Antonio

An important part of my training at Midtown Scholar has been learning to identify the regulars. When some particular someones walk in, my co-worker or co-workers will glance significantly at the new arrival and say to me, "Oh, that's Monica, she's--" usually at this point, the new arrival will have reached the bar, and my tutor will have to turn away: "Hi Monica, how are you doing today?" leaving me to ascertain this particular regular's foibles on my own.

But the other day, Liz was able to say to me "that's Antonio. He's a voodou priest. Hi Antonio, what can I get for you?"

Antonio is a short man who wears, without fail: 1) a pair of sturdy work pants that bunch up around the tops of his boots. 2) said boots. 3) a black Sikh-style turban. That day, and every time I've seen him since, he's carried an unlit cigar, which he uses to punctuate a chosen few of his already-sparse remarks.

The first time I met Antonio, he and Liz got to talking about our discount book trucks out in front of the store. "I saw this little kit out there Antonio, it made me think of you because it was a voodou kit, and they had spelled voodou the right way, with a 'u.'"

Antonio looked up from the soda fountain where he was filling his cup with ice.

"A voodou kit, you say?" he said. Liz nodded. Antonio came over to the bar and tapped his cigar against the edge of the rail. "Now Liz," he said "You know I am a deeply spiritual person, and I know you are a spiritual person as well. I think you should not be selling that thing here. That kind of thing is not good for a place." "Well," said Liz, "it's right out on the cart out front."

He paused, unsure whether to fill his soda or begin his mission. He set the empty cup on the bar and passed through the doors.

"Once," said Liz, "Antonio told me my fortune--"

But then another customer came in through the door. Later, Antonio picked up his soda cup with a shrug--the voodou box was nowhere to be found.