One brutally hot summer I worked a short stint as a landscaper for a no-nonsense immigrant from Bari, Italy, whose name was, I kid you not, Joe DiMaggio.Joe's idea of relaxation was a 75-hour work week in lieu of 90 hours, and 30 minutes for lunch instead of our customary 15.
One afternoon when the temperature was flirting with triple digits, we were laying roughly 100 yards of sprinkler pipe. I casually remarked to him that it was the hardest work I'd ever done. He glared at me with eyes as black as death and told me in broken English that if it was easy, he'd get his three-year-old daughter to do it.
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