Fuck-Up

      Rafael could feel the stack slipping out of his hands in slow motion. He pushed his weight into the middle of the stack, hoping at least part of it would stay together, but no, the whole thing imploded on itself and vegetables and produce rolled everywhere.

     He turned bright red, and Santos came running. Mr. Drummel came out, but did nothing, just glared with fire burning in his eyes.

     Santos was a wonder when it came to make everything okay. But he had to listen to everything Santos said and wait for everything to come out okay. In the heat of that moment, with produce flying into traffic and everything they did seemingly creating a new and unexpected panicked attempts to put everything back together in the perfect stack it had come in, the whole thing seemed impossible. It was impossible, but Santos had faith in himself. It had to work, and so it did.

     "I'm sorry," Rafael said after the fact.

     "It's okay, man, we made the best of it."
     "No, Santos. You really saved the day."
     "I guess I did, but don't think about it. We got too much to do to think about it."
     Rafael stopped him. "No, you got to know it, man. You made it good. You made it okay."
     Santos stopped 'Thank you," he said simply.

     When Rafael thought about it, he realized he needed someone strong like Santos; he couldn't do it alone. He didn't always feel that way, but today he really did.

     But there was nothing to worry about, because Santos would always be there. Day in, day out, he was like a rock, and out of his strength the whole business was precariously perched. 

Last Shift

     Candy woke up late. That was the first thing. Then she was late to class, and late to work. She had a choice. Just say she was sorry or make a big stink out of everything and walk out, and, well, maybe it was the lack of money in her pocket or maybe it was the fact that she fought with her boyfriend the previous night or maybe she just didn't get enough sleep but she chose to do the latter.

     And so she walked out to an uncertain future. but she was absolutely sure she had made the right decision. Except for the money part. That was the part she was unsure of.

     She had some time to kill. If she went back to the apartment, she would get into a fight. The pretty constant fight, about money. Where to get it, how much they had, what they should do with it. It was never-ending. Well, it wasn't completely never-ending, because Candy had an idea to leave the situation entirely, just like she had left the situation at the restaurant.

     She had to gameplan, though. It was not something she could manage overnight.

     The time ticked slowly, waiting for her new job, at the grocery market. It seemed so impossible, this transition, waiting on money, waiting on enough money, leaving her boyfriend if she could. Impossible waiting. But she knew things could not go on as they were.

Early Morning Wake-Up Call

       The routine was fairly familiar to Josh by now. A light would flash from the woods, and it would stop, placed firmly on his belongings. A car door would open and then slam closed. Before long, an officer would be shining a flashlight in his face.

      Sometimes he'd go to the trouble of starting to dispose of his belongings by engaging a garbage truck to take them away, so Josh had to be quick about gathering everything.

      Then would begin the long walk with whatever he could carry in the dawn hours looking for somewhere he could place it all.

      But this cop was a little different. He told Josh to stop. He told Josh to give over his ID.

      "My ID?" he said. "I don't have one."
      "You don't have ID? Of any kind? Anything?"
      "Nope," Josh said.

      "Why don't you empty the contents of that bag you got."
      "Why? What for?"
      "So I can see if you're lying to me."
      And sure enough, Josh dumped the contents on the grass and out popped his expired Kansas state Driver's License.

      "This yours?"

      "It may be."

      "Wait here," he said and went back to his car.

      Josh thought about bailing, but he had a feeling that, dragging all of his stuff, there would not be much of a chance of escape.

      When the officer came back, he handed back the card.

      "There's a missing person report on you. Do you mind coming in to the station house and giving your statement?"
      "What do you mean? Am I under arrest."
      "No. But somebody looking for you. A family member, perhaps."
      "Somebody looking for me?"

      "Yeah. You want to come in out of the cold for a minute, have a chat?"
      "No."
      "Okay. Maybe there's a family member out there trying to say they're sorry, they want you to come back."
      "There's no one."
      "Why don't you find out?"
      "I just want to go, officer."
      "Go where? Where are you going to?"
      Josh shrugged.

      "Someone at home wants you back, it sounds like."

      "There's no one," Josh said in a low voice.

      The officer nodded, and walked away.

      But the truth was, when Josh thought about it, there was somebody. There was his whole family. They couldn't all still be mad at him, when he thought about it. Hell, maybe it was all in his head, after all. But he wasn't going to go into the belly of the beast, no. Too close to jail for his tastes. Best not to risk it by going into a police station at all.

 

A Wonderful Time

     Mr. D'Antoni went out on the balcony with his champagne.

     "Frederico!" he heard a voice. Anita Caldwell was waiting for him. "It's so nice to see you," she said. "What a wonderful season we are having this year!" 

     This year, Mr. D'Antoni was on the board of the Opera, and his taking the board had just so happened to coincide with a wonderful season, so perhaps their praise was unfounded, but, nonetheless, Fred was happy to take the praise. It was so nice to be wanted. Of course, for fifty thousand dollars, he supposed it was only fair.

     "It is, isn't it?"
     "Won't you join us at the vineyard this weekend?"
     "I suppose I could, Anita! I'll be in Napa starting tomorrow."
     "Oh, give me a ring, please, please, and don't be afraid to bring a guest!"
     "Guest? Who ever would I bring?"

     She smiled.
     Just then, the house lights flickered. Intermission was over.

     Mr. D'Antoni put his glass on the tray of a waiter and threw out his arm to escort Anita back to her seat.

     She smiled and squeezed his arm tightly.

     "Would you rather join me in the box?" he said.

     "That would be wonderful!" she said.

     And they walked down the short flight of stairs to the secured landing that lead to the board's box.

     Why, Anita Caldwell wouldn't be a bad friend to have, he thought to himself. Had to be practically a billionaire, and, wouldn't you know it, not a single soul in the world to share it all with now that her late husband had passed.

     He felt a burst of excitement looking at everyone introducing themselves and finding their seat. It really, felt, for it really was, that the height of San Francisco high society were gathering, and he was firmly among them!

     Oh, if this night could never end!

Closing Time

     When 7 hit, Mr. Drummel could be found upstairs, counting the money and, generally, feeling the completion of the day. Santos came up as he always did and said, "the bins are inside and the street is swept."
     And, like he always did, Mr. Drummel said. "Thank you. Have a good night."
     And just like that, Santos went away, and Mr. Drummel was alone. No one knew, but Mr. Drummel didn't immediately finish his tasks. No, he sat there at the desk, and he daydreamed about all the things he thought he'd be doing with the stage of life he was now in. The places he'd be seeing. The beaches he'd be on. And no, he wasn't close to abandoning it all for those distant environs, but he had to move away in his mind from his place of business in the moment when he could. In the moments before his wife would be expecting him.

     It was the necessary therapy to repair his feeling of being hostage to his circumstances, because it was a 12 hour a day seven day a week job he had crafted for himself, and, quite frankly, he was an old man now, the age at which people sit alone in their garages whittling wood with a baseball game on.

     But, a little bit of daydreaming went a long way to feeling better, to feeling like he could wake up again at 5:30 in the morning and do it all over again. Of course, his wife was always amenable to opening up without him, but the day was always too fast for him when he waited to show up, though his body would sometimes not comply with his wishes for it and he would be left with no choice.

     He thought about his son, and whether his son would take his place when he got older, and it seemed unlikely. He wanted to go to Arizona in the fall, and Anders had a feeling his son would not be back soon. In the summers, sure, but then he'd expect to get a job in an office, and go on and do great things.

     Santos, yes, Santos could take it over, but if Santos were working 12 hours a day seven days a week, he couldn't really pay him. He'd have to be a part owner, and just do all that work basically for free. He didn't think Santos really would. Anders didn't really think he should himself. What kind of life was that?

     So, he thought to himself, he ought to sell. Ought to sell to someone at the age where he had begun, ready to invest young energy into the place and make it beautiful again. But when he thought of selling his business, he thought, what was it worth? A hundred thousand, at least. But a million dollars? No one would pay it. Half a million? If he was lucky. Assuming 30 more years of life, that was just $17,000 a year. That was enough to eat and pay the bills, but not anything more.

     And what about Damien's college? His graduation? When he wanted to start a family? When he had a child? Or several children? Their education? Their families? Would he be a pauper, after all that hard work?

     There was nothing to do with it, except work it. To keep working it until the wheels fell completely off, and hope that somehow, still, things worked out.

     And that's just how he'd have to live.

     

Me Time

     Damien waited a minute after his father left to slide into the computer chair. He had a game waiting for him and he resumed it.

     A nice afternoon of computer play, he thought. Nothing much to do except homework. And he had plenty of time to do that. Plenty of time to not do it, more like, he thought, and laughed to himself.

     The only better than playing computer games, he thought, was getting paid to play computer games. Assuming dad didn't walk in and have something for him to do, of course.

     Just then, he heard his father walking up the stairs and a woman's voice trailing his.

     Damien clicked close the game and broke open his backpack.

     "Do you want to make some space?" Mr. Drummel said.

     "No problem, dad."

     "This is Candy. She wants to be a cashier here, in the afternoons."
     "You don't want her to meet mom?"
     "Well of course I want her to, but we can try anybody."
     "So," Mr. Drummel said. "You are working, aren't you?"
     "Yes. I'm a host at a restaurant."
     "Have you had any other jobs?"
     "Yeah, a ton of them."
     Mr. Drummel's eyebrows went up like a cartoon, but he said nothing. "Anything you think makes you qualified for this job?"
     "I can do anything, Mr. Drummel. I'm pretty good with customers and I work really hard. I think I can pick it up pretty quickly."
     Mr. Drummel nodded.

     "Well, can you work this afternoon, see how it goes?"
     "Without a doubt," Candy said. "When should I start?"
     "Well, Stacy comes in in just a minute. I can have you work with her. She works until 7:30."

     "Cool."
     "You should fill out an application, though, if you don't mind."

     "Yeah, no problem."
     Mr. Drummel took out a standard application from the file cabinet and gave her a clipboard and a pen, which he ran against a random piece of paper on his desk to make sure it worked.

     "You want to get her a fresh time card?" Mr. Drummel asked his son.

     Damien nodded, and got one from the cabinet under the time clock.

     "Thank you, Damien."
     Mr. Drummel, rather fastidiously, made out the time card, and when Candy had finished the application, he showed her how to punch in, and how she would punch out, as well. Like clockwork, Stacey came up the stairs and put her bag on the hooks by the stairs, and unwrapped her scarf.

     "Hey, Mr. Drummel."

     "Hey, Stacy. So this is Candy. We're going to try her out today. She's going to be with you, learning from you."
     "Cool. Should I stay up here?"
     "No, that's okay. We'll meet you down there in just a second."
     "Okay," she said, smiling her Cheshire cat grin. She punched in and then ran down the stairs."

     "Stacy's great. You're going to like her."
     "I think so," Candy said.

     Damien really didn't like Stacy. She talked down to him all the time. So, he had to say, he liked Candy better already. In fact, there was something about her he really liked. And he thought he saw her looking at him as well.

     But it would probably not be so wise to pursue it just yet. He didn't want to cause any trouble until she had gotten her feet wet.

     Mr. Drummel got up and went down the stairs to pass Candy off to Stacy.

     "Nice to meet you," Candy said, and her eyes sparkled.

     "Nice to meet you, too," Damien said.

     The desk was now free, but he didn't really feel the call. He was in a daze a little bit, thinking that there was some connection between them. Wonder what she'd do, he thought. He had a feeling, everything.

     

An Uncomfortable Pause

     Every day at 2 PM, Santos had to stop what he was doing and get off the clock for two hours. He started just before 8, but had to stay until almost 7. Mr. Drummel had come to him some years ago, after another guy had quit, and told him he either needed to hire somebody or else do that. Since Santos knew if he hired someone else, his hours would get cut, he had agreed to this schedule with an uncomfortable pause. It had allowed for him to go home in previous times, even take a short nap if he was careful about waking again, but two hours was not enough time to get to his house in Antioch and back.

     So instead he spent some minutes outside, then some minutes walking around, then some minutes in his car, then some minutes standing outside, and then a good amount of time inside the store's back area, waiting to clock back in.

     Every time he did this, he got a little more agitated with it. He just wanted to work, to get through the day, be done with his day, and leave. The only good thing about it, was it allowed him to chat with his son for a few minutes before he started at 3, but his son, aggravatingly, had chosen these days to show up just on time or even a few minutes late.

     He offered to pick his son up, but he stubbornly refused. He told his dad, no big deal if I get fired. Big deal if you get fired.

     The truth was, Esteban wanted a little bit of time to himself before he went to work, and he rode the bus with a cute girl he liked who happened to live in the Richmond District.

     So, Santos would spend the last minutes of his "break" watching the clock, thinking he should call his son or else get in the car and try to find him to pick him up, when he realized there was no need. His son would stroll in just at that most fevered time, and say, with no self-awareness, "hey dad."

     Today was a little different, though, because Esteban was still not here, and it was 3:11. Mr. Drummel came upstairs, to see if Esteban had arrived. Santos threw up his hands. "Should I give him a call?"
     "That's okay, I will," Mr. Drummel said. "It's his job not yours."
     Just then, Damien came up, too, as he had obviously just been picked up by his dad. "That kid is always pushing it," he heard the kid say as he came up the stairs.

     A fire burned in Santos' eyes, but he turned away at the last second to avoid a staring contest with the boy.

     Just then, a sharp snap and Esteban came up the stairs. "There you are," Mr. Drummel said.

     "Sorry I'm say, Mr. Drummel. Just barely missed the bus."
     "You should let your father pick you up."

     "I think you're right, Mr. Drummel. I'm sorry."
     "You want to touch up the bananas, first, and work on cold beverages?"
     "No problem, Mr. Drummel. I got you."
     He threw on an apron and ran downstairs. Meanwhile, Damien picked a nice comfortable spot on the couch behind the desk and lay back.

     "He's a good kid," Mr. Drummel said. "But he needs to show up on time."
     Santos nodded, but said nothing.

     Forty minutes to go.