quick vote, I was the shop steward.
You'd think the union would be happy about this development, or at least
curious, with an energetic young organizer in their midst. I scheduled a
meeting with the union president, looking forward to commiserating
about the Imperialist Jackboot on the Necks of the Workers, and the
Struggle Against the Controllers of the Means of Production. When
finally I sat down with the president of Local 6 (yet another Italian with
a thick accent), he was oddly unenthusiastic. He looked up sleepily at me
from behind the desk of his dark office, as if I were a delivery boy
bringing him a sandwich. When I asked him if I could, as shop steward,
familiarize myself with The Contract, so that I might better serve our
members, the president fiddled with his cufflinks and said, "I seem to
have . . . temporarily . . . misplaced it." It was clear from his inflection
and posture that he didn't give a fuck whether I believed him or not.
After a few more minutes of near total silence and zero enthusiasm on
the president's part, I got the hint and skulked back to work empty-
handed.
The next day, someone from management came by and made an
unusually frank suggestion: if I wanted a long, successful and, most
important, healthy career in the restaurant business, perhaps I should
step down and let that nice Luis continue his good works as shop
steward. It would, I was assured, "be in everybody's best interest." He
didn't have to tell me twice. I made a few discreet inquiries of a few
trusted veterans and quickly resigned from my newly elected position.
Luis once again picked up the reins of power, as if he'd known all along
what would happen. I didn't raise a stink and a few weeks later left the
Rainbow Room entirely.
I'd seen On The Waterfront. And I learned fast.
THE HAPPY TIME