Can't remember the dream, but I was half way through it when the alarm went off. The station only half tuned, I only heard a wisp of voice muffled in static before S reached and turned it off. And off she went, back to sleep. Work. I miss the dream, but it's lost already.
SixThirtyAM sharp: arrive at the coffee shop to find a pair of keys still dangling from the lock. Found out later the man who delivers our pastries left them in his hurry to get out of the cold. It's well below freezing; the whole town is covered in a five-inch layer of ice. Grab the papers sitting on the frozen sidewalk, turn the keys waiting in the lock, walk inside.
Five minutes later: what? No coffee filters. Check the back, there's always backups in the back. No, no backups in the back. You sure? Climb the latter and look in all the shelves, look up in the attic, look everywhere possible. No--and now I am running five minutes behind--nothing except the filters set back against the wall labeled, "don't use: too big!" Nothing else. I'll have to use these.
I try. They stick out a quarter inch from the metal holder. Try folding down the very tops of the filter; no faster--you're ten minutes behind. I know, but this isn't working. Just have to shove it down, all crinkled. Shove it in the grinder and hope the grinds stay within the limits of the paper. So far so good. Shove it under the hot water unit. This can't work. OK, call boss. She'll know what to do. It's too early. No answer.
Cutting does no good either. OK, it gets the job done, but it takes way too long. Customers are going to be coming in any minute. There are still bagels to cut, muffins are only half sorted. The TVs need to be turned on. The open sign, and of course, of course, three more coffee pots need brewing.
The phone rings. It's boss. There are new filters just in. Where? Below my desk, just beside the chair. What? Oh, yes! I see them! OK, thankyousorryforbotheringyou. Bye.
Right, under the desk. The one place I didn't look. Of course. This day is not off to a great start.
-----
TwoThirty. Clocked out. Waiting for the silver Honda to pull up over twistedFrostRut of a parking space outside. A man walks in whom I recognize from past orders across the counter. He has a friendly face, and he recognizes me as well. You can't get enough of this place, huh? Oh, I'm just waiting for a ride. But yes, I spend ALL my free time here. He laughs. He's ordering a sandwich--they take about five minutes to make. I've got about five minutes till the car comes.
Do you work around here?
No, no. Actually, my wife's father passed away a few weeks ago. And we're slowly going through the process of clearing out his house. It's just down the way.
Wow, that's quite a project I'm sure. But I'm sure it's time well spent.
Yes. Actually it's a really good experience. Cleansing, actually.
...unpacking...
Yeah, I mean, I knew the guy pretty well. He was my wife's father, but I'm learning so much about him. He was an amazing man. Ninety-four years old. A colonial in the army, actually. He worked closely with one of the Pattons, I can't remember which one. And later, he worked alongside Eisenhower, helped plan D-Day, the Normandy invasion.
Wow, really?
Yeah, and I didn't even know it. I'm learning about this as I go through his things. Really incredible.
Yeah.
It's amazing, you know. When I was young, I used to look at older people and just blow them off. Like they had nothing to offer, like there was nothing interesting about them. But this man--this man lived through so much history. From the model T to the Mustang, you know. Talking with him was amazing. Way beyond anything you'll ever read in the history books.
Absolutely, yes. I had the privileged of going to visit my great-grandfather before he died. I brought along a miniDisk recorder and recorded some of his stories. He had great stories. He loved telling them.
This guy was the same way.
-----
EightFifteenPM. Enough, I'm tired. I'm not alone, and I'm beginning to feel that I'm being thought of as one who is ignoring his spouse in favor of writing in the new laptop computer.
