The Sanitation Man’s Special

The New York Press’ C.J. Sullivan trails the King of Mongo, a 52-year-old gin-swilling Department of Sanitation employee. Even if half of what the King says is complete trash, it’s great:

The King of Mongo is on his first coffee break. He leans against the brick wall of a Queens apartment building, sipping a cup of coffee laced with a shot of Gordon’s Gin. The alcohol helps with the early morning aches and pains that come from 25 years as a New York City garbage man.

. . .

“When you need money you pray for snow. I have gone to church and asked God for a blizzard. A big snow hits and until it is cleared all we do is snow removal. No garbage collection. At first it is like a vacation. Then the hours become endless, and mandatory. You have to do 12-hour shifts seven days a week until the snow is removed. This is a big city. The overtime is so much that at the end you almost regret asking for the snow. It is back-breaking, but then the big ass check comes—and it is all forgotten and your prayers are answered.”

. . .

“Eight million slobs is what this city got. I’ve worked everywhere and the whole place is a mess. No one thinks about their garbage. They put it out into cans and like magic it gets taken away. That’s what we are. We’re fuckin’ magicians,” the King says.

Praying for snow (apostate!) — fine. I’m not so sure how I feel about on-the-job gin swilling, but whatever. But other parts of his story seem to stretch credulity:

Mostly, though, he seems to miss the old days: “This job has changed. Can’t get away with what you used to. What surprised me when I first started was how quick I got over the stink of garbage. The first couple of days I almost threw up from the smells and then it just went away and I loved the job. Back then I was single and working the Bronx in the Hunts Point section. We would pull up to the hookers and get the Sanitation Man’s Special. You know what that is?” I tell him I don’t.

“A $5 blow job. I guess they took pity on us when traffic was slow for them. We had three men on the truck back then. They changed that after I was on the job a few years. Now it’s all two-men trucks.

“When we had three men we’d get our route done as fast as we could and we were free. I mean we couldn’t go home but we’d roam the neighborhood. The driver always got to choose the hooker and get off first. That was our rule. Back then I tried to do a lot of driving. Didn’t really care for sloppy seconds, know what I mean.” The King lowers his voice as his young partner hops into the cab of the truck.

“That kid never saw the things I did. He’s a newbie. I only work with the new guys now because I work slow and steady and the vets all want to rush though the route. I take my time and the other guys just want to do their job and go back to the garage and rest.

“Maybe for the kid it is for the better. We did some foul shit when I was a young San Man. So back to the hookers — when I was young the driver got his load off first and then the other two guys would choose who would go next. I loved when I worked with married guys who didn’t want to do it — although believe me there were enough married guys getting it too.”