Being Kool In The Bronx

If I am repeating a story from several years ago, I apologize, but, well, that's what happens when you turn  29 years old.OK so it is a little over 29, but I digress.

When I went to NYC in the Eighties, I went with very little cash, and within a few days, I was running short of money. I called my dad and asked him to send some out of my account via a bank money order. It arrived and I took the D Train into Manhattan to try and get it cashed at a bank. Well, you would have thought that I was Jessee James the way I was treated in those gleaming towered financial giants. Oh yes, they would cash it, but they would have to hold it for ten days to make sure it was not stolen. Boy, that attitude sure makes one feel like scum.

I declined their offer and headed back to the apartment in the Bronx. I figured that there was no chance of getting it cashed in the Bronx, the crime capital of the world at that time, but I was getting a  little desperate, and most importantly to a smoker, I was out of my Kool Kings. At that time in my life, cigs were really important to me. Of course, you can not get much more stupid than that when you were born with Asthma and had scarred lungs as an infant. But, I have never said I was a genius. Fortunately, I finally gave it up several years ago when I was in a coma.

OK, back to the Bronx. There were little corner stores all over New York, and especially in the boroughs. Remember where I was. Not only was I living in the Bronx, but I was also living in the notorious South Bronx. Just down one block from where I was living was a little store. They spoke very little English in there, but they had a passing idea of who I was because I had made some purchases in there several times. So, figuring that I had nothing to lose I took the money order and went down Gerard to the little store, and tried to explain the situation to the clerk. He politely said that he could not cash the money order, but he said that he trusted me, and to my utter amazement, took three packs of Kools out and said that I could pay for them when I got my money.

I left there utterly amazed at such an act of kindness. I knew that as soon as I got some cash, that little store would be the first place that I would go. Well, my roommate got my money order cashed at his bank several days later, and I practically ran down to the little store to pay for those Kools.
I went in, handed the clerk the money, and the look on his face was one of amazement. For just as surprised that I had been that he trusted me, he as just as surprised that I had come back to pay him. He told me that he never expected to see me again.

I will always remember that little store and that trusting clerk. Trust is a two-way street.