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Updated: May 24, 2025
And Tessie and I pack “assorteds”: four different chocolates in the bottom of each box, four still different ones in the top—about three hundred and fifty boxes on our table. We puff and labor on the top layer and Ida breezes along. “My Gawd! Look at that! Where's your cardboards?” Tessie and I look woebegone at one another. Cardboards? Cardboards?
I got me a nice one—sample though—at Macy's for twelve-fifty.” Lillian may take to her bed after supper, but while she is awake she is going to be every inch to the manner born. By the time I pack the two thousandth box of “assorteds” my soul turns in revolt. “If you give me another 'assorted' to pack,” says I to Ida, “I'll lie down here on the floor and die.” “The hell you will,” says Ida.
The half-pound boxes get finished, wax paper on top, covered, stacked, counted, put on the truck. “Lena! Start the girl here in on 'assorteds.” Pert little Lena sidles up alongside and nudges me in the ribs. “Say, got a fella?” I give Lena one look, for which Belasco should pay me a thousand dollars a night. Lena reads it out loud quick as a wink.
Go off and die!” I almost hold my own—468 boxes of “assorteds” do I pack. And again the anguishing stand in the Subway. I hate men—hate them. I just hope every one of them gets greeted by a nagging wife when he arrives home.
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