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In New York City in March of 1979 there was a milk strike. That’s right, a milk strike. I don’t remember what it was all about; maybe the delivery men wanted more money. Or maybe the cows wanted to unionize. All I know for sure is my Grandmother need a gallon of milk to get through the week, and I was going to be the one to find it for her.

I was laughed out of all the supermarkets and small grocery stores I ventured in to. After an hour I was a few blocks from home (in East Flatbush) and I was hungry. When I stopped in a bakery to get a few rolls (bread was basically all I ate), I noticed a sign behind the counter: ‘We Have Milk.’

I couldn’t believe it! My Grandmother was going to be overjoyed. I asked for a gallon, and the guy brought it from behind the counter, cradling it as if it were a baby. It wasn’t in the cardboard container Gram liked, but in the new plastic kind (that’s right; plastic milk containers were new). Didn’t matter that the cardboard containers were impossible to grasp, or open. That’s what she wanted, but she was gonna have to be happy with plastic this time.

When I heard how much they were charging, however, I went through the roof. The guy wanted triple the normal price!

I really went off on him. One of the rare times I ever acted up in public, but it was in defense of my Grandma (not that I was going to take money from her. But still…)!

Called him a price gouger. Told him he was keeping milk from an old lady. He tried to explain that his cost had tripled as well, but I wasn’t having it. In the end, however, I purchased the gallon and was on my way to Grandma’s house. She was going to be so happy.

I drove to Borough Park and parked on her side of the street, about 30 feet down the block. I could see her through my windshield, sitting by her bedroom window on the third (top) floor of her ancient apartment building, window shade up, smiling down at my car.

Gram was always so happy to see me.

I paused for effect, then leapt from my car, arms outstretched, as if I was on stage. I could see Gram through her window; she was laughing! Even the people sitting on their porches were having fun watching me.

I then raised the pointer finger on my right hand, asking to be patient: she hadn’t seen anything yet! Then I reached into my car, hooking my finger around the plastic handle of the milk container, and in a grand gesture swept it off the seat and into Gram’s view.

I could tell that she wasn’t just happy; she was overjoyed! I had done the impossible for her, obtaining the unobtainable! I was her hero! I lifted the container high in the air, posing like the Statue of Liberty, the container of milk my torch.

The problem with my simulation was that the Statue has always held on to her torch; when I flung my arm upwards, the milk slipped out. I realize it immediately; I first noticed the glee disappear from Gram’s face. I then attempted to catch the container, but to no avail.

It smashed to the ground and broke open, covering the sidewalk with milk.

After staring at the mess for a few seconds, I was brave enough to look up at my Grandmother’s window.

She had drawn the shade. I was done for.

After about an hour I found another store willing to sell me a half gallon of milk. Charged me even more than the first place charged me for a whole gallon, but it really didn’t matter anymore.

I climbed the two flights to my Grandmother’s apartment and found the door unlocked. I let myself in. She was waiting for me in the kitchen.

I put the milk in her fridge, then sat at the kitchen table as she made coffee for me. She taught me about coffee when I was six. Put a little milk in, plus two cubes of sugar. Then she sat down opposite me as I drank.

Finally, she looked at me and said, “What’s wrong with you?”