks, after which they let all go but two, and since two of the students that year had seniority, and were somehow related to the boss it was no secret they stayed. That was the summer before moving into Comstock, and I lived in Dan’s house, in their guest bedroom upstairs. I paid his mom $100/m to live there, until I lost my job and I never paid her the rest. An unfortunate result I regret, but such was the conciquence of being a poor colege student.

    “Big Shirtless Ron” was a character on the Simpsons,and must be uttered as “BIG Shirtless Ron”. When Wolf and I finalyl parted ways as roommates we had a formal session of dividing up the VHS tapes we collected over the previous five years. This was mostly Seinfeld and Simpsons episodes.

    I forgot all about Dan’s stint as a cafe worker and his tales of torturing the foreign students, like he used to prank call Afra and acuse him of being a terroriest, distastefully close the 9/11.

    The good old pocket pussy. Often visitors to Princeton would ask to see it, and Wolf kept it hidden in a drawer, stil in the box, for fear of tossing it and being accussed of using it until it broke. When a new associate was brought around Dan would always rummage through Wolf’s room (if he forgot to lock it), or loudly demand Wolf produce the pockey pussy, or as Dan pronounced it “PPPPUSSSAYY!”

  2. OMG, Mike you really are bringing back supressed memories.. Norton, john thomas.. I mean come on JOHN THOMAS?? My first job in food service was working the grill with John thomas. I would take the order and hand it to him. He would ignore it. ON purpose. Till I asked him about it, repeatedly.
    I remember he was big, taller than me, and broader, but proably not thicker… Big weave could be understood, you just had to filter every third or fourth word as he tended to repeat himself, and he Lvoed to talk abuot himself in the third person. I remember helen. I remember her being a psyco. I give you full marks for working with her. John thomas had as far as i could tell three stages, Hung over, waiting to get drunk and drunk.

  3. Close! You forgot high. The first time I worked with him at Putnams we had a rough shift. I remember saying something about diving into my remaining stash of 8 beers that evening. He looked thoughtful for a second and said, “Yeah, if you open them all at once and suck them down with a straw, you might be able to get a little buzz”.

    • hi wass writing the blog its great, i dont remember many names but i never forget a face. i wish everyone had a picture, how can i upload my picture? i had a great time reading this blog. i remember the face of a manager who always made fun of my english and make me repeat silly things , i cant rememeber his name. very thin, mustache, dark hair …… i am going to ask gustavo macha. do u remeber him i am still in contact with him. i will let .him know about this page. ………

  4. That call to Afra wasn’t distasteful. It was on 9/12.

  5. Imagine my surprise when a co-worker did a google search on my name and it came up on your blog! To set the record straighter than it is, I never dated Adrianna. I wanted to. She was a stunner. She was as much my fantasy as yours, apparently. That being said, I did date a girl from South America who worked at Norton’s (Did you know this place is a computer place now?) Anyway, she was not a student manager.

    And by the way, Big Weave’s real first name was Greg, and I saw him at the main street FSA place about 6 years ago (Some 9 years removed from my last stint working in the happy funtime that was FSA.)
    He was good, still checking out the chicks, and making a mystifying moment out of the enormous question, “How does this guy score more than me?”

    By the way, I never asked about Ron’s murky past. It scares me to think of it.

    Collector’s Inn? Are you the Mike Wolf? Damn. I loved that job that you had. Basically, you read comics and talk to people about comics. That’s what I did, only you got paid.

    Good to remember.

    Thanks.

    John Improta

  6. Yes, that is the real Mike Wolf, and this the real Aaron Thies. Another blast from the past who found this blog we started. Good to hear from you. What’s going on in the world of Improta?

  7. John, welcome! One of the main reasons we started this blog was to lure out people from the past. One of those is Chris Keith who I’m sure you also remember from FSA days.

    I do remember now that it wasn’t Adrianna who you dated, but can’t remember for the life of me who it was that you did.

    So what became of you? I think the last time I saw you, I was still at Collector’s and you were working at that Italian restaurant on Delaware. I imagine you are probably doing something different now.

    As for me, I graduated, joined the Air Force, got out, got a job as a field engineer, and now the product support engineering manager. I also got married and my first, a son, was born 3 months ago. How about you?

    Collector’s was actually one of the worst jobs I ever had, and I devoted a blog entry here to the experience. The point of this blog is to capture the plethora of stories that took place during the UB years – most entries take place between ’92 and ’96. Comstock was the house some of us inhabited from ’92 to ’94 where the majority of wacky things happened.

    Good to hear from you!

  8. Can you tag this with the appropriate years (Goodyear, Comstock, Princeton) which this story spans besides year 1?

  9. It already is.

  10. Hey guys (Aaron, Mike)
    Wow, I swear, I’m sweating just thinking about working on the grill, or the line, or my cool guy job as student manager in Norton.

    What’s going on with me? Glad you asked. My wife, Maria (Aaron, you would remember her as Maria Woodruff), is pregnant with our third (We have two sons, a 6 year old named Jack, and a 3 year old named Charlie). She’s a step away from completing her dissertation.

    We’ve got three dogs.

    I finished medical school in 2001, and finished residency training in psychiatry in 2005. Now, I’m an attending physician at ECMC, in the emergency room. (We’ve got our own room, the psychiatric emergency room.)

    Seeing Chris Keith’s name pop up in this blog brought up so many memories of Norton. My favorite line being, quoting a Cheers’ show, after Norm and Cliff had been chastised about, when asked to “Give me a hand…” they had clapped. Finally, after like, the third time, Norm says to Cliff, “Why are we the only ones who find that funny?” I can’t tell you how many times Chris would come over to the cashout (I was a cashier) making comments about others there, laughing, and being the only ones who continued to laugh. When I heard that comment, it summed up what working together there was like.

    Great blog, really enjoy reading it!!

    Talk to you guys soon.

  11. The girl’s name was Giannina that I dated while in Norton. I heard that she’s living in London, England now.

  12. how do you know that i am in london. not many people know that. there were good times. i will love to visit buffalo ones time. i letf america in 1997 and i have never returned. it nice to heard that youare doing well. best regards giannina

    • An old friend of Hanif’s, from UB, brought in a student to the emergency room, and she recognized me. This was a counselor from the counseling program he used to work at. She told me of your whereabouts. John

      • whos friend is that? i dont talk to anyone from buffalo. i am curious to find out who that person could be. yes, i live in london, life has brought me everywhere. but i am planning to go back home one day, its my dream. for the moment, i am enyoing my live in london, i have many good friends close by and i really love my neighbourhood. at the begining was alittle bit difficult due to the language, besides british english being somehow different , i have forgetten a lot of it. anyway, i hope to go back to visit buffalo one day, i will love to walk around UB and its surroundings. great site and amazing memory. regards giannina

      • i am still thinking…………. its a she. it has to be someone who has contact with my family. Denisse? this is very strange. anyway, i hope u are doing well . regards

  13. […] go into this as several of the stories to come out of this place have already been told: FSA Follies, Big J.T., […]

  14. i just realized that you replied to me two years later. the worse years of my live. just to say that i was very happy when i read that you are a spychiatic, i do remmember you ve mentioned to me in a few occasions in a timid way. sososo happy for u. i do remmember maria, she is a great person, nice to heard that u are happily married with 3 children, i wish i had 3. i just have 2, alejandro 8 ( yes, like lady gaga song hahahha) and ariadna 6. i dont workt at the moment, i quit work 6 years ago but i planning to go back next year. after univ. i worked for a couple years. then, i went back to school and i did my master in speecacth and hearing, i really enjoy the work. if you could hear me speaking english you would have a laugh, spanish accent mixed with brit’s, my kid’s fault, i had to help them reading …….that’s how all started………. hahaha
    no one has mentioned my good friend laurroussi………he always used to say………….in my country……….in my country. great guy. i am still in contact with him….. best luck to all, hugs giannina

  15. Giannina,
    I’m sorry, I do not remember the woman’s name. She was older (I would guess in her 50’s) , somewhat overweight, nice disposition, who after she recognized me, I remembered her vaguely. Denise? Maybe that was her name, but I also want to say “Lucinda” as well. Denise could be right, but my memory fails me.

    So, London? That’s great. I hear it’s a beautiful place, but I’ve never been. (I’ve been to Italy, and France, but never been to England.)

    Yes, I became a psychiatrist. I left this country (also in 1997) and moved to Grenada (80 miles off the coast of Venenzuela). Studied there about 2 years, then I moved to New York city, Brooklyn, to complete my training. When I applied for residency (in your 4th year of medical school, you apply for specific area of medicine to study), I listed Buffalo, and Hartford, Burlington, Brooklyn itself, and several others as possibilities. (You have to list programs to “match”). Buffalo snatched me up (actually a government computer program “matched” me up with Buffalo) and I graduated in 2005. I signed on for the department and here I am (tonight actually) still.

    Alejandro is a great name. (I actually don’t know the Lady Gaga song you’re referring to. I’m a complete moron when it comes to popular music- so for me, Alejandro is just a terrific name. Ariadna is a good name too, I just like the way Alejandro rolls off the tongue.) I have three children now, and one on the way.

    My father and mother are alive, and well. How is your mother, and your sister, Jennifer? (The last time I spoke with her, she kept saying I was a “Fat baby!” Ugh. Don’t know if I got over that well. You had a brother, if I remember correctly, your father’s son. And your grandmother, is she still okay and healthy?

    Two of my granparents are still alive, My mother’s mother, Katie, and my father’s father, John. (Charles died in 1996, about a week before my medical school interview. Carmella died after my sons were born, but before my daughter was born.)

    My sister is married, with two children. (Two daughters, with the names, if you can believe it, “Gianna,” and “Nina.” Coincidence?!?!? Don’t know, I never asked her about it!)

    hearing Laroussi’s name, Oh wow, just remembering him I smile. To paraphrase what he said, “I miss him TOO MUCH…”

    Thanks for writing,

    John

    • hi again. i am rubbish about pop music myself but alejandro brought it up one day because everyone at school was singing it to him so we decided to watch the video on you tube. hahahha i like alejandro as well, it a very strong name. all the kids at school make a effort to pronunce it the proper way, it makes me laugh. my kids thanks god, speak both languages perfectly, i cant really tell which language its their domain. we obsviusly speak spanish at home and they seak spanish between them so its great. well you i feel very spanis myself
      my lovely grandmum is fine. she is very old now 87 i think but she is a very good shape. my dad passed away last year. it was very difficult beacuse we stop talking for more than 10 years, life and distance, myy god brought to england where he was living and we got in touch again. but it was short he died 6 months later. everyones else is fine, my sister , dont even pay attention, she is crazy and very relax. she is married, no kids and lived in orlando florida.
      have you learned any spanish while you were in granade? i happy to heard that you been in italy i bet it meant alot to you. i have travel a lot myself…too much. i feel that after 26 years abroad i ma ready to go back home hahahah. will see. i will let you know my next movement, i feel like a gypsy sometimes. yes the lady namesis lucinda, good memory. but how does she know…….many she still talk with my family, who knows. i lived alone with my 2 kids i got divorce, please dont say i am sorry because i am very happy and the kids are fine. about laurossi he still living in buffalo bettween buffalo and newyork. he is a very good friend of my. he still makes me laugh. he has 3 kids ,i d like to see him again, one day i have to go back to buffalo to visit him. well i write another dy i have to go to sleep, its very late here in London. …i forgot, its strange your nieces names ,,,,,,,,,, i hope she is doing ok. talk to u another day

  16. Happy Birthday, Giannina!

  17. not on time a week late but i hope you had a great day on your birthday…………….we are getting olddddddddddddddddd hahahahha

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