Tony’s meal was vibrant
against the gray table shoved in the way back of Reading Terminal’s Rick
Nichols Room. Bright steamed broccoli complemented the fleshy salmon and
butterflied shrimp. White rice swirled in sweet and sour sauce at the bottom of
the bowl. He took a bite of the salmon, the chief reason he orders the dish.
“It’s flavorful through the whole piece,” he said, “I would say it’s a day or
two marinated.”
Little Thai Kitchen is
Tony’s regular spot at Reading Terminal. “It’s a really long line but it’s
worth it,” he said. When I walked by the neon sign, a string of people wound
around the counter, stretching back to the neighboring Salumeria. It was by far
the longest line in the Market, though I couldn’t see what was coming out of
the kitchen. “Their giveaway’s these little white containers,” Tony said,
tapping the side of his dish.
Tony’s been coming to
Reading Terminal regularly for ten or twelve years. “It’s a get-away,” he said,
“A quick ride, hop on the sub.” The Market is a place to enjoy time away from
work, to have social time. “My homie and I normally come, but he had work.”
Tony had the day off from
his job at a lighting warehouse in Northeast Philadelphia. They supply lamps,
bulbs, and fixtures for big companies. “I’m a picker; I get different orders
and send them to shipping,” he said. He likes it because it’s a “tell-yourself
job.” He knows what he’s responsible for and he gets it done. “Routine. That’s
all it is; routine everyday,” he said, shaking his head, “I like to work so it
goes fast.”
Before working in the
warehouse, Tony was a casual (a seasonal worker that might be put on full-time
if needed) for the Postal Service. “That job,” he shook his head, letting out a
high-pitched ‘Ooooo!’ “If you ain’t in shape you get torn.” He’d throw 70-80lb
sacks around the sorting warehouse all night. Hard work, but he’s practiced at
keeping his mind occupied. “I’m always thinking,” he said, pulling the tail off
a piece of shrimp squeezed between his lips. “Seriously – I’m a Scorpio.”
“Straight Tony, no Anthony,
no Antonio,” is confident and warm with a relaxed smile. He has the tendency to
ask “Me?” pointing his middle finger toward his chest before answering a
question. He wore a black Navy coat over a Nike sweatshirt, black watch cap pulled
to his ears. I asked how long he’s lived in Philly. “Me? Born and raised.”
He lives on Erie Avenue
where he’s spoiled; “You really don’t have to go anywhere for nothing.” He’ll
go to Pete and Kim’s - right across from his barbershop - for Korean. He likes Clock Bar and Black Pearl (on Erie
near Broad) for seafood. “Me? I go in there and get three crab cakes, four crab
sticks, six butterfly shrimp,” he said. In judging a crab cake, the breading is
everything; it’s gotta be thick. And he likes tartar sauce.
At work, he avoids the
vending machine and eats a packed lunch - usually soup, a chicken sandwich, or
a salad with turkey bacon. The 45 minutes he’s allotted is more than enough. “I
go light,” he said, “When I eat heavy and it’s time to go back to work I don’t
feel like working!”
He packs his
four-year-old’s lunch as well, sending her with veggie packs and apple juice in
her Princess Anna lunchbox. “I try to make it my business to get her to eat
healthy,” he said. He eats more veggies in hopes that she’ll learn to like them.
Like father like daughter, she’s Toni. “Named after me,” he said, smiling, “Or
mom… ‘cause, me? I’m named after
mom.”
!
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