Chapter Seven

When Ben worked at the restaurant, he tried to start a union with his co-dishwasher, Juan. This was unsuccessful because Juan didn't speak Englsh and Ben didn't speak Spanish. Ben had to use charades to get his message across.

He pointed to Juan, then to himself. Then he held up his hands and clasped them together: the two dishwashers coming together in a union.

Juan raised his eyebrows, pointed at Ben, and made a limp wrist gesture.

"No no no!" Ben shook his head. "A Labor union."

Juan had probably gotten the wrong idea when Ben read him a poem.

Now Ben wanted Juan to come to the garden party and to bring his friends. Ben wondered how he could pantomime, "Would you like to come to a garden party with me?" without coming across gay.

When Ben walked into the restaurant, Reggie looked up from his enormous meatball sandwich.

"Well, well, well," Reggie said. "Look who came crawling back."

"I'm just here to pick up my last paycheck."

"All right. I'll take you back. Everybody's entitled to one walkout."

"I have a new job. I'm a professional poet now."

It felt good to be able to say that.

Ben started towards the entrance to the kitchen and dishwashing aea, but Reggie stopped him, putting out his hand and getting meatball sauce on Ben's shirt.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to visit Juan."

"That area's for employees only."

Ben considered making a mad dash for the dishwashing area. He could outrun Reggie, but he would need some time to communicate the invitation to Juan. Plus, he didn't want to be arrested for trespassing. Poets didn't fare well in jail. So Ben said, "Can you give him a message for me?"

Reggie shook his head.

"I'm not going back there. Juan's got the hose." Reggie licked meatball sauce off his thumb.
"On second thought, go right ahead." Reggie stepped to the side.

Ben walked over, pushed open the door to the dishwashing area, and peered inside. It was quiet back there. He didn't see Juan behind the dishwashing station. Maybe Juan heard him arguing with Reggie and was now laying in ambush. Or maybe he was out in the alley, having a cigarette break.

Ben looked at the dishwashing station and felt a pang of nostalgia and regret. He had lost the purity of his desire to raise up the workingman. He had wanted to make real changes and now he was just trying to pretty it up with flowers.

Wasn't that what they gave to sick people? A get well card and flowers? Wouldn't it be better to get them health insurance or a better doctor so they wouldn't die? Why give them flowers?

As Ben was thinking this, Juan snuck up behind him with a big bucket of cold water and dumped it on Ben's head.

***

Tyrone opened his door, wearing only monogrammed blue silk pajama bottoms and smoking a cheroot. His chest hair was spiked like a porcupine. He grinned, revealing the large gap between his two front teeth.

"Ben Hugh!"

Hugh Grant was British so Tyrone had dubbed Ben with the nickname Ben Hugh.

"Hello," Ben said. "I want to invite you to a garden party."

"Dat some kinda British ting?"

"Sort of."

"Dere gonna be tea and crumpets?"

"I don't think so."

"I never had me a crumpet." Tyrone scratched his ear and puffed on his cheroot. "What is a
crumpet?"

"A pastry of some sort, I guess."

Tyrone smacked his lips.

"Always wanted to try me a crumpet."

"I'm sure it can be arranged."

"And tea."

"Sure."

"Earl Grey. Hot. Like Captain Picard. And barbecued ribs."

Ben promised Tyrone there would be tea, Earl Grey, hot, and barbecued ribs, and told Tyrone to bring his friends.

But Ben still didn't have nearly enough downtrodden people for his party, so he made an invitation, went to Kinko's, and made lots of copies.

Ben got on the bus and handed an invitation to the large, unshaven bus driver.

"What's this?" the bus driver snarled, turning the invitation around to look at it from all angles.

"We're having a party," Ben said. "You're invited."

"What is this? A frat party?"

"No. I'm not in a fraternity."

"Why not?"

"I dropped out of school."

"Why?"

"I'm a poet for the workingman."

"Get behind the yellow line."

Ben got behind the yellow line. The bus driver closed the door and started to drive.

"It's a flower party," Ben said.

"Yeah, I see why you couldn't get in a frat," the bus driver said.

Ben gave invitations to garbage men, construction workers, and even handed out invitations at the steel mill. Now plenty of people would come, but he had another problem. Since almost all of the workingmen were men, his guest list was turning into a major league sausage festival. There just weren't enough Rosie the Riveters or Gertrude the Garbage Mistresses. It was going to be a bunch of dudes, standing around, looking at flowers, with Ben reading them a poem, inspired by cactuses.

Ben went into the grocery store. All the cashiers at the checkout counters were women. Working women.

Ben waited his turn, and when he got to the front of the checkout line, he saw the hefty, middle-aged woman who was the cashier. She was a working woman and couldn't afford fancy beauty treatments like facial hair removal. The mole over her lip could have been called a beauty mark if it wasn't so large and hairy. She was just the type of person who needed to see some flowers.

"Hi." He smiled at her. "I'm Ben."

"I'm Marcy."

"I know. I see it on your nametag." He handed her an invitation. "We're having a party. I hope you'll be able to come."

Marcy looked down at the invitation and her eyes welled with tears.

"Who put you up to this?" she asked. "I guess you think it's funny to play a cruel hoax on Marcy."

"No. I'm serious."

She wiped her eyes with her checkered apron and squinted at the invitation. "A flower party?"

"Yes."

"Why would you want me at your flower party?"

"It's for people who work for a living. People who need beauty in their lives."

Marcy's face hardened and she glared at Ben.

"Do I look like I need beauty in my life?"

"Excuse me," said a short, tired-looking man in line behind Ben. "Isn't this the ten items or less line? I expect it to move faster."

"He doesn't even have any items," a shrill woman said. She had a shock of white in her hair that made her look like a skunk. "He's asking big Marcy out on a date."

"Look what you've done," Marcy hissed at Ben. "You're gonna get me in trouble."

A thin man with a wispy moustache came gliding over. He was only a few years older than Ben.

"Excuse me," he said. "I'm the manager. What's going on here?"

"That boy's asking her to a party," Skunk Lady said. "She should do that on her break, on her own personal time."

The manager looked at Marcy like she was an unruly puppy who just soiled the carpet.

"Marcy, we've been through this before, haven't we?"

Marcy cast her eyes down and her face flushed.

"Yes, Mr. Jennings."

The manager turned and looked at Ben.

"Don't I know you?"

"No," Ben said.

"Sure I do. You came in here looking for a job. You wanted to bag groceries."

The manager (Rod Jennings according to his nametag) hadn't given Ben the job. All of the grocery bagging was done by the residents of a local "Assisted Living" center for adults with severe developmental problems. Ben probably shouldn't have announced his intention to unionize them at the job interview. He probably couldn't do it anyway. Flowers couldn't make up for missing chromosomes.

"I found another job," Ben said. "I read poetry to flowers now and we're having a garden party. All of your employees are invited."

"I love a party," said the bagger, clapping his hands. He had Down Syndrome.


March 26, 2007
Eilat, Israel