The Sample Wrench

It was all too real, this life: the doughnut in my mouth, the slow, overly sweet, too crisp sensation of it all. My tongue felt a foreign bit caught between my teeth. Gotta dig it out.

But this diner wasn't the place for personal stuff, and I wasn't motivated enough to go to the bathroom. Everyone else there had their things figured out. The Everyman with his loving wife. The spoiled kid they called their child, yelling about this thing, and “I want that.” In their booth, the stroller leaned toward me, as if it trusted the wrong person.

The man seemed nervous, flicking important papers in his hands. Had he made a down payment on a vehicle and now regretted the payments? I thought I could be of help. Seeing that I hardly ever made paper important enough to matter.

It relaxed me so to observe them. So much so that I began making gurgling sounds, trying on the baby inside me for size.

Then I wondered what could really do me more harm—this doughnut, the trail of angel dust sugar arced around the paper plate, or the revelation that the table I sat at hadn’t been cleaned?

Yet another diner/motel combo near the 401? Yet another exercise stop for my suitcase. And me, just another nobody, passing through its empty life? Where to next when everything feels the same? I could count the ‘burbs I’ve been through, their chalky stucco greys and beiges like a blight on my soul.

And the work I do. So important, so earth-shattering. Selling things that people have to be persuaded to buy. You have to twist their arms. Make them feel obligated, guilty, or greedy. Anything to get them to buy the damn stuff.

Then there was the same customer’s response every time: not today, but maybe tomorrow? Or better yet, I’ll try an order of your hardware, assuming I can return it if I’m not satisfied, no questions asked.

Who makes a living when potential returns are the main point of the sales talk? I coughed suddenly, not enough to grab anyone’s attention. It kind of reminded me of the time I slouched so low on a lumpy sofa that I choked on my own spit. Large racking coughs followed.

It made me want to see a doctor. Until I remembered that slouching was akin to sloughing off, and relaxing was not supposed to have an esophageal component.

There. I used my word of the day. The one I got from the “build your vocabulary” section of the daily newspaper I threw out.

Why I threw out everything on my business trips kind of bothered me, to be honest. Weren’t there other words I could learn? Something aside from the lurid details of the latest murder investigations.

That made me curious about RV life. I grabbed a shiny brochure during one of my stops. Here was something I could learn about—something completely new. I was fascinated for once.

And my ten-year-old company car's turbo engine had just died. The replacement had half the power despite using the same amount of gas. Wouldn’t an RV get up and go under its own power?

Why, I could take my motel with me! Live like a somebody on half the money. No need for a home base. Chuck the wife and kids. Work twenty-four, seven, and never need a private life at all!

And the boss? He’d chuckle about the customer returns problem and not scream bloody blue murder like usual. I’d save a lot of money. We’d split the difference. Maybe he’d cover the cost of the RV, and I’ll handle the expenses.

I called him up. Actually, I punched it out and sighed while waiting for someone to answer. No response. Oh, I forgot. The boss never answered calls on nights or weekends. And his personal cell? That was a number he’d never give out. Not for me. Not for anyone.

I left a message, but it all felt hopeless. When was the last time he approved a large expense? Talk sense for once, I told myself. There’s no point in dreaming. No point in anything I might think about.

I squashed that last piece of doughnut, and that nasty bit between my teeth popped out! Still too dry for my liking. I need to remind myself that this kind of late-night diner experience was more like a waste—a trivial annoyance, something to be avoided.

But no matter. There was always Everyman and his adoring wife to contemplate. Junior had settled down, a comfort for him with contented conversation from them. About that vacation they planned to take, to the Rockies. It made me think of Rocky Balboa, so in control, so celebrated. Almost as great as my lifelong trainer, the school of hard knocks.

And they had no hard knocks between them. Young, overly handsome him and petite, wonderfully contented her. Junior, like a dog’s breakfast of both of them.

With my wife and kids gone and an apartment I rarely visit, what do I have to lose? I’m a winner every day I keep breathing!

I followed them out of the diner. They smirk, endearing themselves to the cashier, who then smiles, but her face turns into a frown when I appear.

No matter. I'm used to it. I plop a few coins on the counter and wave off another doughnut. No sense hurting her. She’d only slump on the counter, only a surprised look for my amusement.

Outside, the night air almost stopped me. The starry sky looked so inviting. A few wisps of cloud covered the moon. I half wanted to wait for it to come back.

But my sample wrench was calling me. Something large and cold. The trunk creaked open.

The night suddenly felt full of purpose.

Everyman was nearby, folding Junior into his car seat. His partner was marveling at how peaceful everything was. There was no one else in sight.

How wonderful everything seemed! Me showing that wrench off for the thousandth time! Now becoming what I never dreamed of. Something I will always be.