Montauk Pioneer - July 4, 2008

It's the 4th of July and the road is well paved for a whole lot of hot weather and smoldering sunsets, truly an exciting time. One of the best things about this time, for me at least, is the sudden influx of foreign culture. Over the past few weeks, the Long Island Railroad has been rife with European youth bound for Montauk-- for the Anne Briar Cottages, the Tipperary Inn and the restaurants, to assist our summer economy and to party hard. As usual, the Irish have arrived in full force. I dropped in at the Bake Shoppe the other day for a croissant and lo and behold, there was the milky skin, the perky attentiveness, flowing curls and the precious, "Are ye bein helped?"

My croissant was on the upper rack, and from her tippiest toes she seized it in a piece of crinkly paper and delivered it to me proudly over the pastry cases. "Will that be it?" she delicately inquired. "It will. Thank you." I'd already started pulling apart the buttery exoskeleton, eviscerating its silky insides, when she switched gears and belted-out: "Next!" There was a speedy passage of cash and change and then I shuffled out into the glowing wash of morning sun.

Ah yes, 'tis the season of accents and a severe shortage of Natural Ice beer and Magner's Cider. It takes me back two years, to my glory days working at Montauk Beer and Soda, where I would assist my humble ancestors with such inquiries as to the palatability of Mountain Dew, or whether or not the brilliant tone of Tang is consistent with taste.

One time, I arranged to deliver eight cases of Natural Ice to a shanty by Navy Road. Our policy was a ten case minimum purchase for deliveries, but we assumed that these guys would be good customers (and we were right).When I arrived at the address, it was pouring rain and through the gloom I could just discern five murky-white, shirtless bodies waiting expectantly under the eave of the roof, shivering. I jumped out and hobbled to the rear of the van. The guys took a cue and hurried out to assist me. We stacked the cases in Mayan temple formation on the front porch and took a minute to shake off and curse the sky. I made a dumb crack about how it looked like the weather followed them from Ireland - which did not fruit the response I was hoping for - one of them offered a humorous snort, but the others just watched the rain drool off the eaves with contempt. I told them that I had to be going and after a barrage of goodhearted slaps to the hands and back, I pranced out into the rain and threw myself into the front seat of the van. That was one of many fond memories from Beer and Soda.

Because life is a constant learning process, I like to listen to our foreign visitors critique the American culture and explain their own cultural norms and peculiarities. I just started working with a guy named Aleksander from Serbia who was stunned by the amount of wildlife in Montauk. He said he never sees a rabbit in Serbia, or a deer, unless you go to a zoo. I took the opportunity to gorge him with tales of Montauk deer, saying how they're so prevalent that they practically go out to bars. I was appalled when he told me that no one wears seatbelts in his country. I almost went through the roof preaching the importance of the seat belt; praising its practicality, its godlike restraint, and its lifesaving tendencies. He looked puzzled. I rallied on about buckling-up and click-it-or-ticket...... But he was just plain bored. Obviously, I pressed him for Serbian swear words, of which I learned there are many. With only a few translation struggles, he was able to convey to me that there are so many swear words in Serbia that you could curse someone, without repetition, for over a half-hour. I was blown away. Between pulls from a hand-rolled cigarette, he gazed at the burning end and told me that you can smoke anywhere in Serbia. You can light-up in the grocery store, in the office, hospital, public toilet. I explained to him that you can't do that in America but he knew that already; he learned when he arrived at JFK and was scolded for blowing smoke rings in the Air Train.

I have some friends from Poland who will be returning to Montauk for the third year and I'm always learning some invaluable bit of inside information from them. I know there will be plenty of time to pick their brains after a few slices of Primavera pizza with ketchup- a Polish preference- or a platter of banquet crackers smeared with canned mackerel in tomato sauce (strictly an after-party indulgence). While circulating a large jar of pickles, a small financial wondering just might slip; the topic of my reimbursement for a $400 housing payment I laid out for them back in April. And I won't hold my breath, because those kinds of questions usually lead to an abrupt cigarette break and scattering of peoples.