Colby came in to the station for a few dollars worth of gas on the way to his job today. He works the second shift. The car he drives is a vintage model that can’t possibly date from much past the year that they started to put emission controls on all vehicles. He keeps it running while he’s fueling because it might not start up again if he turns it off. In it’s day, the ride was a cherry, but that was before Colby’s time. He’s younger than the car.
Colby was gone for a few months when he went into the service, but he broke his leg in training, and it never set quite right, so they sent him home, and now he stands eight hours a day at an assembly line putting cardboard boxes together for minimum wage, the angle of his body growing steeper by the minute away from the leg that he favors. He carries a bottle of across-the-counter ibuprofin in his pocket.
“When’s the price coming down?”
“I don’t know, Colby. Whenever people don’t need to drive anymore, I guess.”
“They don’t need to drive at this price.”
People from the adjacent pumps keep looking over and making faces because Colby’s vehicle is belching smoke worse than O’Leary’s cow, and they wonder why he hasn’t been told to turn his ignition off.
“Have you started school yet, Colby?”
“Nah. I’m gonna have to wait a year or so. My girl friend’s got that ‘mersa’ and she can’t work or go to school either, and the hospital says she didn’t get it there.”
“You need some insurance, Colby.”
“I ain't even got insurance on this car.”
Making small talk with a guy who can't afford to bet a dollar on the state lottery isn’t the easiest thing in the world. “Got your Christmas tree up yet, Colby?”
“Nah. We’re all pooling some money to buy a computer so that we can talk to Mom this Christmas.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Where's she at?”
“Saudi.”
“Now wait a minute, Colby!
“Right now she’s lying in an Army hospital with pneumonia.”
A quick wit is essential for survival in this brave new world, but it’s as rare as cheap gasoline, too. That’s why most of us don’t exhibit true signs of life. “Is she going to be all right?”
Cody says, “Sure”, then, “Damn!” He over-ran his daily quota on a gas card that he doles out in $5 allotments through the week. He says, “I wish the price’d go down.”
“You know, Colby, gas sells for around 90 cents over where your mom is at.” Boy, are you on top of things!
“It was half that according to my mom the last time she wrote. I guess they're driving bigger camels now.”
“Now, Colby, be nice.” You can't help but laugh, but political correctness has pretty much shit-canned humor in this country.
“Those people never did nothing for me...but... well, yeah, I quess you’re right. My mom wouldn't risk her life if it wasn't worth it.”
Watching him rattle workward in his guzzler, you realize that except for Colby’s kinship with misfortune, he might have been able to see his mom this Christmas.
Then again, maybe breaking his leg was the biggest stroke of luck he ever had in his life.
Noe.
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