A Place Called Home

College essay: Please RnRnR i need some feedback on it

A place and experience that has had a great influence on me.....


          Plopped right on the lot across 42nd avenue in Corona is a hellhole and a sanctuary. Inside on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays through Saturday afternoons is one hell of a character. In his dirty, raggedy clothes he walks pulling along his pathetically worn out boots which should’ve been replaced with new ones about eight months ago. No this isn’t some clichéd struggling over adversity story, those aren’t his everyday clothes and he’s not poor, he’s just doing his not-so-glamorous job. A job which he has been doing for almost his entire life.

          It all started over the summers after school ended. I actually dreaded the end of the school year, because I knew what lay ahead of me from now in late June till the gates to freedom reopened in September. What began was a two and a half month lesson that told me that I should never drop out of school, and what more of a persuasive way to do it than to show me exactly what happens when you do. It began to evolve over the years though, into something totally different. The place I once hated soon turned into a place that I now realize that I love and that I will soon indefinitely miss. The main reason for that was because I had just recently discovered that two blocks south of the 7 train’s stop on 103rd Street has always been my home.

          Everyday I show up (probably a bit later than I could arrive if I were to leave school right away, but I’m in no rush) to put on my uniform and walk through 3G Service Station, a mechanic shop where we pretty much do everything on cars, vans and trucks except for dealing with the body. A typical day’s work for me is enough to warrant an entire book in and of itself. To summarize, I usually walk in at 3:30 after school or on a full day might show up as late as 1 (we open at 8, but I come with my father who’s the boss, so it’s not all my fault) and start saying good morning to everyone while making a big scene. Reluctantly, I get suited up and come back down to see that I have about five or six bills to make, the same amount of calls to make and other people and problems to deal with since everything is usually behind until I’m there. Then the random car comes in and between work we all and get yelled at by the manager a few good times and then behind his back we all bullshit, joking, dancing to salsa (except for the Uruguayan) and competing to see who gets the most tips, and the eventual winner then becomes the loser as he is forced to buy coffee for everyone. This pretty much continues until closing time, when we wash up after looking like we had just climbed out of a mineshaft, change and call it a day.

          Working with me at 3G’s is my “family,” which to say the least is quite a crew, the dirty half dozen, it’s cheesy I know, but it (unfortunately) does fit. A quick rundown from the bottom up there are the three Hispanic guys, all in the low thirty-somethings. First is Walter, a big Uruguayan chain-smoker who is thick-headed and as outrageously funny as he is cheap . Then there’s Gonzalo, the new guy from the Dominican Republic, who’s always singing, yelling and dancing. Next is Hector, the Colombian who’s become one of my best friends and a role model of mine who is also always singing, yelling and dancing (you have to understand, Corona is pretty much the refuge for all Latin and South Americans in all of Queens). Also there’s Ralph, a near middle-aged man who’s like an uncle to me. The manager who has dealt with all of my other cousins and uncles over the past twenty years ( and lucky for him I’m last the last of a breed) is a man who outside of work has a heart of gold but is the most sadistic and cynical boss you’d ever meet, only of course to be second to my father in that respect.

          Then there’s me, the prodigy. The sarcastic kid with a short fuse that works pretty well when he’s not so caught up in himself and who likes to walk around and call himself the assistant manager. In all seriousness though, I don’t think ever in my life had I been a part of something where there was such a close bond between a bunch of guys. Only on TV in the documentaries about war and the friendships made between the men in their units seems stronger. We don’t hang out or really talk to each other outside of work (since we‘re there six days a week all day anyways), but when we’re working it’s like there’s just something there. It’s just a guy bonding thing, it’s not like it’s something where we’re all standing around holding each other’s hands, but we’ve all gotten to be pretty close friends. We would all do a lot for each other.

          You might wonder why I would even bother to indulge you into the facts about my co-workers when this is supposed to be a paper on me, but I can’t explain the influence this place has had on me without showing the most important part; the men who have made this place. It is from them that I have become who I am. I also wish I could at least paint somewhat of a picture of the characters that are a part of this place, because with everything that we have happening over there, all the yelling and joking and drama, I swear, we could get a spot on primetime TV with a new reality show.

          Growing up, everybody has their place. That one point in time and that one dot on the map that they can look at in fondness and see it as what made them become who they are. To some it could’ve been the park in grade school right after classes got out, to others it could’ve been their grandparents’ house, to Jay and Silent Bob of the Clerks series it was the Quick Stop. Like the coffee house in Friends and the bar in Cheers where everybody knows your name, there is always some place where we truly feel we belong and feel wanted. For me, it obviously is this job that I’ve had for some time and its great impact on me.

          And finally, getting to the interesting part. The part where I begin to talk of how it influenced me and in what ways. A good place to start would be probably the one I enjoy the most but one that I am also a bit embarrassed at times about. That is, the whole Hispanic influence. Yes, the son of two southern Italians has grown a knack for salsa, a taste for anything with chicken and rice, and of course a craze for the lively and beautiful girls from the Caribbean and from south of the equator. It couldn’t be helped, everyone in the whole area has either just gotten their green card or is on the long waiting list, and with the radio always set to the Spanish stations and having the three guys I work with being Latin and Hispanic, it sooner or later had to make its way towards me, and I love it. However that is a bit trivial compared to what else I have gotten from the place. I learned what it was to work. Not just 9-5 with the coffee break at Starbuck’s on the 3rd floor, I mean really work. I understood the value of a dollar and most importantly I understood the lives of the men who have been doing this for decades. Not because they wanted to, not because of their passion for cars, but simply for their families. Though it seems unlikely, in this dirty and down-trodden place there is almost an air full of nobility floating through the shop.

         On a more serious note, something that is integral to having one of those places that one may call a home away from home is the memories and experiences that one will go through when there. For me, it’s been all 3G’s, almost everything for me has happened or has at least been influenced by the place. From my first time driving a car, to my first time getting paid, to getting my first motorcycle, to having sex with a girl for the first time (it wasn’t on the job) have all been connected to this place. I have learned so much from the guys that have come and gone over the years and from those that are still there. From Hector, I’ve learned so much about life. We’ve become such good friends that every time we’re free or when no one is watching we just start talking about anything and everything. About cars, girls, work, school, or he’s just teaching me to dance. He’s become a mentor for me over the past five years. From him alone I’ve learned to try to just live life and to try and not let things get me down, that everything that happens to all of us, for better or for worse, well, that‘s just life.

          From observing all of the workers while I was still young and still an apprentice (at least more than I am now), I have seen so much. I have matured through the lives of the others that I have been around. From the work experience I’ve been hardened to be able to carry my own weight and to confront things as they come and deal with them. I’ve been through the rough and unfair experiences of life and have learned how to deal with them. And the bonds I’ve made with these men, especially with Hector, Ralph and my father, have made me come to that. We are just all so close. Just picture this: on certain Saturday afternoons we have a barbeque. However, it is no ordinary barbeque, it’s a 3G barbeque. Meaning that the barbeque itself is made from an oil drum sawed in half being stood up with metal rods you use to build desks and hold up shelves, with the grill being what looks like the barred gratings from the windows of a grade school (I swear I speak the God-given truth with not even a slight exaggeration). And to light the fire we use wood from old crates and then throw on some sausages, a whole chicken or two and a few slabs of meat, crack open the drinks, blast the salsa music and eat until its dark out, with everyone in the neighborhood stopping by to come to the party. That is a picture and a feeling that will never escape me. It’s taken me years to realize it, but I have finally seen it. I am the product of 3G Service Station. I grew up there, became the person I am today within those walls. I may live at 6-51 158th street in Whitestone, but my home will always be across the street from the Corona National Shopping Center, in a little place called 3G’s, where everybody knows my name.