Deftly, economically, he plucks a tomato from the bin and positions is precisely, stem side down, in the chute just as his driving hand propels it through the slicing blades
His guiding hand plucks the slices from the far end and in the same deft motion his guiding hand’s thumb flicks the top slice into the salsa cambro
And the rest of the tomato fills a gap in the half-full heatsealable bag
The crowd cheers with gusto
But the judges hold up disappointing numbers
They noticed the bottom slice with its tiny but stigmatizing dot had gone into the bag too
The crowd makes a sympathetic noise
Between the ears
Wherein the Tomatoman’s Olympic exploits are imagined
And crowd and arena alike fade
As the commissary prep cook
Fishes the bottom slice
Out of the bag
The author gratefully acknowledges James Thurber and his “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.”
November 2015 I answered an ad calling for restaurant workers at the airport; got a Cashier/Host gig at Matt’s Big breakfast in Terminal 4 right by Gate B5 at Phoenix Sky Harbor Int’l Airport; gave two weeks’ notice in September of 2022; had some glorious semi retirement adventures; reapplied for work with parent company SSP America after doing a three-week prep cook training course; was hired as a prep cook for the SSP Commissary in May of 2023; was tapped for tomato-slicing duty by Chef Adam that November. My main job since then has been running thousands of tomatoes through a manual hand-slicer with multiple parallel blades. Over two-plus years I have gotten to be good at it. It is not rocket science, but it does involve some choreography, especially when I start running out of tomatoes.
My good-humored co-workers call me “Mr. Tomato” or “Tomatoman” on occasion. That is fine with me. I strive to be the best Tomatoman I possibly can be. And to the other Tomatofolks out there, amateur or professional, I salute you. May your tomatoes ever be firm yet not underripe!!
When I was growing up our family library included books of fairy tales, and one of my favorites was The Wonder Clock by Howard Pyle. And my favorite of the twenty-four stories in that book was “How Boots Befooled the King.” The book is in the public domain now, and I urge interested parties to find it via Google Books or Project Gutenberg. It is lavishly illustrated in glorious detail by the author.
“How Boots Befooled the King” came to mind because tomorrow is April Fool’s Day, a day for practical jokes and pretense. It was once my favorite holiday. The challenge of coming up with believable fakery delighted me.
One memorable April Fool’s Day in the late 20th Century I called my mother and crestfallenly asked her if it would be OK if I stayed in her guest house a few days–domestic trouble at home; looks like a divorce is in the cards. She bought it hook, line and sinker, and was furious when I “April Fool!!”ed her, but also enormously relieved that it was a joke. (Alas, in 2004 or thereabouts it started to become obvious that the marriage wasn’t working out. We were growing apart. Eventually we agreed to stay together until our daughter had finished her education. The divorce was finalized on December 19, 2011.)
One prank I pulled right before an April Fool’s Day 5K footrace called the “Fools 5K” in the early 90s, which I and my running pal George had signed up for, happened just before the airhorn sounded to start the race. I looked George in the eye and said, “Hey, George, some advice. Whatever you do during this race…try your best not to think of the Jetson’s theme song.” Poor George was doomed to run every step of the three-miles-plus with the obnoxious “Meet George Jetson…” theme song looping in his head. In my defense, at least it was only a 5K and not a marathon. And I bought lunch after, to make up for my mischief.
My Sweetheart Donna had a younger brother, Scott, who was born on April Fool’s Day. “I teased him mercilessly on his birthday,” she says, calling him an April Fool and “Scott the Snot” and “Scott the Pot.” But she couldn’t fool him. “He was so much smarter than I was, or ever will be.” She loved him profoundly, and he loved her. Tragically, Donna lost Scott to the AIDS epidemic. She grieves, and always will.
I wonder if and how I will celebrate April Fool’s Day tomorrow. I feel too old and sober-sided to pull any shenanigans, especially in these harrowing times. Most likely I will do a search on “April Fool’s Day pranks” and vicariously enjoy other people’s japes. And I will definitely do a search for Norman Rockwell’s famous April Fool’s Day painting, wherein all kinds of crazy-impossible things happen, including birds flying upside down.
I hope you have an uplifting and good-foolish April Fool’s Day tomorrow, Friends. 🙂
One with Clay, Image and Text 