Stories
These are recollections of things that I’m pretty sure happened to me, recently or in a time long ago. Some embellishment, purposeful or due to the passing of time, may have occurred.
STORIES
These stories, reflect my present recollections of experiences over time. Some names, locations, and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.
Birkenstocks and Socks
I have a Schwinn Cruiser SS. It’s a beach bike. Heavy. Weighing in around 30 pounds. No gears. Coaster brakes. I got it many, many years ago when I used to work at the bank by redeeming some recognition points that they were using to reward employees for “doing the right thing”. I’ve added blue and white handle bar streamers, a parrot squeaky horn and a couple of home made dice valve stem caps (perpetually rolled up to lucking number 7). It’s a great bike. It still will coast for a long time without peddling.
I rode my bike to Publix (about a mile-and-a-half away) to pick up some yogurt and some soft flour tortillas. I was locking up my bike at the bike rack. Another person was unlocking their bike right next to me. He stops and stares directly at my feet. Without looking up he says “What year is it?”. I’m wearing my Birkenstocks (Arizonas) and white socks. He’s staring right at them and repeats “What year is it?” I immediately think that he is making a snarky remark about my choice of footwear. I imagined his next line was going to be “What is this, the Sixties?”.
So in order to defend my footwear fashion choice I said, “I like Birkenstocks. They are comfortable. I wear socks with them because my feet sweat and I don’t want my feet slipping on the footbed. Plus, it’s extremely comfortable no matter if people think that it’s not a fashionable look”
He finally looks up at me, and with a questioning look on his face says, “No. The bike. What year is it? My hobby is restoring old bikes and I wanted to know if this was an original Schwinn Cruiser SS or a reproduction.” He wasn’t looking at my Birkenstock and Socks, he was looking at the label on the frame to see if he could tell what year the bike was.
“It’s a 2004 I think.”
“Yeah. It’s a reproduction of the classic original. Still, it’s a nice looking bike.”
“Thanks.” I said sheepishly. I went in to Publix and got my yogurt and fajita wraps.
The Butcher, The Baker, The Candlestick Maker
(a boat adventure short story)
Aunt Jenny
Did I ever tell you about my Aunt Jenny? In her prime, she looked like Elizabeth Taylor in her prime. Aunt Jenny was a beautiful person. I love her.
Once, she came to my rescue when I had just moved out of my parents house and I got my first job working for the Exchange Bank in downtown Tampa. I was on a tight budget so a few days a week I would ride my bike to work instead of driving my car. It was about three miles.
One day, I was about half way to work when it began to pour rain. I pulled over on my bike and huddled under an overpass. To far to go back home. Couldn’t be late. Couldn’t get to work soaking wet with no change of clothers. A white Nova pulled up. It was my Aunt Jenny. I put my bike in the trunk and she drove me work.
But that’s another story. This story is about when I was probably around five-years-old. Aunt Jenny had come over to our house for dinner. After dinner, my mother made espresso.
This is like one of those video memories. I just don’t remember it, I can see it like I’m watching a video. I’ll always remember seeing Aunt Jenny take a sip of espresso out of one of these cups and she looked like she had gone to heaven. I came up to her and I asked if I could taste some. She said “No. You are too young for coffee. But one day you will know how wonderful this is.” She was so right! And I always think of Aunt Jenny when I have an espresso. Especially when I use one of the same cups that I got from my mom.
The Sweater
I’ve had this sweater since around 1995 or so. Whenever it gets cool enough here in Florida, I wear the sweater. For years, almost every time I do, people come up to me and compliment me on the sweater. For example, today some 30-something guy came up to me in the parking lot of Whole Foods and said, “Hey. Nice sweater.”
“Thanks.” I said.
Then tonight, still wearing the sweater, I went to Publix for a mango-key lime pie for dessert. The check out person was a young woman probably in her mid-twenties. An even younger bag person was there too. The check out person, said, “I love that sweater! Is it a Tundra?”
I laughed and declined her offer. She was disappointed. But as I was leaving she says to me, “Look. Don’t take less than $70 for that sweater. I’m serious.”
The bag person said, “But, you only offered him $35.” The check out person said, “Yeah, but he doesn’t seem know what’s going on,” she rolled her eyes.
I said, “I don’t know what a Tundra is. I’ve had this sweater for around 30 years.”
She said, “I bet it’s a vintage Tundra! I’ll give you $30 for it right now.”
“I’m not going to sell you my sweater.” I said.
“Let me see the tag.”
I said, “Sorry. I cut it off years ago. It was bothering my neck.”
“Damn!” she muttered. Then, “That’s okay. I’ll give you $35 for it. I’m not kidding. Take it off right now and I’ll give you $35.”