Wednesdays have always been a busy day for me.
Today is Wednesday the 24th of October 2012, and I have a very boring week to look forward to.
I coax my silver 2007 Chevy Cobalt out of it’s parking space, which does its best to look like something between an abandoned gravel pit, and a shallow grave for whatever trash my landlord feels like disposing of. The newest addition, an old AC unit that I’d had the pleasure to hear dying a few nights before, took that moment to fall onto its side and smack into the rear panel of my sedan.
I put the car into park, and lean my forehead against the dashboard, closing my eyes for a moment and loosening my ponytail. I don’t have a lot of pride in my car, but it carries me across the state and through dangerous situations, so I try to take care of it. Sadly I know next to nothing about cars.
The door pops open, and I step out of my car. The slightly chilled air tugs at my hoodie as I jog around the car to observe the damage. Luckily there is no damage done to the wheel or tire, but the gouge in the side panel is ugly and definitely beyond my means to repair.
Slipping on gloves, I heave at the cooling unit, dragging it onto the sidewalk, and out of my direct path. Before my landlord or neighbors can pitch a fit, I jump back in, and slip off into the morning traffic.
Reno, NV is not a small town, certainly not when compared to the rest of Nevada’s cities, but nonetheless I have become familiar with the back roads and cracked blacktops that make up the majority of my working days.
Less pleasant still, is the radio options in the area. Due to a mix of political and religious themes that make it hard to stay calm, much less stress-free, I have made my car a zone of comfort and calm. Hanging from the rear view mirror I keep a figurine of a brown and white griffin from a fairly popular TV show by the name of My Little Pony. Sure, the name implies and is correct in that ponies make up the majority of the cast, but the lone griffin who storms off and loses one of her friends is a constant reminder that losing ones temper can cost a lot more than it can solve.
In a job where I go into people’s houses to fix their computers and TVs, it’s easy for things to become hostile, so I have to remind myself to stay calm, and collected.
Instead of listening to the radio as I drive, I tend to read. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I can have my laptop read text, good enough for a 2 hour drive to a customer location, and an easy way to keep up on My Little Pony fanfictions.
It took me a while to let myself enjoy the show, and with it the fans, as many of my friends and relatives knew only of the show from their childhood. Luckily I was able to enjoy this new version with less judgement than most of the fans, as I happen to be female. How gender can determine what entertainment is appropriate for consumption is beyond me, but I gather it has something to do with men being afraid of their boys being turned gay.
You know, because having friends and being a decent person turns people gay, apparently.
With a sigh, I pull into a customer’s driveway, and pause the program that had been reading me some crossover story that was impossible to follow.
The laptop is closed, put into my orange backpack that serves as a toolbag, and I grab a small brown box that I had picked up two days prior, before opening the car door.
The wind bites at me again, and though it is not as cold as it was an hour prior, it is just as annoying. I flip up my hood and lock the car door, before shuffling up to the door.
I notice as I knock that the paint is peeling, and around the walkway lay several piles of boxes, old bird feeders, and other random crap. This is not a good sign as to the cleanliness of the house I will be soon stepping into, but there isn’t much I can do about that.
Finally, the door opens.
“Hello, my name is Erica, I spoke with Frank on the phone yesterday about fixing his laptop?”
The woman at the door squints for a moment before nodding. “Of course, yes. He left for work, but he left it on his desk.”
She turns and takes a few steps before looking back at me. “Please, come in.”
I close the door behind me, and immediately I am hit by the stench of dead plants and mold. Sadly, it isn’t bad enough for me to claim unsafe working conditions, and I soldier on through the dank entryway.
“So, the notes on the call can be vague, why don’t you go ahead and explain what has been going on with your computer?”
My phrases are almost scripts, now. In the past six months I’ve refined out phrases that get the answers I need as quickly as possible. Most of the time they work great.
“No idea, the darned thing just stopped working. Here you go.”
I grimace as I am shown the desk. Besides being covered in papers and other objects, the laptop is sitting on top of a dirty towel that looks like it might be damp.
“Do you have a table I could work on?” I try to ask as delicately as possible, knowing that every other table I had seen on the way in was buried.
“No, I’m sorry.” The lady frowns, looking truly regretful of the meager space I’ve been provided. “But I can move some of these things.”
After a few minutes of shuffling things around, I finally get to work, opening up the computer and slipping in a new hard drive.
“So, do you have any important information on this...”
Before I can even finish, she is nodding. “Oh my yes, we definitely need to get some things off of that. All of our photos are on there.”
I rub my eyes with one hand while I nod.
“Of course... Let me just call Dell...”
An hour later, everything is as it should be. Despite a growing headache, The laptop is on the desktop, she has the little brown box with the return label and a fifty percent chance of getting her photos back, and I am walking out of the peeling blue door.
“Thank you, dear. I thought some big man in boots was going to be stomping around, but you were very pleasant. I do hope you have a good day.”
When I turn back to thank her, she is holding out a five dollar bill.
“Thank you,” I say with the first real smile of the day, shaking her hand and taking the money before heading out to my car with a bit more bounce in my step. It looks like I get lunch today.
“Oh yeah, hell yes,” I chuckle as I open the plastic bag to pull out a handful of tacos, warm and aromatic.
After consuming them, I lean back in my car seat and sigh, smiling. Not too bad of a day so far, two customers and the second one had been a settings issue, change the TV menu and fixed the problem. I love when things are simple.
Just as I am about to put the car into drive and leave, I spot a man sitting on the median of the road running past the restaurant, a sign in his hands.
“Oh, come on Erica... It’s your last dollar,” I mutter to myself, looking at the paltry change in my cup holder. My own guilt and feeling of obligation overcomes my objections, and soon I am dropping the coins and an old granola bar into his hands, smiling sadly.
“Sorry I don’t have more...”
He smiles back, his smile etched with the sun and wind.
“God bless. Thank you.”
Without another word, I leave. I don’t know his name, I don’t know his story or how he came to be holding a brown cardboard sign on McCarren Avenue, in the city of Reno, NV. We all have a story, but some of us never get to tell it.
Here is my story. If it is okay with you, I’d like to tell it. Even if I can only tell it to one person, if it brings a glimmer of light to one life, then it was all worth it.