Always Watch Out for the Flying Potato Salad! #9

by Henry Winkler

  That was the exact moment I realized that I can’t smell and watch where I’m going at the same time. I didn’t notice that there was a slice of tomato that had dropped onto the floor. My feet went sliding out from under me, and the pastrami left my hands, all on its own, and decided to land on the floor.

  As I looked down at the pastrami that was supposed to be in Nick McKelty’s sandwich, I thought of all the things I could do with it. The list that popped into my head made me laugh out loud.

  CHAPTER 9

  As much as I wanted to squish the pastrami with my sneaker and then serve it to Nick, a little voice inside me said, You can’t do that at your mom’s restaurant. You don’t know my mom, but she’s a clean freak. At home, she vacuums under the couch first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Those poor dust balls never even have a chance to get to know one another under there.

  That same little voice inside didn’t stop there. It went on to say that squishing the pastrami under my feet would be a really mean thing to do. That little voice had so much to say that I decided I had better listen to it.

  I bent down and picked up the pile of pastrami and plopped it back on the wax paper. I wiped off as much of the tomato slime as I could and walked over to the sink. I turned on the water, not too hot and not too cold. Then I held the pastrami under it. To be sure I got it really clean, I added just one tiny drop of liquid soap. There were two bottles of soap there. One smelled like coconuts. The other smelled like roses. I picked the coconut one. I thought it would give the pastrami a nice fruity touch.

  Let me just say this. It’s amazing how many bubbles one little drop of soap can make. The pastrami looked like it swallowed a bubble maker. I quickly looked over my shoulder to see if Carlos was on his way back. He was! As fast as I could, I rinsed the bubbles off one more time and tossed the meat onto a paper towel to dry it.

  “Hey, Little Man,” Carlos said, looking at the paper towel. “You don’t have to dry off our pastrami. People like it when it’s juicy.”

  “Oh, then McKelty’s going to love this pile,” I said.

  Carlos made the two triple-decker sandwiches in no time. On Nick’s, he piled on my pastrami, a glob of coleslaw, and some Swiss cheese. On Mr. McKelty’s sandwich, he put roast beef, cheddar cheese, and another glob of coleslaw. Dropping two pickles on each of the plates, he said, “If you carry one, I’ll take the other. Teamwork, Little Man, that’s what it’s all about.”

  Carlos handed me the plate with Nick’s sandwich, and he took Mr. McKelty’s. As we crossed the restaurant, I glanced down at Nick’s sandwich. I thought that I saw a tiny bubble squirting out from the meat.

  Could it be? No, not possible. I rinsed that pastrami really well. At least I think I did. I hope I did. I’m sure I did. Well, pretty sure.

  “Here you go, gentlemen,” Carlos said to the McKeltys as he slid his plate onto the table. “The best-looking sandwiches in the city. From, if I do say so myself, two of the best-looking guys in the city.”

  Carlos tapped the top of his spiky hair and flashed a confident smile. Mr. McKelty let out a friendly laugh. Then he picked up his sandwich.

  “I can’t wait to dig in to this beauty,” he said.

  Nick the Tick had already dug in to his. Even though his mouth is the size of a dinosaur cave, he could only fit in two out of the three layers. One of them was the pastrami layer. I held my breath while he started to chew. All of a sudden, he wrinkled up his nose, his mouth, and then his entire face. He looked like the raisin you leave behind in your cereal bowl.

  “Ugh,” he said, spitting some pastrami into his hand. “This meat tastes like coconuts.”

  As he spoke, a thin bubble flew out of his mouth and popped in the air.

  “Coconuts?” Carlos said with a laugh. “You’ve got some imagination, kid.” Carlos turned to Mr. McKelty. “How’s the roast beef?”

  “Tastes like roast beef to me,” Mr. McKelty answered.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Carlos said.

  While they were chatting, I glanced back at Nick to see more bubbles drift out of his mouth.

  “What did you put in here, Zipperhead?” McKelty said. “This is the worst sandwich I’ve ever had.”

  He threw the sandwich down onto the table, missing the plate entirely.

  “Nick!” his father said. “That is a very rude thing to do.”

  “I agree with you,” Carlos said. “I’m riding the same train you are.”

  Nick stood up, picked up his napkin, and spit out what was in his mouth.

  “That’s what I think of your sandwich,” he said, staring at me. A little drool slid down the side of his mouth.

  “That’s it,” Mr. McKelty said. “Even if you don’t like the taste of your sandwich, this is not the way we behave in a restaurant. May we just have our bill, please? Obviously my son needs a lesson in manners before we go out to lunch again.”

  Carlos grabbed the plates and went back to the counter to prepare the bill. McKelty frowned at me, but I just gave him the old Zipzer smile.

  As I turned to walk away, I could hear his father saying, “That Hank’s a nice boy. You two should be friends. You could learn a few things from him.”

  “Yeah, like how to flunk a spelling test,” McKelty said. “He’s great at that.”

  Normally, a comment like that would hurt my feelings. But this time, it didn’t. I had the last laugh.

  CHAPTER 10

  By three o’clock that afternoon, I was so tired, all I wanted was to lie down and take a nap. I snuck over to one of the empty booths and flopped down. I was all curled up on the leather, ready to drop off into dreamland, when I felt someone shaking my shoulder.

  It was Frankie and Ashley.

  “Hey, what are you guys doing here?” I yawned.

  “My dad dropped us off so we could see how your day is going,” Frankie said. “We could even help out, if you want, and then all walk home together.”

  “Looks like you could use some help,” Ashley said. “You look pooped.”

  “I worked hard,” I said. “How about you guys?”

  “I had such a fun day,” Frankie said. “I did a magic trick for my dad’s students.”

  “Did you pull a washcloth out of the top hat?” I asked him.

  “Yes I did. But the biggest hit of the day was when I pulled a scarf out of my nose.”

  “Eww, that sounds painful,” Ashley said.

  We all cracked up.

  “My day was really fun, too,” Ashley told us. “I passed out lunch trays and apple juice to so many nice people. Mrs. Ruiz in Room 227 taught me how to make a red-and-white fairy wand out of a plastic straw. I hope she gets better soon.”

  “Me too,” I said. “Now can I go back to sleep?”

  “No you can’t,” a voice said.

  It was my mom, who had come out from the kitchen. “I really need your help, Hank,” she went on. “And I’m glad you two showed up, too. We’re going to need all the help we can get to finish the platters in time so your teachers can have a good dinner.”

  “That sounds exciting,” Ashley said.

  “I’m in,” Frankie agreed.

  “Great. Go into my office and call your parents. Tell them Papa Pete will bring you home after we drop off the food at school. Hank, let’s get you busy with the potato salad.”

  “I’m on it, Mom. Just one thing. I have no idea how to make potato salad.”

  “It’s already made,” she said. “You just have to scoop it into a big bowl and sprinkle some parsley on top.”

  “I’m on it, Mom. Oh, by the way, what’s parsley?”

  My mom sighed.

  “Come on, let’s go find Papa Pete in the back room,” she said. “He’ll explain it all to you.”

  The back room was as busy as a beehive. Everybody was working as fa
st as they could. Papa Pete was stacking the meat platters. Vlady was in charge of the cheese. Carlos was arranging different kinds of bread in a circle on the tray.

  “Papa Pete,” my mom called out. “Please show Hank how to add the finishing touches to the potato salad. Frankie and Ashley will be in to help as soon as they’re off the phone. I’ll take care of any customers out front while you guys load the minivan.”

  Papa Pete gave me an ice-cream scooper.

  “This is what we use to scoop the potato salad into the serving bowl,” he explained. “Make sure the bowl is nice and full, then sprinkle some chopped parsley on top. That’s the green stuff in this baggie.”

  I looked at the baggie and saw little bunches of a leafy green thing. I recognized it right away.

  “Ohhhhhh, so that’s parsley,” I said. “I thought it was just called ‘the green stuff on the side of the plate that no one eats.’”

  Papa Pete burst out laughing and gave me a big hug.

  “That’s my Hankie,” he said. “You always see things your own way!”

  Frankie and Ashley hurried in and got busy. Ashley put the pickles around the meat platter. She loves to do art projects, so she arranged the pickles to look like the meat was wearing a skirt.

  Frankie was put in charge of squirting mustard and ketchup from big bottles into smaller serving bowls. Every time he squirted one of the bottles, it made a farting sound. And every time it did that, we burst out laughing.

  “Hey, people,” Carlos said. “One day you’ll learn that laughing at fart sounds is definitely uncool.”

  “But it’s so funny,” we told him.

  “Maybe when you’re nine,” he said. “But you better grow out of that, or you’re going to have trouble getting a date on Saturday nights.”

  We just looked at one another and wondered what he was talking about. Who wants a date on Saturday night? It’s much more fun to build a pillow fort on the couch and watch a monster movie.

  Papa Pete said it was time to load the minivan.

  “We have to move fast, folks,” he said. “We have just enough time to get to PS 87.”

  Everyone grabbed their tray or bowl, and raced into the alley where the minivan was parked. We handed each plate of food to Papa Pete, who slid them onto the shelves in the back of the van. Moving quickly, he pulled a bright red bungee cord across each shelf so the food would stay right where he put it.

  “Who’s coming with me to deliver this?” Papa Pete called out.

  “We are!” I cried.

  I looked over at Frankie and Ashley, and they nodded their heads as fast as they could.

  We all piled in the back seat and had our safety belts on in no time. Carlos jumped into the passenger side. Papa Pete looked at his watch as he climbed in behind the wheel.

  “It’s going to be tight,” he said.

  “I’m counting on you to get us there in time,” Carlos said. “And to get us out of there, too. I have a hot date.”

  “I’ll try my best,” said Papa Pete.

  We pulled out of the alley onto 77th Street and turned onto Broadway with no problem—until we reached a huge cement mixer that was stopped in the middle of the street. It was totally blocking us. Papa Pete leaned out of the window to see what was going on.

  “I think that truck is trying to turn around,” he said, “but he doesn’t have room to back up.”

  “Can we take another street?” I asked.

  Papa Pete turned and looked out the back window. There were cars lined up behind us as far as you could see.

  “We’re boxed in,” Papa Pete said. “There’s nothing we can do but wait.”

  Frankie looked at his watch.

  “Not to stress you out or anything, Papa Pete, but we’re now officially late,” he said.

  “Maybe this isn’t the time to point that out, dude,” Carlos whispered to him.

  “This could take forever,” Papa Pete muttered.

  “I hope the teachers don’t leave,” I said.

  “Shhh,” Ashley said to me. “You’re not helping.”

  That monster truck was not going anywhere soon. There we were, like Santa Claus on Christmas with a sleigh full of goodies, and we were stuck at the North Pole.

  CHAPTER 11

  If you’ve never been in a traffic jam in New York City, let me tell you this: It’s really loud. Everybody honks their horn at the same time, hoping that the car in front of them will move. But it never does, because it has no place to go, either. We spent fifteen minutes listening to everyone honking at the cement mixer.

  Papa Pete doesn’t believe in honking, but he does believe in shouting. He stuck half his body out the window, trying to explain our situation.

  “Hey, buddy,” he called out to the driver. “I’ve got hungry teachers waiting. You’ve got to get a move on.”

  “I’m trying, Pops,” the driver said. “Just got to back this buggy up a few more inches so I can make the turn. Oh, and say hi to the teachers for me. My wife is a teacher.”

  By the time we got to PS 87, it was seventeen minutes after four o’clock. I knew that from reading the digital clock on the dashboard in Papa Pete’s van. I still can’t read a regular clock very well. If you ask me, the little hand isn’t so little, and the big hand isn’t so big. In other words, they both look the same to me.

  The Teacher Appreciation Dinner was in the multipurpose room. It’s a really good thing it’s on the first floor so we didn’t have to go up any steps. We were all carrying a lot of stuff. My job was to carry the bowl of potato salad. Ashley had the coleslaw, and Frankie got the easy job of taking the ketchup and mustard bowls. Papa Pete carried the meat platter and Carlos took the cheese platter.

  “You lead the way, Hankie,” Papa Pete said. “We’re right behind you.”

  We passed Principal Love’s office, the nurse’s office, and the bulletin board with the kindergarten class’s self-portraits. They all looked like they had arms growing out of their ears. I wanted to laugh, but I stopped myself because I didn’t want to take any chances on dropping the potato salad.

  When we got to the end of the hall, I saw that the doors to the multipurpose room were open. There were lots of teachers inside, sitting on both sides of a long table. They were drinking fruit punch. At one end of the table there were plates all stacked up, looking empty and lonely. As usual, Principal Love was talking, probably giving one of his long, long speeches. I noticed a few of the teachers were yawning, which is what I always do when he talks.

  “Dinner has arrived,” Papa Pete shouted out. “We’re here to tickle your taste buds.”

  “Well, bring it in, folks,” Principal Love said. “As I always say, put good food and an empty plate together and you get a plateful of good food.”

  No one ever understands what Principal Love says or why he says it, but the teachers were too hungry to care. When they saw us coming in with all the platters, they burst into applause. It felt great to make them so happy. I looked around the room and saw Ms. Flowers applauding the loudest. She gave me that big Ms. Flowers smile that makes you feel so good. Then she waved.

  “Hi, Hank,” she called out. “Hi, Frankie and Ashley.”

  “Hi, Ms. Flowers,” I called back.

  I should have stopped right there, but I didn’t. I took my hand off the bowl of potato salad and waved back at her.

  Hank, WHAT were you thinking?

  The bowl of potato salad slipped out of my arms. I tried to catch it in midair to keep it from falling. But that didn’t work. In fact, just the opposite happened. My hands hit it like a volleyball, and it sailed even higher into the air. We learned in our science unit that whatever goes up, must come down. And I’m here to say, that goes double for potato salad!

  CHAPTER 12

  Every bit of the potato salad—including the chopped parsley—flew out of th
e bowl like it was a jet plane. When it hit the floor, it splattered all over and made a slippery, goopy carpet. After that, everything happened very quickly. Ashley, who was following right behind me, stepped smack in the middle of the potato salad. Her bowl of coleslaw flew up in the air and landed with a splat on top of the potato salad. Behind her was Frankie. You guessed it. His ketchup and mustard added color to the potato salad mountain that was rising up on the floor. Then Carlos stepped right in the middle of the mess and slid around like he was ice skating.

  “Whoa,” I heard him shout. “I’m going down.”

  And with that, his legs flew out from under him, and he plopped down right on his butt. His pants, which were black, were suddenly yellow, red, white, and creamy. His first reaction was to reach up and touch his spiky hair.

  “Did I get any potato salad in my hair?” he asked.

  Papa Pete was right behind Carlos with the meat platter. Luckily, he didn’t fall down—but the salami did. A pile of it landed right on Carlos’s head. It looked like he was wearing a meat hat.

  “I can’t go on a date like this!” he shouted. “I look like a walking deli sandwich.”

  Carlos wasn’t the only one who was upset. I stared at the mess on the floor and realized I had just ruined the teachers’ party. Why didn’t I remember that carrying a big bowl of potato salad takes two hands? This kind of thing happens to me a lot. I’m always in the middle of trouble, and I never know how I got there.

  The teachers just stood there with their mouths hanging open. This wasn’t the kind of mess you could fix with a couple of paper towels. This was going to take a shovel.

  Principal Love was on his feet. The mole on his cheek, which looks like the Statue of Liberty without the torch, was bouncing up and down like it was on a trampoline.