Your mafia connections suck. The only thing you can ever get from them is cheap ceramics. Anytime anyone in the house wants to go to a ceramic store, you step up like a big man and say, "Just tell me what you need. I know a guy." And a month or so later you'll come waltzing in with an ashtray and some coasters that cost you about forty cents less than they charge at The MudBurner. And you give up thirty percent of your income in return for that? You're a schoolteacher for God's sake. What do you need to be mobbed up for?
Today some of your mafia connections are going to show up at your house demanding that you give them your son's old room so that they can run a brothel-slash-stolen-car-repainting-garage out of it. They heard your son went off to college and you owe them for all those half-full Subway club cards they slide your way. Explain to your wife that this is the way the world works.
Happy Worst. Mafia. Ever. Day!
