The Two Blowhards

Every morning at exactly six o’clock Alex, the milkman, knocked on our door with fresh milk from the farm.

Alex had a motor-powered bicycle and a special rack for two large milk jugs on the back. Each jug cover was a pitcher for measuring and pouring the milk.

Every day Alex would ask my mom  “How much milk would you like today, Mrs. Cohen?” and before she could answer he was mussing up  my hair and asking  “What is your name, young man?”

It didn’t matter how many times I answered, he always asked exactly the same question, without even glancing at me.  I grew to dislike Alex, not just because of his hands, which smelled of sour milk and the burnt motor oil, but because he never remembered my name.

After this morning routine Alex would put his foot on the “milkman’s stool” next to our door, tilt the jug over his leg, measure the milk and pour it into my mom’s pot.

Alex the milkman lived just two blocks away from us. After he finished his round, he would park his bike on the street, take off his delivery outfit, and, wearing only his boxer shorts, would stand on his second floor balcony, in front of a large mirror, and smear foam all over his face. Then he would slowly begin to shave. I witnessed this ritual every morning on my way to preschool, as I walked past his bicycle parked in the street.

A polished brass horn was proudly affixed to the handlebars of the milkman’s old Sachs bike, to warn passers-by of his imminent approach. The horn was not really necessary, since the loud motor noise and the stench of the sour milk were enough to wake up the dead, but nevertheless Alex used to proudly squeeze the bulb of the horn, to announce his arrival. The horn made a terrible AAAAHUGAAAH sound.

I was a young imp. I decided that I had to try the horn. I knew it would annoy Alex but I didn’t care, since I didn’t care for him or his smell.

So one day, as Alex the milkman was getting ready for his shaving routine, I slowly approached the bike.  When I reached it, I squeezed the rubber bulb as strong as I could. Then again. The horn screeched AAAAHUAAAAH, AAAAHUAAAAH, and so did Alex: “Delinquent! Punk! Street-boy! Here I come to catch you!” he yelled, and started running down the stairs, wearing only his boxers and noisy clogs.

Half way down the stairs, Alex the milkman suddenly realized he was in his boxers, so just like a cartoon character on my favorite Disney movie, he froze, turned around and run back upstairs.

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, and in just a few seconds was safely far away surrounded by all of the other children in the preschool yard. Luckily, Alex the milkman, despite the countless times he had asked me my name, did not recognize me at all.

The following day, on my way to preschool, again I saw Alex, on his balcony, shaving as usual, his bike parked on the very same spot. Carefully, I approached the bike, only to discover that Alex had removed the rubber bulb from the horn. Instinctively, I put my lips to the bare brass whistle, and blew the horn as hard as my lungs could blow AAAAAAAAAAAAHUUUUUGAAAAAH AAAAAAAAAHUUUUUGAAAAAH.

The next day was almost the same. Alex was shaving, his bike was parked on the street, and the bulb of the horn was still absent. Just as I had done the day before I again I sneaked up to the bike, put my mouth to the horn and blew into, but instead of the loud Aaaaarghhh sound I got the surprise of my life! Alex the milkman had squashed some hot chili pepper onto the brass horn and as a consequence my lips were on fire!

I immediately forgot all about honking the horn, and ran with my mouth wide open, shocked and breathless, all the way to the preschool.. Running and crying with your sore mouth wide open is not easy, just in case you decide to try it sometime. On arrival at my preschool I began shouting. Everybody was in shock, wondering what could have happened to me. No-one could calm me down, not even my favorite homeroom teacher.  I cried so much I couldn’t stop, not so much because of the hot chili pepper, but mainly because I was tricked by Alex the milkman, who for the first time had got the better of me.