PRELUDE
I’ve never been a very superstitious person. I attribute that in large part to my twenty-seven years of walking around on this planet; I definitely haven’t seen it all but I’ve seen enough. I graduated college with a four year degree back in twenty sixteen- in the five years since then I feel like I’ve made decent use of my time. As much as anyone could really I guess. I make my living selling used cars at ‘Denver’s Dealing Dave’s Used Cars’ off of 38th Street and Pecos downtown. I started working there in college, even though I graduated with my degree in Business Administration, I just could never get hired anywhere. It’s probably because of my self assured demeanor- which to most people probably comes off as cocky instead of just an exudence of confidence. It’s definitely not an ideal situation for me, especially because of the thirty-eight thousand dollars of student debt that I’m still lugging around on my back but this gig is the only way that I can afford paying that four-hundred and fifty dollars a month bill. Add in my eighteen hundred dollar rent, two hundred and sixty-five dollar car payment along with insurance, phone bill, gas, groceries… it all just keeps adding up. At the end of the month, I’m spending more than I’m making that’s for sure but there’s no other way really. I apply to all kinds of jobs but seemingly no one will hire me. It’s almost as if I’m living in purgatory- my life is increasingly monotonous. A sobering fact that my wife Alondra constantly likes to remind me of. It's hard making a living on a used car salesman and a secretary’s salary- like I said, we barely scrape by and that’s even if I have a great month and sell five cars. Typically, I’ll sell about three cars a month, give or take a one or two. It’s mostly the trucks that people are snatching up the most in Colorado which is good for me since they’re one of the most expensive. Being commission based, it’s really a no brainer, but I don’t ever talk people into buying something that they can’t afford or don’t really want. I’m not some greased up sleazeball pushing out as many lemons as I can to rake in the green. I care about what people want, I always listen to them before I show them our inventory. I’m not pushy but I’m definitely not lackadaisical either- I need to make money too. I dream about being able to have enough cash to pay off Alondra and I’s student loans, cars, credit cards and be able to just uproot. We want to move to Seattle Washington to live on a modest houseboat- the way that the calm waves crack as they crest over the shore and refract back to the boat… the way that the dreary grey sky is usually gently trickling down a steady sheet of drizzling rain. The way the air smells- slightly damp with that tingy earthly gleam of dirt sun kissed by the adjoining Pacific Ocean… it’s perfect. It’s where we want to end up, it's where we hope to be but at this point, hope is all we have. It’s a distant dream from our ever presently boring reality. Today is just like every other Monday. I woke up at seven in the morning, shaved, showered in water that was entirely too cold- our apartment maintenance sucks, and drove my old Jeep Wrangler to the car lot. I’ve been at work now for a couple hours without even one customer but that’s pretty typical- Mondays are always pretty slow especially during the beginning of the month. I guess that’s just part of the game, everything has its ebb and flow I suppose. I just sit at an oddly misplaced sales desk in the middle of the expansive dusty showroom. On both sides of me are some of our newer, more expensive cars that we have to offer. The one to my left is a blue hatchback with squeaky clean black tires that reflects the light especially during sundown- which I unfortunately get to experience pretty often. The car to my right is an emboldened blazing red Camaro with a slick retractable roof that is infatuating to the eyes of prospective customers- especially the ones that can’t afford it. I am also included in that group, but that damned Camaro has been here over seven months and it’s red reflection seems to constantly dim the light of everything around it, especially all my paperwork. The car's red gleam makes every contract or finance document I sign off burn into my eyes for minutes because of the stark white and red contrast. I hate it. Almost as much as I hate our sales manager Bob, now that guy is the definition of a sleazy car salesman! He’s always draped in a blatantly cheap suit spritzed up with plastic cuff links painted to glimmer like gold seemingly hanging on for dear life to his frayed sleeves. As if his outlandish look was just an appetizer, he finishes it off with a stained red handkerchief dangling from his tired right coat pocket for the main dish, and for dessert the meal comes to a crescendo about two inches above his sweaty brow- he sports a thin palate of dyed black hair that’s combed over from left to right in a grossly failed attempt to hide his obvious male pattern baldness. That damned patch of hair must be at least eight inches long- I wonder with a macabre sense of intrigue exactly what this half head mane must look like when he gets out of the shower. It’s got to be hanging down to his left shoulder at least. I can almost hear the thin plop echo in a small unkempt bathroom as he scoops up the dark wet strands hemorrhaging a dark dye substance with his hand, adorned with cheap gaudy rings - and in one failed swoop, swipes it all to his head. The plop would sound like dropping a boiled cheese ravioli on a cold hard tiled floor, that I’m sure about. I hate this guy because he gives us all a bad name- after force selling a car down someone’s throat he will come back in and gloat about it to the rest of us as if it was some heroic war story worthy of being a parable told down from one generation to the next. He also will lie straight to people’s faces about a car’s accident history, features, and anything he can get away with really. I’ve even seen him forge finance documents before, the guy is a crook, he will do anything to make a buck. I wish that I could do or say something at least, but everyone knows. No one does anything because the guy makes the business money, and money is seemingly all anyone cares about.
After eating an uneventful lunch consisting of a turkey sandwich dressed up with yellow mustard, Swiss cheese, and lettuce hastily pushed between two stale pieces of white bread, I was ready to go home for the day. Even so- I smacked my lips together in an odd contentment that the stale bread of my sandwich added a satisfying crunch to the whole ordeal that was almost as disgusting as needed. I told myself that this was new “crunchy whole wheat” so that I felt better about it. While pondering the logistics of how that bread was not yet green in hue from mold, my thoughts were interrupted by a ding from the front door! A man in his late forties dressed in khaki Dockers with a teal polo shirt proceeded to walk into the showroom. Instantaneously, I peeled myself from my chair and sprung to my feet as I said,
“Good Afternoon Sir! I’m Walker Henderson, it’s good to meet you!”
Now beginning to saunter in my direction the man murmured,
“Walker, good to meet you…” as his eyes darted from left to right and then fixed themselves on the red Camaro.
“She’s a beauty isn’t she? She’s a one owner, only 56,000 miles on her. You like it?”
The man said, “Damn- sure is beautiful. How much for it?”
I said, “Well, Mr….?” with just enough of a pause in my voice to indicate to him to tell me his name.
“Ted, Ted Robinson.”
“Well Mr. Robinson, the sticker price is forty five- but we can look at your credit and I can find some incentives…”
Ted quickly cut me off mid spiel by interjecting, “Whoa there Walker, that’s too rich for my blood. Let’s pump the brakes kid.”
I let out a friendly chuckle as I said,
“Me too, don’t worry. So Mr. Robinson, what kind of car are you looking for today?”
Ted said,
“Please! Call me Ted, Mr. Robinson is my dad and he’s an asshole. You don’t think I’m an asshole do you- kid?
Without skipping a beat I blurted,
“No sir, not at all!”
Ted said,
“Sir? Kid I’m gonna have to whip that ass if you call me sir again. I’m not in the military.”
This guy was without a doubt an A1, first class, high flying classic asshole, a lot of people are though nowadays. I was just trying to be polite to this guy. I wanted to say, go ahead and try to “Whip this ass” instead, I laughed and said,
“Ted! Sorry about that my friend, so what can I do for you today?”
Ted said, “I’m looking for a truck, diesel.”
I said, “Of course you are Ted! You’re in luck because we have the biggest selection in Denver- do you have a preference in brand?”
Ted responded, “Yeah, diesel”.
I briefly acknowledged his stupidity with a slight head nod and said, “Follow me Ted, I’ve got a bunch to show you!”
He followed me outside to the lot where his big dumb brown eyes widened as they glazed over at the sight of line up of trucks. I turned to him and said,
“You have a preference in color?”
Ted said,
“I want me one of them red Supermaxs!”
I pointed four trucks down in the line to a red Supermax as I said,
“Like that one?”
Ted said,
“Oh yeah, just like that one.”
We walked towards the behemoth diesel guzzler together, my eyes focused on the truck’s sticker pasted on the passenger side window as I quickly internalized the facts and figures. He walked around the truck with his left arm outstretched as he ran his hand gently around the body of it, as if he were caressing a horse. Ted blurted, “How much?”
I responded, “Thirty-eight-five!”
Trying not to act sticker shocked he said, “I could do that… I could do that…”
“Only thirty-thousand miles on it, it’s a 2019- it’s actually a great price for a 2019 in this condition.” I said. He quipped back, “Can we take it on a test drive?”
I said, “Sure thing, I’ll just need your license and proof of insurance. I’ll grab a quick copy of them and then we can hit the open road and test it out!”
He begrudgingly dug into the front right pocket of his Dockers fumbling around in search for his wallet, assumingly past a key ring because I heard the familiar clacking of bronze and other cheap metals. After a few moments he produced a tattered black leather wallet that was entirely too big; he took out his license and handed it to me while saying, “I got my insurance card on my phone, let me pull it up.”
We stood there for at least two minutes until he could track it down presumably in a sea of emails.
“I got it, I got it!” He yelled.
I snapped a picture of it with my phone and told him thanks before turning around to head back to the sales floor. Over my shoulder, just for reassurance to this guy I blurted,
“I’ll make a quick copy of these and be right back, SIR!”
This time I was trying to get under his skin, especially because at this point I knew that he was wasting my time. He’s just like most people that go on test drives- he wasn’t going to buy anything. I’m pretty sure he couldn’t afford a cheeseburger, let alone this overpriced truck. When I swung open the old sun faded glass door to the sales floor I was immediately confronted by Bob who had been standing inside watching me interact with Ted the whole time through the floor to ceiling windows that were in desperate need of some Windex. I tried to give him a fake smile and a nod before attempting to squeeze by him but he side stepped right in front of me blocking my path to the photocopier. The stale coffee in his mug sloshed side to side with his quick movement as it brimmed over the top and dripped effervescently onto the floor, he pretended not to feel it all over his hairy hand or even hear the splash that it made when it hit the ground as he said, “Well… no sales today yet Walker? Huh?”
“Not yet Bob, I’m working on it.” I said
He let out a bellowing laugh and exclaimed, “When I was your age, I used to have five sales a day, everyday. You’re lucky to get five sales a month, you need to work the phones and sell more aggressively- you know? Raul, Darious, or even Scott all have double your numbers.”
“I know Bob, thanks for the tip.” I said
He looked me over from head to toe and said, “You better make this damn sale Walker. I can get anyone to sell better than you can… you know that I can fire you right now if I wanted to. That would be a shame for you and the wife of yours… Ariel or whatever right?”
With my jaw clenched I murmured through my teeth, “I know Bob, I know- and her name is Alondra, you know that.”
He pompously retorted, “Whatever, it doesn’t matter, she’s married to a loser. She knows it, I know it, everyone in Denver knows it. She’s too good for you Walker- and you know it.”
I said, “Thanks, can I copy these and take this guy on a test drive now?”
He looked down at the spilled coffee on the floor and then back into my eyes, “Sure, but after you clean up this mess.”
I walked to the desk and got some paper towels to wipe up his spill- he watched me as I got them. Then he hovered over me as I proceeded to clean up the mess, without moving he unveiled an ear to ear grin on his face and said, “Get used to that Walker...”
Damn I hated this power hungry car slinging oligarch; I made copies of Ted’s license and insurance and hastily headed out of the same main doors that I came in from. Ted was impatiently waiting at the truck, as soon as I emerged he yelled out, “Took you long enough huh!?”
I said, “Sorry about that Ted.” before being close enough to him to outstretch my arm, almost as if it were an olive branch to him with his license in my hand. He lurched towards me as he angrily snatched it from my hand. Still trying to close a sale that I knew was dead, instead of slapping him in the mouth I smiled and said, “Ted, I talked to my sales manager while I was in there and I can get you free upgraded floor mats if you do decide to buy.”
He ripped open the truck door and said, “Damn right you can, that’s the least you can do for me after keeping me waiting like that.”
He had been waiting less than five minutes, again, I swallowed my pride and plastered the dealer plate on the back of the truck before getting in the passenger seat and buckling up my seatbelt.
I said, “Of course Ted- anything for you! I’m sorry about that wait- but you’re going to love the way that this truck drives. It’s smooth because of the dual rear suspension, you’re going to feel like you’re floating in a cloud!”
He begrudgingly let out a moan as he started it up and began to drive us off of the lot.
I asked, “So, are you married?” in an attempt to kindle a conversation.
Ted said, “Are you dumb? Relax with all the questions, damn! Just sit there and be quiet, if I want to know something I’ll ask! But I already know everything about trucks so there ain’t nothing you can tell me kid!”.
I sat in silence, not wanting to participate in any pointless banter with this guy. The test drive was a lot like all of the other ones I’ve done in the sense that it was awkward and a complete waste of time. After we got back to the lot, just as I had suspected, he did not buy the truck. Instead he smugly tossed the keys at me and said, “You should get a real job, loser. I’m gonna buy that same truck from the place across the street.”.
Fighting the urge to yell obscenities at this guy I watched as he got into his old sun stained yellow dilapidated truck and sped away before I bent over to pick up the truck keys that fell in front of me. I didn’t want to give that guy the satisfaction of watching me pick them up because then I really would have looked like a defenseless loser.
Not wanting to be berated by Bob, I decided to meander around the lot for the rest of my shift which at this point was only about forty-five minutes at best. I paced up and down the lines of cars with a yellow legal pad in one hand and a blue pen in the other that I would use to pretend as if I was jotting notes down about every other car I approached. No sales again today meant that I made about sixty bucks for the day from my hourly wage after Uncle Sam took his cut. For me, this day was just like every other one- which was exactly the problem. In the back of my mind I could seemingly feel the monotony of my life gnawing at me with it’s thin razor sharp claws, it was boroughing further and further into my psyche. Almost as if it was an inconvenient papercut at first, but then continued to have the scar burst open hourly in the same interdigital spot on your hand until it eventually got to the bone and continued to slowly saw through in a dull lingering pain that vibrated throughout your entire musculoskeletal structure. To say that I was tired would be a gross understatement, I was exhausted from expending all of my time and energy into something that I didn’t care about- something that had no true meaning or impact on the world. Yet I did it day in and day out- wasting my invaluable time with menial inconsequential tasks all in pursuit of the almighty dollar. My train of thought was interrupted abruptly from an unexpected vibrating in my left front pants pocket, which for a millisecond made me jump from my skin until I remembered that it was just my phone. I dived into my pocket to see who was calling, it was Alondra. I thumbed the green button radiating on the screen to accept the call and brought the phone to my ear as I said, “Hey baby! What’s up?”
“Oh nothing much really, just about to get off of work.” she said
I pulled back my phone to glance at the time, “It is about three huh? That went pretty fast; how's your day been?”
She responded, “Good good, just been directing calls and taking messages pretty much all day. What about you? Sell any cars?”
I said, “It’s been… a day… no sales, Bob is still being a d-bag and I had a customer from hell. But he wasn’t even a customer since he didn't buy a damned thing! He basically just belittled me and wasted my time for at least a good two hours. I hate this job babe, we need to get the hell out of this town.”
She consolingly retorted, “I’m sorry baby, at least you got to get out of the sales room for a bit and away from Bob- that’s always a plus. What time are you going to be home?”
I said, “Well it’s time for Bob’s afternoon poop so I’m going to clock out and leave now so that I don’t have to run into him again. So I should be home in about thirty minutes… well if traffic doesn’t suck. What time are you done?”
She said, “I’m off at three-thirty! What do you want to do for dinner tonight?”
Pausing for a moment I thought before responding, “I don’t know babe; I think I’m going to drink my dinner tonight... What sounds good to you?”
She said, “Babe! You have to eat something! Chinese food sounds good, you want that?”
I said, “Sure, that sounds good- you want me to get it on my way home?”
She quickly responded, “No babe, there's that one place we like right by work, I’ll swing by and get it on my way home - oh I’m getting another call, I have to go! I’ll see you soon- love you!”
I said, “Okay babe, love you too!” then heard the dial tone beep of the call being ended. Knowing that Bob was a man of routine I knew that I still had a solid five minutes to clock out before he would be out of the bathroom, even so though, I didn’t want to waste any time. I hastily made my way back inside and went straight to the old derelict break room - if you could even call it that. It was a ten by ten foot room with the white walls adorned with crappy motivational posters. In the right corner of the room was a soda vending machine which was notorious for stealing at least one quarter per transaction. Catty corner to that, stood a stained coffee table that might as well only have had three legs because of how damn wobbly the thing was. On the back wall was the punch clock, which was clearly from the eighties. I don’t understand why they even make us use it- especially since it’s twenty-twenty-one! I think they purposely enjoy demeaning us and think that they’re saving a few bucks by still using it. Or maybe it’s just a case of ‘This is how it's always been so this is how it will always be. It’s business as usual’. There’s nothing more dangerous in this world than that type of archaic thinking- there’s nothing more dangerous than ‘business as usual’.
After clocking out I discreetly made my way to my old beat up Jeep to make my last escape of the day. I got in the car and rested my forehead on the steering wheel in a visible manifestation of my internal defeat as I used the keys jingling in my hand to stab at the ignition. I got it on the first try with the right key simply because I’ve felt the key in my sweaty palms a million times; I’ve started this car a million times- everything at this point is sheer muscle memory. A sigh escaped my lungs as I viciously turned the key with my thumb and forefinger which instantly initiated a thick rattling of gears that brought my mechanical heap of trash to life in a series of putters and metal clanking noises. Sweating from the summer heat, I reached for the crank to manually unroll my window so that I didn’t have to gasp at the sun heated oven hot air that was locked inside surrounding me before I backed up and drove out of the lot. With the window down but still sweating I drove home in complete silence- my car’s tape deck was broken and the radio only vomited static noise at me because it had no antenna or maybe because it was 30 years old- most likely it was a combination of both. My car’s air conditioning had never worked either but at this point I was indifferent to it. What I had still not learned to be indifferent to was traffic, which is what I now found myself stuck in. Aloud to myself I murmured an observation that manifested in my mind, “I live in Hell. I LIVE IN HELL!”.
Forty-five minutes later I had finally arrived back home to my apartment; when I stepped out of my car my undershirt which was soaking wet had bled through my other shirt so that both fused to my back and stuck to my car seat too. Before closing the car’s door I stared briefly but intently at the silhouette of me that was sweat etched into the seat knowing that tomorrow my car was not going to smell like a dozen fresh roses. I walked two minutes from where I was able to find parking to my apartment's front door; without even looking at my keys I felt the one I knew was the right one and gingerly slipped it into the lock's patterned brass opening. I could feel the pins of the lock move up into the mechanism as they all aligned just enough so that the key could turn allowing the apparatus to roll and manipulate the bolt into an open position. As I opened the door I noticed that the white ocean spray scented candle in the middle of our kitchen island was not yet lit. Alondra does this everyday as soon as she gets home so I knew she wasn’t there yet. I closed the front door as I kicked off my cheap black imitation leather loafers. I also removed all of my sweaty clothes and just left them there in the entryway before grabbing a quick shower. The cold water felt so damn refreshing; after I dried off I threw on an old pair of shorts, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and settled into the couch as I cracked it open and listened to the carbonation hiss its way from the can before taking a long draw from it. The frigid beer was even better than the shower, it was exactly what I needed. I sat there staring at the stained beige tinged wall in our living room silently with the exception of the upstairs neighbors who must have been wearing brick clogs- that’s the only way that they could have been making so much damned noise up there. I also could faintly hear coughing which was an indicator that our neighbor in apartment B- Twenty-Two was home and that soon I would catch the nightly waft of his exhaled pot smoke even though all of our windows were shut. The echoes of kids screaming also bounced off of the apartment buildings and carried throughout the hallways- I guess the only true silence was in my mind and it was only a hope for silence- it wasn’t real. Half out of enjoyment and half stemming from disdain I gulped the rest of my golden colored ale and tossed the can on the floor in defiance before getting up to grab another. Just as I opened up the refrigerator Alondra appeared in the doorway as it swung open with a heavy push, holding a bag of Chinese food in her right hand and her car keys in the other. She put both on the kitchen island before lighting the white ocean spray candle, kissing me in an embraceful hug, and going about the same end of day ritual of showering. When she emerged from showering we ate dinner on the couch while we talked about our days, watched the news, drank, and watched more T.V… I love her, I love our life together- but again, it was more of the same. We did the same thing everyday- eventually we passed out on the couch then migrated to bed before brushing our teeth, taking turns using the same sink. I wanted two sinks, I wanted somewhere quiet to live, I wanted a better job, I wanted to travel, I wanted us to have an exciting life… I wanted… we dozed off to bed for an escape from reality in our dreams. Everything we wanted was a dream, all of it out of our grasp.
