19 October, 2010

Joe And The Energy Guy

Joe, an old backyard farmer/painter guy who lived down on Fredricks road cursed the energy company’s again. It happened this same way every morning. The ritual went something like this. He’d get up to a cold house in the morning. He’d put on slippers, a robe, stocking hat, and gloves before he traversed the stairs. Coffee came next. Have you ever tried to make coffee with your gloves on? It’s a frusterating experience to say the least. Now comes his morning visit to the toilet.
“Cold hands. Cold hands.” You could hear him shout every morning in the winter. Yes you have to take the gloves off to do that. His idea was that his money should be in his pockets and not the pockets of the money grubbing energy company’s.
“Get your hands out of my wallet!” was another fun thing he liked to shout at the bill when it arrived. Well, it all came to a head of sorts one afternoon when he confronted the energy company’s CEO at a restaurant. Joe noticed that the guy was sitting near him from the moment he came in the door. As a matter of fact, the guy walked right by him on the way to the prized seat with a view. Joe had never gotten that seat but had pined over it since he started coming here over 15 years ago. Joe’s food came. He never changed his order. Some thought it was because he was stuck in his way’s, but the reality was that it was the cheapest thing on the menu. He started to think of his working day’s and all the jobs he’d had. Many times his wife (rest her soul) had heard him say, “Apples. Once I was an Apple picker. I lived off of the meager wages and was so poor I couldn’t even pay to pee if I’d had to.” He loved reflecting on that job.

Apples.
Autumn.
Fall.
The slow time.

It's been called a changing of the guard, but he preferred to look at it more like harvest time.

Harvest.

The fruition of the garden and all the summer work.

“Watching the sun rise over the hills to splash warmth and light throughout the hillside. It was grand being up in a tree with your apple bag on, and watching the sun burn away the mist and carry the lovely smell of apples to me.”

Apples.

Whether Halverson, Granny Smiths, or Honey-crisps he didn't care.
With crisp skin covering sweet white flesh and juice dripping down his chin, every apple held a childhood smile where he was 8 and lounging next to a lake eating and watching the late flies and migrating birds.

“How about warm apple pie and vanilla ice cream?” He found himself asking the waitress. He wasn’t sure how it would affect his budget, but what the hell. By the time he had finished his meal and paid for it, a smallish yet bright plan was birthing itself. Just a tiny bit evil, it put a smile on his face. He hoped there was time.
Joe got on the bus and tapped his feet anxiously. Ten whole minutes wasted in traffic. Finally getting home, he went to the drawer and took out the energy bill. Spring time begins to get warmer but not much. It’s still a few hundred dollars to stay warm in an old house with old bones. This time he’d drive his moped. With chipped powder blue paint, wire baskets, and an orange whip flag, he climbed on and it chugged to life. Away they went. Joe hoped the energy guy was still at his table. He had a stop to make at the bank first. He wondered if they would be able to do it?
“Sure, we can do that.” The clerk said with a raised eyebrow. “If you don’t mind my asking, why in the world would you want to do that?”
“I do mind actually, so don’t ask. Can you help me deliver it?” He asked.
“Yes, we can do that too.”
“Good good.” It was going to work. The clerk handed him a bag and Bob the security guy grabbed several more. Making a bead on the cafe where the CEO guy was sitting they walked right in and up to his table. Joe had a crazy smile on his face. The guy was having soup.
Joe say’s “How’s the soup?”
“Good.” say’s the guy. Joe wanted to draw this out more but couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Well, I’m just here to pay my electric bill!” With that he took the bill and all the bag’s and dumped everything in the guy’s soup. Bag after bag of penny’s. Sitting in the bowl, the floor, the guy’s lap.

Joe turned and looked at the horror in the faces of the people as he walked out got on his little blue moped and drove home. Joe died that night in his sleep with a smile on his face, and the heat turned way up.