I used to live in New York City. Queens, to be specific. Around 1986, I was working for a plumbing supply house in Ozone Park. I managed an auxilliary warehouse that was a few blocks away from the main office. We used to get a lot of deliveries by tractor-trailer, and the trucks sometimes had difficulty turning the corner off 101st Avenue if cars were parked down at that end of the street.
One day, a truck driver just couldn’t make the turn, so I had to find out whose car was parked right on the corner, and see if they could move it for a minute. I checked a couple stores, and finally the guy in the bakery on the corner said the car was from the place next door.
The place next door was a “Social Club” run by John Gotti. I used to see him sitting out front once in a while, with the stretch Mercedes limo parked on the street, and the rather large Italian gentlemen standing around him. It turned out that the car in question was owned by one of his “associates”.
Guess who had to knock on John Gotti’s door that day?
I have to say, I was just a little freakin’ nervous. I knocked, explained where I worked and what the dilemma was. I didn’t see the Teflon Don (whew!), but his goombahs were quite friendly about the whole thing.
“Sure, no problem! Anytime you need a favor, just ask!”
Umm, thanks fellas, but I think I’ll pass. :eek: