Peter walked into the deli-mart located on the same corner where he had gotten off of the bus. To enter this particular store, one would have to push a pull handle on the door. Peter hated this; people pulling on push-bars or pushing pull handles all day with out blinking an eye.
No one ever complained. No one ever said, “Hey, why don’t you put the proper handles, ones that are congruent with traffic flow and the direction in which the door swings.” Peter knew the difference and the sheer lack of any planning combined with the blatant crappy craftsmanship got under his skin.
He quickly picked up a small plastic, blue-handled basket and proceeded directly to the dairy case. He grabbed four quarts of fat free milk and a dozen eggs.
Before letting the glass door swing back closed, he deftly drew a smiley face on the inside of the now foggy door. Peter turned, contented with the positive affirmation left behind, kind of neutralizing the bitter feeling he was still sort of harboring from having to push the pull handle and went down isle three.
Peter grabbed two jars of Gerber banana baby food as he nimbly stepped over Ahkmed who was busy restocking the bottom shelf with cans of Raid roach spray. Peter said good morning as he passed.
“Many roaches, many, many roaches. “Ahkmed said this with out looking up.
Peter walked away wondering if he should have responded to that remark. He proceeded to the front of the store and got in the short line. He pulled off his gloves and glanced at his watch, six thirty two. Today he knew he would not be late.
“Paper or plastic?”
Peter looked up to see the dark-skinned clerk staring at him from behind his counter, waiting to pack his groceries, as soon as he got an answer.
“Paper or plastic?” The clerk repeated.
Peter took a quick glance at the articles he was purchasing. His little blue-handled basket consisted of four plastic containers holding his milk, one Styrofoam egg holder, and two “unbreakable” plastic jars of strained bananas. Peter looked up and opted for the plastic. He thought that these containers would probably be around as long as the roaches. It seemed fitting. Peter paid for his food, exited the store and continued his walk east.
He walked in the middle of the street, watching the sun rise over the East River. Most of the cars around in this area at that time of the morning were usually people who worked in the powerhouse. Each step carried him further east, another step closer to his job.
He had only two blocks left, the last of which was actually the beginning of his station. The entrance to the powerhouse was all the way at the far end, just at the edge of the East River Drive.
Peter passed a couple of old-timers from the job who were going into Kim’s coffee shoppe, located on the corner of Avenue C and Fourteenth, to pick up their morning coffee. Peter gave the two old guys a friendly wave.
Tommy Macnana and Bill Kobin were two old Irish workhorses. Peter knew these two guys had been working at the powerhouse ever since they first came to this country together. Peter figured it had to be over thirty years ago. Hell, Peter wasn’t yet thirty himself.
Peter liked both of these guys on an individual basis but when the two were together, wow! It was classic Laurel and Hardy stuff, all done in a heavy Irish accent. The two old guys waved back at peter each in his own time.
As Peter walked a little further he heard Bill yell after him, “I hope you got your sleep lad, we got a bitch of a day in that boiler today.” As Bill’s words soaked in, Peter let out an audible groan.

These last two blocks are strictly property of Con Erison. On the left side of the street was the powerhouse; home to three of the city’s largest and oldest boilers. The boilers ran three turbines. One of which was almost totally responsible for generating the electricity for the New York Stock Market.
On the right side of the street is a transformer yard. The rows upon rows of transformers stood twenty-five feet above the ground. There was a constant hum of high voltage coming from this area.
Directly under the transformers are three, five million gallon oil tanks. These tanks store number-six fuel oil. This is an especially thick grade of oil and it has an extremely high burning temperature. The heavy, dark oil emit an offensive odor. Entire block from Ave. C to Ave. D along Fourteenth St. Held this foul petrolatum emanation.
Peter thought about what Bill had said. He was right. Both Peter and Bill, along with about three or four other guys had been trying to repair a worn out section of boiler tube in “Old #3”, the station’s biggest boiler and all thirteen stories of it was worn to shit. The smell of #6 oil attacked Peter’s nose bringing him out of his thoughts and back to his walk.
Peter strode up to the two large metal rolling doors of the stations main loading zone. The first of the two gates was rolled up about five feet. This was a definite breech of security and somebody was certain to get some shit because of it.
Vinnie Tee and Zoy, the two guys in charge of the receiving area, were sitting just inside of the open gate. They sat close together, backs leaned against a sixteen inch steam line that ran the length of the wall.
“What’s shakin’ kid ?” Zoy asked as he raised his blue and white paper coffee cup, giving Peter some sort of salute.
Peter turned and went inside the building. He knew that if he were seen entering from this gate he would get sent upstairs for a reprimand. Peter took off his glove and gave Zoy a firm handshake.
“How the fuck are ya Zoy ? “ Peter said as Zoy offered a sip of his piping hot coffee. “No thanks man. “You know sitting on that cold pipe is no good for your asshole Vince.” Peter said as he turned toward Vinnie Tee and put his glove back on.
Vinnie took a sip of his steaming coffee,” Fuck you Parker, what about Zoy’s asshole.”
“Roy’s been down here in receiving sittin’ on his fat ass for twenty years now. Ain’t no way the cold could get up to his asshole.” Peter laughed as he ducked back out under the door.
He was followed by a foot long piece of three-inch pipe that went skidding by his feet. He heard Vinnie Tee laughing and Zoy grumbling as he continued to the front entrance.

(All names and persons herein are fictitious.)

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