Workingman's Blues: A Short Story Collection

Workingman's Blues

Be Careful What You Wish For

Dave Crandall pulled into Mo's Mini Mart like he had done every day for the past 10 years. He turned off his truck, but it always took another two minutes for the engine to actually spit and sputter to a stop. Walking into the store he saw Rosie behind the counter. She had been here for as long as he had been coming in. Maybe the store had been built around her. As usual, he went straight back to the cooler for a case of Natural Light, then back to the checkout.

"Hey Dave, you want your lottery tickets too?" she said in the thickest New Jersey accent he'd ever heard, even though they were in Texas.

"It's Friday sweetie, five quick picks. When I win I am going to take you away from all this."

"You're such a flirt Dave Crandall."

Dave climbed back into his truck and threw the Natural Light on the passenger seat, his date for the night. The ritual of cranking the ancient truck came next, which normally lasted the same two minutes that it took for it to die.

The truck sputtered to a stop in the parking lot of his apartment building. With the beer under one arm and the lotto tickets in his front pocket, he kicked the door of his pickup shut. His next-door neighbor, Mrs. Swanson, was sitting in front of her apartment in a lawn chair chain-smoking. The woman did not believe in bras and he had never seen her in anything but a house dress. He gave her a quick wave as he entered his apartment. Actually apartment was a gross overstatement, it was really one room. He could sit in the recliner, which he had saved from a street corner, and see the whole place. It was affordable though, and Dave was all about affordable.

He pulled his boots off as he fell into the chair, and picked the remote up at the same time. The beer was to the left of the chair. Dave reached down with his left hand and ripped the top off the case and fished out the first beer. He clicked the TV on to Friday night wrestling. Beer after beer disappeared until he hit the bottom and passed out.

The sunlight came through the blinds and hit Dave in the eye. He groaned as he sat up in the chair. He would be late to work...again. Jerry would be on his ass sure as shit. He got up, kicking cans out of his way and walked the three steps to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. Making his way back to the living room he slipped his boots back on, picked up his keys, and stepped outside. Locking the door behind him, there was Mrs. Swanson starting her first pack of the day.

Walking into the dispatch office with his sunglasses on, he saw Jerry at the desk. Dave sighed; all he wanted was to get his dispatch, do his loads, and go home.

"Crandall, where the hell you been?"

"Car trouble."

"That's a load of crap. I should fire your ass."

"If that's the plan let's do it before I pre-trip my truck."

"Smartass," Jerry mumbled as he continued the solitaire game on his computer.

The last thing Dave was worried about was getting fired. No self-respecting driver would have this job. So, what they got were felons, guys that could barely pass a drug test, and drunks like him. Jerry was one tick smarter than your average rock, so he got to be the supervisor. Since it was Saturday he only had two loads from the transfer station to the Brazoria County landfill. That's right. Houston was so full of garbage they had to contract another landfill to take the overflow. So, five days a week Dave went back and forth four times and on Saturday two trips. For this, he raked in about $300 a week after taxes.

Around five p.m. Dave finally rolled in. Everyone else was already on the yard. He was supposed to fuel the truck before parking it, but he never did what he was supposed to do. Why start now?