Keep the Change

Father's day and the Solstice all at once? The weekend was wrapped in a strong sense of melancholy. To push that back I busied myself with the side hustles.  

I'm a bit smug for NOT ordering cardboard bobbins from "Zon. There's a habit I'm working hard to break. "Time to  Reorder" is very seductive, but I have to do the real math and find local options. I needed chlorine pills for the pool and there is only one place locally and Michaels is on the way. My takeaway from the oil crisis of the 70's was never drive for just one thing. Make the trip count.

I marched in, went straight to the embroidery stuff, found the bobbins and a single skein of black and went straight to checkout. No wandering around consumerizing. That's where things got weird. 

There was a crowd of youngish people milling around the self-checkout. I made eye contact with a young woman at the front desk and said, "I'll save your job, thanks." and put my stuff on the counter. She beckoned me around to the other side and asked if I was paying in cash or using a card. 

I happened to have enough cash and slapped a fiver and a dime on the counter. She keyed the drawer open and asked if I needed a receipt and I shrugged. The purchase was 5.03 total. And me standing there looking simpleminded, expecting change. "Oh, we don't have any pennies."  I nodded and stuffed the goods in my bag.

The crowd of teens(?) around the self-checkout was getting noisy. I made a small face that she didn't seem to register. There was an older woman employee with her behind the counter who seemed preoccupied. I had the distinct feeling that I had walked into something hinky going on and that the parking lot was the place to be. I didn't ask about their supply of nickels.

I watched the front door from the far side of the parking lot and no one came out after I did for the ten minutes I dithered around out there. No police cars or helicopters descended and I decided that I had a case of Writer's Willies. Imagining shit happening when nothing is going on. 

I got the pool pills and headed back. There was a Braves game on the radio so I stopped at the park and found a patch of shade.

The Braves were sucking and the announcers knew it, so I switched over to music from my phone and opened up the file with the last scene I worked on, not expecting much.

Out of over 1400 audio files, the first thing from the speakers was Jim's message. "This is Jim. Please leave a message."  Charlies has heard it once or twice and told me he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I broke into a grin, "Gotcha Babe," and proceeded to find that the bones of the scene were strong. It needed a little descriptive hair, some quality fattening and a solid trajectory. 

Later that afternoon, the long-dead refrigerator light decided to start working. 

He died here and here he remains.