All in the Family

I rattled into the South Fresno parking lot in the extensively long cargo van. Pressed against the screen leading to the cavernously empty hold, just behind the driver’s seat, I had already collected 5 lbs of specialty Italian Sausage and one bottle of super cool wine in a Exodusian trek back and forth across the wastes of the greater Fresno area to assemble a custom basket on order at the Sierra Nut House. Christmas was only three weeks away, and already the fevered pitch of the operation had crescendoed into a cacophony of insanity, resulting in me spending $50 in gas and three hours of driving time assembling a rush-order by piece meal. Logistics were not JoAnne’s forte.

Flipping open my steno pad to the page I had scrawled the address and rough map onto, I confirmed that I had arrived at the right location. Shoe-horning my square elephant into the only open small, round parking space about 25 yards from the store front, I slipped down from the driver’s seat and pocketed my keys, slapping the door locks and slamming the door in one smooth motion. As I headed towards the entrance of my destination, the now-flattening rays of the December sun lit with deceptive warmth the shop’s sign. Squinting against the glare and approaching the fairly non-descript store front, I noticed two figures standing a few paces from the door to my destination. A small, swarthy, balding man was standing next to a tall, thick, cruel looking man: Leo and Guido, respectively, I imagined.

Leo was, and had been, screaming Italian into the cell phone in his hand, only taking breaks to similarly castigate Guido. When it was the cell phone’s turn, Guido stood silently, hands clasped at his front, staring slightly up and to the left. When it was his turn, he slightly inclined his ham of a head down towards Leo and slowly nodded and occasionally muttered something unintelligible while continuing to stare at nothing in particular. My steps faltered as I entered their social range and came to a complete stop about 15 feet from the pair. Leo rolled his eyes and muttered scathing Italian into the phone. As he looked up and clasped his hand over the mouthpiece on the cell, sun glinted off the large gold medallion hanging on a bed of chest hair framed by the open collar of his black silk, short sleeve, button down shirt with a white tiger embossed on it. “What?” he spat, glaring at me as his eyebrows impossibly raised another ¾”. The word was a curse word. I kept my eyes trained on his woven leather loafers and the cuffs of his immaculately pressed white slacks.

“Is . . . um. Is, uh, I’m supposed to pick up an order from Sargento’s.’ After a beat and another 1/8” on the eyebrows, I finished, “It’s some cheese . . . I’m, uh . . . from the Nut House?”

Leo jerked his thumb towards the tinted glass door, sneering. Guido stared slightly up and to the left. The Italian diatribe continued and I hustled towards the door. Retrieving my order, I swiftly walked back through the front door and towards my van with my eyes unwaveringly fixed on the ground, Leo’s emphatic tones echoing in my nearly empty cargo hold all the way back to North Fresno.