You'd probably have to be either a hardcore Beatles fan or of a 'certain age' to recognize that headline as a take off of the old YELLOW SUBMARINE Beatles song.
It was 1974, I'd left college (the first time), and was scuffling to make the rent. Living in the Central part of Daytona Beach beachside, a block off of Main Street of bike week fame, with a Beach Photo Charge account that even *I* was amazed that I had gotten. A Omega D2v 4x5 enlarger in the upper bathroom of the beach house my buddy and I had rented, and a Kawasaki triple two stroke motorcycle as my only transport.
A friend had put me on to a job at a local Sandwich Shop a few miles south down the beach on the 'dry' side of what would later that year become "Jimmy Buffett's, A1A". I was a lousy employee..
Oh I'd show on time, I'd work hard enough, but I was still pretty shy and I had a (hard as it is to remember now), tough time working with the public.
A great sexy fun lady named Debby ran this tiny little sandwich shop right across from the new Holiday Inn construction site and we would get SWAMPED.
I didn't want to have to talk to the construction guys, since I was a little embarrassed about being 'in the food business' so I worked logistics.
I sliced meat, I shredded lettuce, I rang up sales, I bagged sandwiches.
The problem was with Deb having to take orders and make sandwiches it cut into her chitchat and flirting time. Her attitude was that *I* should be making sandwiches while she did "customer contact". This would have suited me fine, but there simply wasn't room behind that counter for both of us. (In actualilty it was her 'chest' but no one would believe me now so...). Anyway, she was not happy.
The owner of the place was a great guy named 'Mike'. One day he came in and took me aside and said.. '...ya know...." to wit I replied "I DO!... I should be across the street skinning knuckles!".
He gave me a considering look, stood silent long enough for it to be uncomfortable (which since he'd just fired me wasn't long), and said, "you know I'm rebuilding the old blood bank into a new shop up on Main Street?" "uh-huh", or some such young man grunt was my reply... "I'm having a lot of trouble getting inspected to get open" says Mike.
"How about you get your tools, come up there to work till we get up and running and I'll keep you on the books?" Even then I wasn't dumb enough to not know that sandwich wages weren't nail banging wages, but I let it slide..
So I went to work, in 1974, on Main Street in Daytona, hammering nails in the largest sandwich shop I'd ever seen. Since we weren't open, for lunch I'd walk down the street for a beer and a sandwich to a little family beer and wine joint nearby. One day I showed up and the owner, guy named Dennis MaGuire, is sketching out new sign designs on a yellow pad.
Having some experience in graphics he asks me what I think. "Well, I think you have it too complicated. Try some simple big black letters, maybe an old-timey font", says I
I ate my sandwich, drank my beer, went back to work and told Nancy, (pictured here) "hey they are changing the name of Kit Kat down the street to the BOOT HILL SALOON"
Nancy said "well, that'll never last" 
Dear Nancy sweet, so sexy, usually pretty smart for Canadian... who could have known.. it's three decades and more later.. the place has changed hands for literally millions of dollars, and is still there. The 'Yellow Sub' is long long gone.
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More by Doc, in the middle, holding on... Curmudgeon esq. |
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Comments: 18
I spent about two months, in total, in DB, getting ready for the show. Spent many a long day (and night) in the Boot Hill, as well as the cool HoJo's right across the street from the arena.
Cool story!
The MG took a dive, and for about 6 months saving money to overhaul the engine, we shared that bike to get to work, often having to make two trips to get us there depending on schedules.
Is that the same bike as you mention above?
even moreso..
Mine was a brand new Kowalski 400. It was a three cyl. 400 engine in the 250 street single lunger frame. It had sat in the display window of Daytona Kawasaki. so long the green metal flake had faded a bit on one side of the tank.
0-45 was about eight feet, 65 was two blocks, and it'd top right out at about 94-96... of course at THAT point you'd be seriously reconsidering your stance on religion.
Manys' the time during Bike Week (which had been going on far longer than the Boot Hill history page would have you think), I'd leave the house, shoot around the block... kinda idle up to the Main St. bridge area looking for targets, hit the stop light in front of the Boot, get laughed at by one of the bhoys on a Harley, say "bullshit on that lawnmower!" let 'em get the thing fully engaged in lumbering off the line and roar off losing even sight of them on that low bridge..
it t'were fun, mostly.
another canadian
Cool story, man. I had a job as dishwasher in the old days. My boss, Mr. Sink (allegoric but true), told me with the utmost diplomacy, "You don't need to come in tomorrow."
I said, "Oh, a day off?"
He said, "Kindof, you're FIRED!"
No nail banger option on that contract!
Cheers,
Colonel Possum
Thanks for the little slice of your early life.
Kate
tis true.. when you send a basket with a great sandwich and nice look to it out you can feel like you've helped somebody along.. but i guess I always tried to take pride in my work.