It’s a Wednesday, the second day of my second year at the fruit stand. It is also Earth Day. Last year fruit stand employees were given green t-shirts for Earth Day, this year, we aren’t getting anything it seems. I am fine with that.

Yancy just left. It was nerve-wracking as usual but most of that is built up in my head. Yancy sits on the couch doing things on his laptop. I sit at my desk, a few yards away from Yancy being busy or at least, looking busy. The two of us did have a chat and I did use the word ‘pass’ instead of ‘badge’ which threw him in a slight tizzy.

I backtracked and corrected myself after being badgered about badges and found that he does not take eye contact very well. It seemed to throw him off somewhat. I stuck with that; his unease was somewhat empowering. He’s not a bad boss as far as I can tell, but I do try to keep interactions to a minimum. And some bosses are not so bad at first (Bobby Risotto), then the abused becomes the abuser (Bob Isacco).

For some reason, I did trust him, but now it has been years since there was any connection and that was minimal due to the pandemic. Even Samantha Winter’s death could not restore any trust for him, Bathhouse Bobby. My initial encounter with Bob Isacco was 24 years ago and his power trip, now rendered impotent.

Bob did look out for me, then it all went pear-shaped. His boss, Harold would harass him and since shit rolls downhill, Bob would take his frustration and abuse me or the work that I had done. It was funny in an odd way, when Bob was leaving the Algerians behind, there was a going away dinner and I refused to go.

He was put off by this and asked me to attend. I told him I couldn’t. He had treated me so badly and it would seem hypocritical for me to attend. The dinner went on without me though my image was photoshopped in a photo taken afterward. It was tacky.

Yancy and Robert. Who else? Rafe Dais, but was he my boss? He was the guy who hired me, and I did have a modicum of respect for him. His kid, though, certainly fucked things up, and I knew I could not get between a father and his princess daughter. Shahabudeen Khan was closer by location than Rafe Dais, and he ate lots of beans and farted mere feet away from my desk while watching cricket matches on his computer. FOr some reason, he thought he was my ‘better’.

Alchemy. Richard Lloyd. Dispensary on West 18th Street. Each time I walk past the dispensary, Richard Lloyd’s song plays in my head. Brings me back to WPIX back in the day. I bought the record, and it was actually the first time I had seen Jim Mastro on an album cover.

It is officially one year that I have been assigned to the fruit stand. Instead of surety, I have a feeling of dread. Yancy makes his biweekly appearance tomorrow at my tiny fruit stand and yesterday he found a mistake that I had made on March 31, and I corrected it on April 20.

And it was a mistake that had me scratching my head, wondering how could I have messed up so badly. Today I resolved to be more aware, more cautious but even that fell under the gaze of Yancy.

Asking an employee when their guest (another employee) is due to arrive. Yancy passively aggressively mentions that the guest is an employee and should be granted access from 8 AM. If it was an error, it was made from my being cautious.

The first anniversary goes on and I am not the only one who feels the way I feel. A surprise coworker has been here longer and is tired of the way the fruit stand is run. Or at least tired of the way the job makes them feel.

I am writing this on the phone. Not dictating, just thumbing along. My paranoia has me not doing anything personal on the fruit stand computer. And forget about the fruit stand tablet. I was going to use that but decided against it because it required downloading apps that could be scrutinized by my higher ups.

It has been 10 years since Prince moved on. I remember getting ready for work and hearing news on the Today show that a body was found at Paisley Park. I immediately sprang into denial mode and headed off to work for the Algerians, thinking it was the gardener or someone. I could not fathom thinking that it might be Prince. But it was.

I suppose I was numb and in shock. David Bowie had passed away a few months earlier, and this was just as bad. I worked with Bowie; I had never worked with Prince. The closest I had gotten to Prince was one summer in the early eighties. I was doing my weekend record buying on St. Mark’s Place.

Walking past Trash & Vaudeville, I spied a limo outside and joked to myself that I was more than likely a wannabe rock star. I was in St. Mark’s Sounds buying whatever had come out that week, and upon leaving, I saw Prince with Big Chick, his bodyguard and the limo trailing behind. This was before Purple Rain and after 1999 so some people knew who he was and they were hanging out their windows shouting how much they loved him.

I scurried over to Gem Spa on the corner of St Marks and Second Ave and called Rita on the payphone. She was the only person in Manhattan that I could think of, and I only had a quarter or two. And she was a former teenybopper so she knew where I was coming from.

Alas, Prince hopped into the limo before I could say anything to him. I did see Prince live five times. The first time was an Easter matinee at the Nassau Coliseum. Then Madison Square Garden for LoveSexy. That night a 2 AM show at Roseland and I was so enthralled I had to go back to the Garden and see him again. And I scored one ticket which was all the way on top in the nose bleeds where the previous night I was a few feet above the floor.

There was no way I could tolerate being so high up so I wound my way down, walking around the arena, checking the show as I would stop and see a song before I was shooed away by the ushers. The show had two halves so during the intermission, I was outside the floor level.

Surprising to me, I ran into a friend who had floor seats. He was surprised to see me and asked where I was seated. I pointed to the ceiling and told him I was right below it. He mentioned that he could do better and went back to his seat and as his girlfriend for her ticket stub which he gave me when he returned.

Five rows away from the stage. I was persistent then.

23 years later, I get a phone call from RoDa. He asks if I want to see Prince and I explain it’s out of my price range. He says it’s free. I could not resist. It was the Welcome to America tour, Prince was in top form. It did not seem he was wearing heels. I had somehow forgotten a number of his hits and he was reminding me.

A brilliant night with the wonderful RoDa.