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A Heavy Bag

I took the bus today to get some plaster at Winroc just off Kenaston Ave. I studied a map to get there, and had to take two busses. The second bus driver was was larger and smoked.
I had to wait twenty minutes at my first transfer so I decided to get some real yoghurt, since I saw Glaunor eating it the other day, and since the grocery store was right there. I put it in my bag saving it for later.

 The bus came. Also boarded were two Christian guys who made a phone call, calling the receiver brother, explaining they'd be late.

 I got off at Lorimar and Sterling Lyon. The stop was in between two empty fields. It was cold out, and windy, and the wind blew in my face. I saw Kenaston in the distance. The map said I had a 17 minute walk. It looked like a busy road, the Sterling Lyon Parkway, was not. There wasn't a side walk on Kenaston, so I had to risk death by walking on a dirt trail by the road. I passed a self storage company, and had thoughts of storing things. Then there was Winroc.

 I walked in confident. They were having a sale on leather pouches. I phoned earlier and asked what their hours were. A guy named Frank answered and said their unofficial close was at 11:50, but officially were open to 12. He sounded like a real tool. I met Frank again when he asked me what I wanted. I told him plaster, gyproc, nervously. He looked at me strange. I have to make a model, I need some plaster.

"What", he said, and continued his strange look.

"I need a bag of plaster." 

"A bag of plaster?" he said, like he didn't know what that was, like he wasn't working in the plaster store. Finally someone else came over who knew what I was talking about, and said I needed the statutory 1, but that they were all out, and wouldn't be getting any till the end of the week. A larger man in the office at his desk confirmed this fact looking smug. I thought they were joking, my heart broke. It must be a joke, it took more than an hour to get here. But alas, it were true, so I left, trying to keep what dignity I had left, after calling Frank a bitch and throwing a leather pouch at him. I started back down the road, the wind at my back now, a date with yoghurt. 

 Then not Frank came out and called "Hey!" So I turned around, by the look of him, he wanted to punch in my face, but I didn't run, thinking all I needed was a good fight. I walked toward him and as soon as he got in hearing distance he told me he had an opened bag that had lost more than half of it's contents, which I could have. I said o.k.! 
I followed him inside, but had to stay back when he went into the warehouse with a hardhat on. I took the time to survey the merchandise, which consisted of stilts, and leather pouches, mostly, and could not help but think of freaky kangaroos. The guy came back out with the bag all wrapped up in plastic on his shoulder. He said it didn't lose nearly half it's contents, and was in fact quite full. He wondered how I was getting it home, as it weighed about 50 pounds. I told him in my back pack, but I don't think he believed it would fit. So we brought it to my bag, a hiking bag, and opened it up. I saw the yoghurt before hand, but out of embarrassment, did not take it out, telling myself the yoghurt could withstand such a force. I was wrong, and we both heard the popping sound. Hesitantly I told him it was yoghurt. He laughed awkwardly. I would go on to feel the bottom of the bag to feel for wet, but no wet came.

Then a few people came in who reminded me of Mennonites or Hutterites, and they waited while I heaved the bag on my back, then asked for Frank. I thought Frank was an asshole, and was reminded of the Italian Frank I knew from a while back who was also an asshole.
I walked the same way back, I didn't know where the bus stop was, but I made a hypotheses based on logic. I assumed it would be near where the other stop was, but on the other side of the street, and logic prevailed, unlike so many other times in the past.

I set my bag down carefully on the grass, as there wasn't a sidewalk, or anything nearby, and checked the bag for yoghurt spill. The most damage occurred when I pulled it out, but all in all, it wasn't that bad. There was still more than half in the container. The spill was also soaked up by some dirty socks I had in there, hiding from the purge I made earlier that morning, transforming the bag from a laundry hamper to a transporting device.

I ate the yoghurt with my finger, but waited till some cars went by, then ate away. I faced the wind now, and had no gloves, so my hands were cold, but I sacrificed my fingers to the cause, since the yoghurt was well worth it. I saw a lady walking near, but hoped she wouldn't wait at the stop, as then I would be too embarrassed to eat it. Luckily she kept on going. In the distance I saw the bus, and since the yoghurt had no container, I had to eat quicker, but did not finish the whole thing on time, and so set it on the ground. It was the same bus driver who dropped me off. She looked at me funny and said my bag looked a lot heavier now, and laughed. So did I.

4 comments:

dogimo said...

cool story!

John Dantzer said...

Thanks!

gone said...

"I saw the yoghurt before hand, but out of embarrassment, did not take it out, telling myself the yoghurt could withstand such a force. I was wrong, and we both heard the popping sound. Hesitantly I told him it was yoghurt. He laughed awkwardly. I would go on to feel the bottom of the bag to feel for wet, but no wet came."

I can not stop reading this. It is fucking hilarious.

John Dantzer said...

Thanks! It's a true story.