I Am Stronger Because of All I've Been Through
[b]Earl's Garage - Part II [/b]
[i]Barternomics, Lobster, Champagne, and Gojo
[/i]
continued from Part I
https://similarworlds.com/story?fid=4832201&tid=385995&name=I-Am-Stronger-Because-of-All-I-ve-Been-Throug
In part I, I was rescued from financial disaster and disgrace by Earl and his wife Doris, agreeing to repair my hobbled Volkswagen, while opening up an opportunity to work off my debt, and further becoming educated in an ancient method of trade, that as I named it, Barternomics. The problem was to create a book keeping system that would handle the everyday bills and receipts, but then take into account the barter system, the vast mysterious undercurrent of money that flowed beneath our feet, and hidden from the IRS. Shhhhhhhh . . .
===================================
Part II
Finally, I took the standard ledger book and stapled strips of paper to the edge of each page in order to record the list that tracked favors owed, and favors to do that kept the barter system operating. It was a like an accounting system in space, hovering like a cloud as it constantly changed shape and size as it grew and shrunk with the conglomeration of monetary and material exchanges.
Of course I had to field test the new system with my own debt, that was to pay off the new engine that Earl had installed in my VW bug. Earl paid me a modest wage so I would have some extra spending money, as I chipped away at my debt with every hour I worked. This was the invisible ether layer of the system. in the event the books were ever examined or audited, the outer stapled pages would be unstapled and removed, not exactly "cooking the books," them but rather just trimming them a bit. I was probably being over careful, but I wanted it to make sense, well, as much as it could make sense.
Carlton Evers, Earl's accountant paid weekly visits while we perfected the method of how to manage all the transactions. At times, Earl found it unnerving with all the time we were spending on the the system. But in the end, it would make life easier not having to plow through mountains of receipts. There were times when I actually thought that Earl preferred the chaos over being organized. I mentioned this to his wife Doris one day and she shook her head. "Don't lose heart dearie, he appreciates what you're doing. He'll get used to it. I should mention he doesn't yell and throw things like he used to when he was unable to find the papers he needed. You've cured that problem," she assured me.
I sighed as I closed the ledger, and offered up a prayer. Yes, a prayer to apply the final glue that made it all work. "Well Mr. Evers, what do you think of “our” system? I asked. "Absolutely smashing my dear! Just having all the bills and receipts assembled into some sense of order is much more than I could have possibly hoped for. But, having everything neatly recorded in the ledger book was a great idea, and those extra strips of paper was the crowning touch." he added.
I beamed with pleasure knowing I had taken an office in disarray and made it organized and functional. "This calls for a celebration. What do you say? Dinner is on me." he proclaimed.
In the past, I had rebuffed Carlton's invitations, putting him off for as long as I could. Of course it would have been easy to say that I should have been dating boys my own age, and running with some social group at the college where my network of friends would grow. But I had tried one semester in the dorm. I couldn't complain about my roommate, she was nice enough, but I continued to feel that I was receiving some kind of call, a directive to seek a more private life, though I was young and inexperienced.
For me to live off campus, I had to make a deal with my father, that being he would be visiting me at some point to see where I lived, and worked. The thought of my father showing up to inspect my digs, and my work place, that being Earl's garage, did make me a bit uneasy.
All these new surroundings, my rented room, my Volkswagen, class work, and my job at Earl's garage kept me very busy. Often, surges of emotion, as memories of my home, family, and friends would flood my mind. But in the end I would tuck myself into bed at night in my tiny rented room, and offer a prayer to some unknown god, that I had survived only this one day, and if I can connect all the past and present days, I will eventually reach the goal before me, thus being faithful to the inner conviction to obey my instincts.
"All right Mr. Evers, I accept your invitation," I finally answered as if I were issuing an official R.S.V.P. "Delighted my dear, what night are you available?" he asked. "Hmmm, how about tonight? Friday night. Yes, tonight." I confidently answered.
Later that morning Earl's wife Doris presented me with a pair of overalls. Now that the office was clean and organized plus with the books being somewhat under control, I offered to organize Earl's storage room where all the spare parts, tools, nuts, bolts, and fluids were stored. Earl had been uncomfortable even letting me clean up his office, and held the storage as off limits. But he relented with a little coaxing from Doris. They were used overalls, but washed and and ironed by Doris. She had also embroidered my name above the pocket using a light blue thread instead of the normal red. "Thank you Doris," I humbly offered. Doris was enjoying my company in the garage, and when time allowed we would have tea and sandwiches and talk. It gave me a feeling of home.
I drove back to my room and got ready for the evening withCarlton Evers. I was short on dress clothes but wore my standard black jumper with a clean and ironed white blouse. I put on earrings and the small gold necklace I always wore at special occasions. Then some lipstick and a dab of rouge and i was ready as I could be. I didn't bother with eye makeup. It was Friday night, and I was feeling a little tired from the week.
Carlton picked me up in his Buick in front of the house, and we were off. Carlton was as usual his bubbly self. "Now don't bore with all that scholastic talk. Tell me what you're really thinking these days." Carlton inquired. "Thinking? Well, that's different," I replied. Of course we taylor our responses depending on who we're with. For example, there are things I would tell my father that I wouldn't tell my mother, and vice versa. Now my friend Trudy, I told probably more things about my life than anyone I had never known. But I can't say I told her everything. There are just some things you keep private.
"Ok, here goes. I'm thinking of leaving college after I'm through with this year" I said. "Leave?" Carlton blurted out in surprise, followed by a chuckle and a cough. He cleared his throat. "Leave? Where are on earth are you going to go? You just arrived, and seem to be a having a smashing good time from I can see. But leave? No, no, please don't do that. I'm just beginning to enjoy your company. Hah! I remember the first day we met, you chucked me out of the office because you didn't want me smoking." Carlton continued to laugh and cough. "I say, there's a spirited girl I thought. If I only I was 30 years younger. Now see here, you were telling me something serious, and I dart off in a different direction. Please continue my dear with my apology." I turned to Carlton and chuckled myself thinking he really knows how to put someone at ease.
"I want to go to Europe, or New York, or Los Angeles, or Japan. I want to go somewhere far away, and perhaps study and work." I continued. "That's quite a list of places. Why this sudden urge to travel?" he asked. "Oh, it's not sudden, I wanted to do it this year, but I just didn't think my parents would go for it. Plus, my mother was already worrying about me just living three hours away. So I decided I would take a lesser path for this year and hope for next year. Believe me, it was hard enough to get my Dad to let me to live on my own near the college." We chatted on for a while then arrived at the restaurant. "Great food here. You'll love it!" he said. Carlton opened doors and treated me like a real lady. I was loving it. It was nice to have a man pamper you a bit.
The waiter showed us to our table and Carlton seated me as the proper gentleman that he was. It was a nice enough restaurant with soft music playing and what seemed like a regular Friday night crowd. "I was thinking of ordering champagne, what do you think?" he asked. "Hmmm, champagne, oh why not," I said. I was used to drinking wine on occasion at home, and had occasionally sipped champagne at some of our family holiday celebrations. I can't say I had developed a taste for it, just fizzed up wine was all I ever thought. I was barely the legal drinking age of 19, but being accompanied by Carlton, there were no questions asked.
Carlton was smiling from ear to ear. He was so happy to have finally taken me out to dinner. The waiter rolled a tray up next to the table and then ceremoniously opened the bottle of champagne. A muffled pop was heard suppressed by a napkin over the top of the bottle followed by the pouring of two glasses. I have to admit, I felt very classy. "Here's to us, the dynamic duo of Earl's accounting system." he said. We clinked glasses laughing. I raised the glass to my lips and sipped. I have to say I was a little disappointed. I'm sure if I was expecting something sweeter. But it had a much drier taste to it, but after a few sips I was beginning to like it.
Carlton emptied his glass and drew a long breath. "Ah, that's better, now we're firing on all eight cylinders." he shouted robustly as he beat his chest like Tarzan. I laughed and laughed, and in fact I was getting a little giddy as I continued to sip the champagne. My first glass was barely empty when Carlton immediately began to pour the second. "I see the tide has already gone out. Perhaps another?" he asked as he poured the second glass.
I began to feel flushed and warm all over. I fanned my face with my hand. "I say Monique, my girl, everything all right over there?" he asked. "Oh just fine, is the room warm or is it just me?" I asked. Carlton howled with laughter. "I think it's time we should order! Have anything you want, cost is no object." he exclaimed
Menus were delivered. I opened the menu and I immediately had trouble getting my eyes to focus. Carlton noticed my head making circular motions when I happen to look at him. He looked a little concerned. Finally my eyes fell on the Lobster Bisque. After eating off a hot plate and warning up Spaghetti-Os, the thought of real seafood was very appealing. I slammed the menu shut making a clapping sound that was noticed by some of the people at adjoining tables. I didn't realize I had closed it so hard.
The waiter appeared. "Are you ready to order?" he asked. "Lobster Bisque." I said. "Excellent choice my dear. I'll have the prime rib, fries, and the salad." Carlton said. The waiter looked at Carlton. "Fries?" he asked. "Yes, fries, now get hopping!" he shouted.
I sat feeling so nice and relaxed, thinking about all my accomplishments. "Well I'm sad to hear you're thinking of leaving." said Carlton. I suddenly realized he was talking to me, and dreamily stared over at him. "Oh sorry, I was just day dreaming. What were you saying?" I asked. "I said I'm sad to hear you're thinking of leaving." he repeated. "Oh yes, yes I am too, that I'm only thinking about it of course, and hopefully if things work out, and I can figure out how to accomplish, then I'll be able to proceed with my plans, that is if my plans work out in such that it makes it possible for me to accomplish the plan, I may be able to do it." I answered. I was vaguely aware that I wasn't making much sense in gathering my thoughts to complete a cohesive thought. I sipped some more champagne and swished it around in my mouth without thinking. I swallowed and took another sip. The champagne went down so smooth and effortlessly now.
Meanwhile, Carlton was studying the people at the other tables. Carlton was a people watcher, but in this case he was wondering if anyone had noticed the odd behavior of his female companion, that being me. The waiter brought some bread and I immediately grabbed a roll from the basket. I stared at it and studied it before I bit into it. I didn't bother to butter it nor did I at least break it in half. I suddenly realized how tired I was, or was I? I felt fine when I came him.
Suddenly a plate was placed in front of me with a a large bowl containing an orange colored soup with little red chunks in it. They placed Carlton's prime rib in front of him. He snapped his napkin open and tucked it under his chin and attacked the prime rib. I felt for a moment I should attack my bisque with the same gusto, but Instead I took my spoon and was picking through the chunks of red in my soup trying to identify what they were. I scooped up some of the soup and sipped it slowly. "Carlton, I've only had lobster a few times, and I don't remember it tasting like this." I said. "Well here, let me have a taste." he answered. He took his spoon and scooped and sampled the lobster. "Tastes fine to me. Give it another try. It's probably the sauce that's throwing your taste buds off." he said.
I decided to plunge ahead and began to eat my Lobster Bisque. I felt a sense of obligation to eat all of it. I paused to nibble on some bread, and then continued eating the Lobster Bisque with occasional sips of champagne. Now the room was getting very warm. I watched as Carlton was vigorously cutting away at this prime and downing his fries. There was something about the red blood gushing out of the meat that I suddenly found repulsive. Then I grew more light headed, and then my stomach lurched.
"I feel sick." I said. I stood. "I have to throw up." I said. Every head in the restaurant was facing me now. With that Carlton leaped out of his chair and began pulling me toward the rest rooms. I didn't make it. There was a large potted tree by the door and I instinctively fell to my knees and vomited into the pot. I looked down at my lobster bisque and realized it looked almost exactly the same as it did in the bowl five minutes before. There were muffled voices and doors opening and closing and then I heard nothing.
I awoke the next morning to find myself in a strange room. I had no idea where I was. Then I realized I was in a bed. But whose bed? I lifted the covers and looked under the covers. Relieved, I still had my clothes on, but my shoes were missing. I had a splitting headache.
Then I heard whistling, a knock at the door, and Carlton entered carrying a pot of coffee and scones. "Well, well, what have we here? I believe it's sleeping beauty, back from the ball I gather." he said in a jovial manner. "Who put me to bed?" I asked. "I did of course, and don't worry, you're still a virgin." as he broke into laughter following up with his patented hacking cough. "Oh, i say, that's rich! I mean you're a lovely girl but just not exactly my type if you know what I mean." he added. "Good God, besides Earl, and your father for that matter, they would skin me alive if I ever . . ." he trailed off as I interrupted him with a loud shriek. "Earl! I have to get to work. It's Saturday and I have to get to the garage!" I shouted.
Carlton stared at me in disbelief, and moments later was driving me back to my room but not after I'd downed a cup of coffee and one of his scones, which thankfully I was able to keep down, but my headache was horrific. I took a cold shower trying to wake up, dressed, and drove over to the garage. I changed into the overalls and began to attack the storage room. I spent the next few hours sorting out parts. I tried to pile all the exhaust pipes in the corner but without warning it collapsed in a great crash. The racket brought Earl in to see what happened. "Sorry, just trying to sort things out." I said.
"Monique, would you help me in here for a moment?" Earl asked. On the bench, he had a starter motor torn apart, and needed a extra pair of hands. "Slide this on here like this, and hold it while I try to insert the clip." he said. I spooled the gear on a few times to see how it fit. "That's it, hold steady." he'd said. I held the gear in place and then I heard a click, and it was done.
"Hmm, what was that part and what does it do?" I asked. "That's the Bendix drive. When power is applied to the motor, it forces this gear forward to engage the flywheel. That cranks the engine and when you hear the engine fire, you release the ignition key, and the gear retracts.” he explained.
Next we installed new brushes at the rear of the starter and slid the brushes and the armature inside the casing. Then Earl let me install the rear cover plate and slide two bolts in place. It took a few tries to line them up but I finally got them to thread properly and tightened them in place. Earl smiled. "Good job. Now we just have to attached the solenoid, and we're done." he said.
I looked down at my hands. After working in the storage room and helping Earl, my hands were jet black. I couldn't imagine my hands being so dirty, but they were. "Well I think we're all done for the day so let's get cleaned up. We went over to the sink in the corner of the garage and Earl took a large white can off the shelf and removed the lid. "Scoop some of this into your hands." he said. "What is it?" I asked. "It's Gojo. It's a hand cleaner made especially for mechanics with greasy dirty hands." he said mimicking an announcer on TV trying to sell the product.
I reached in and scooped out the greasy liquid. Earl followed working the greasy goo into hands and rubbing it into his fingers and the backs of his hands. I copied his motions. I felt like I was a part of a ritual, a ceremonial ritual, yes, the ceremonial washing of the hands, which is carried out at the end of each day. And I was allowed to participate in this sacred rite. I had assembled the starter, or at least helped assemble it, so I had earned the right. Then we rinsed off our hands in the sink, and miraculously, all the dirt seemed to be miraculously washed away. We took paper towers and wiped our hands dry.
The goo actually had a nice smell to it. My hands were clean, but Earl's were not quite clean. I noticed Ear's still had grease in the tiny cracks in his knuckles and under his nails. I guess it would be a true miracle to get his hands clean I thought. Earl's palms and fingers were puffy, almost swollen and oversized from years of tightening wrenches.
"Earl, do you think you'll ever get your hands completely clean?" I asked innocently. "Someday maybe, a real mechanic always has dirt under his nails." he said. And that was all he had to say. A few days later I was sitting in class taking notes, and happen to look down and notice that I had still had some of the black grease under one of my finger nails. I smiled and thought, “Well, I guess that makes me a real mechanic.”
-----
To read my other stories, visit my "About Me" area on my profile page . . .
https://similarworlds.com/profile-info?id=8835&name=Moniqueinspring
[i]Barternomics, Lobster, Champagne, and Gojo
[/i]
continued from Part I
https://similarworlds.com/story?fid=4832201&tid=385995&name=I-Am-Stronger-Because-of-All-I-ve-Been-Throug
In part I, I was rescued from financial disaster and disgrace by Earl and his wife Doris, agreeing to repair my hobbled Volkswagen, while opening up an opportunity to work off my debt, and further becoming educated in an ancient method of trade, that as I named it, Barternomics. The problem was to create a book keeping system that would handle the everyday bills and receipts, but then take into account the barter system, the vast mysterious undercurrent of money that flowed beneath our feet, and hidden from the IRS. Shhhhhhhh . . .
===================================
Part II
Finally, I took the standard ledger book and stapled strips of paper to the edge of each page in order to record the list that tracked favors owed, and favors to do that kept the barter system operating. It was a like an accounting system in space, hovering like a cloud as it constantly changed shape and size as it grew and shrunk with the conglomeration of monetary and material exchanges.
Of course I had to field test the new system with my own debt, that was to pay off the new engine that Earl had installed in my VW bug. Earl paid me a modest wage so I would have some extra spending money, as I chipped away at my debt with every hour I worked. This was the invisible ether layer of the system. in the event the books were ever examined or audited, the outer stapled pages would be unstapled and removed, not exactly "cooking the books," them but rather just trimming them a bit. I was probably being over careful, but I wanted it to make sense, well, as much as it could make sense.
Carlton Evers, Earl's accountant paid weekly visits while we perfected the method of how to manage all the transactions. At times, Earl found it unnerving with all the time we were spending on the the system. But in the end, it would make life easier not having to plow through mountains of receipts. There were times when I actually thought that Earl preferred the chaos over being organized. I mentioned this to his wife Doris one day and she shook her head. "Don't lose heart dearie, he appreciates what you're doing. He'll get used to it. I should mention he doesn't yell and throw things like he used to when he was unable to find the papers he needed. You've cured that problem," she assured me.
I sighed as I closed the ledger, and offered up a prayer. Yes, a prayer to apply the final glue that made it all work. "Well Mr. Evers, what do you think of “our” system? I asked. "Absolutely smashing my dear! Just having all the bills and receipts assembled into some sense of order is much more than I could have possibly hoped for. But, having everything neatly recorded in the ledger book was a great idea, and those extra strips of paper was the crowning touch." he added.
I beamed with pleasure knowing I had taken an office in disarray and made it organized and functional. "This calls for a celebration. What do you say? Dinner is on me." he proclaimed.
In the past, I had rebuffed Carlton's invitations, putting him off for as long as I could. Of course it would have been easy to say that I should have been dating boys my own age, and running with some social group at the college where my network of friends would grow. But I had tried one semester in the dorm. I couldn't complain about my roommate, she was nice enough, but I continued to feel that I was receiving some kind of call, a directive to seek a more private life, though I was young and inexperienced.
For me to live off campus, I had to make a deal with my father, that being he would be visiting me at some point to see where I lived, and worked. The thought of my father showing up to inspect my digs, and my work place, that being Earl's garage, did make me a bit uneasy.
All these new surroundings, my rented room, my Volkswagen, class work, and my job at Earl's garage kept me very busy. Often, surges of emotion, as memories of my home, family, and friends would flood my mind. But in the end I would tuck myself into bed at night in my tiny rented room, and offer a prayer to some unknown god, that I had survived only this one day, and if I can connect all the past and present days, I will eventually reach the goal before me, thus being faithful to the inner conviction to obey my instincts.
"All right Mr. Evers, I accept your invitation," I finally answered as if I were issuing an official R.S.V.P. "Delighted my dear, what night are you available?" he asked. "Hmmm, how about tonight? Friday night. Yes, tonight." I confidently answered.
Later that morning Earl's wife Doris presented me with a pair of overalls. Now that the office was clean and organized plus with the books being somewhat under control, I offered to organize Earl's storage room where all the spare parts, tools, nuts, bolts, and fluids were stored. Earl had been uncomfortable even letting me clean up his office, and held the storage as off limits. But he relented with a little coaxing from Doris. They were used overalls, but washed and and ironed by Doris. She had also embroidered my name above the pocket using a light blue thread instead of the normal red. "Thank you Doris," I humbly offered. Doris was enjoying my company in the garage, and when time allowed we would have tea and sandwiches and talk. It gave me a feeling of home.
I drove back to my room and got ready for the evening withCarlton Evers. I was short on dress clothes but wore my standard black jumper with a clean and ironed white blouse. I put on earrings and the small gold necklace I always wore at special occasions. Then some lipstick and a dab of rouge and i was ready as I could be. I didn't bother with eye makeup. It was Friday night, and I was feeling a little tired from the week.
Carlton picked me up in his Buick in front of the house, and we were off. Carlton was as usual his bubbly self. "Now don't bore with all that scholastic talk. Tell me what you're really thinking these days." Carlton inquired. "Thinking? Well, that's different," I replied. Of course we taylor our responses depending on who we're with. For example, there are things I would tell my father that I wouldn't tell my mother, and vice versa. Now my friend Trudy, I told probably more things about my life than anyone I had never known. But I can't say I told her everything. There are just some things you keep private.
"Ok, here goes. I'm thinking of leaving college after I'm through with this year" I said. "Leave?" Carlton blurted out in surprise, followed by a chuckle and a cough. He cleared his throat. "Leave? Where are on earth are you going to go? You just arrived, and seem to be a having a smashing good time from I can see. But leave? No, no, please don't do that. I'm just beginning to enjoy your company. Hah! I remember the first day we met, you chucked me out of the office because you didn't want me smoking." Carlton continued to laugh and cough. "I say, there's a spirited girl I thought. If I only I was 30 years younger. Now see here, you were telling me something serious, and I dart off in a different direction. Please continue my dear with my apology." I turned to Carlton and chuckled myself thinking he really knows how to put someone at ease.
"I want to go to Europe, or New York, or Los Angeles, or Japan. I want to go somewhere far away, and perhaps study and work." I continued. "That's quite a list of places. Why this sudden urge to travel?" he asked. "Oh, it's not sudden, I wanted to do it this year, but I just didn't think my parents would go for it. Plus, my mother was already worrying about me just living three hours away. So I decided I would take a lesser path for this year and hope for next year. Believe me, it was hard enough to get my Dad to let me to live on my own near the college." We chatted on for a while then arrived at the restaurant. "Great food here. You'll love it!" he said. Carlton opened doors and treated me like a real lady. I was loving it. It was nice to have a man pamper you a bit.
The waiter showed us to our table and Carlton seated me as the proper gentleman that he was. It was a nice enough restaurant with soft music playing and what seemed like a regular Friday night crowd. "I was thinking of ordering champagne, what do you think?" he asked. "Hmmm, champagne, oh why not," I said. I was used to drinking wine on occasion at home, and had occasionally sipped champagne at some of our family holiday celebrations. I can't say I had developed a taste for it, just fizzed up wine was all I ever thought. I was barely the legal drinking age of 19, but being accompanied by Carlton, there were no questions asked.
Carlton was smiling from ear to ear. He was so happy to have finally taken me out to dinner. The waiter rolled a tray up next to the table and then ceremoniously opened the bottle of champagne. A muffled pop was heard suppressed by a napkin over the top of the bottle followed by the pouring of two glasses. I have to admit, I felt very classy. "Here's to us, the dynamic duo of Earl's accounting system." he said. We clinked glasses laughing. I raised the glass to my lips and sipped. I have to say I was a little disappointed. I'm sure if I was expecting something sweeter. But it had a much drier taste to it, but after a few sips I was beginning to like it.
Carlton emptied his glass and drew a long breath. "Ah, that's better, now we're firing on all eight cylinders." he shouted robustly as he beat his chest like Tarzan. I laughed and laughed, and in fact I was getting a little giddy as I continued to sip the champagne. My first glass was barely empty when Carlton immediately began to pour the second. "I see the tide has already gone out. Perhaps another?" he asked as he poured the second glass.
I began to feel flushed and warm all over. I fanned my face with my hand. "I say Monique, my girl, everything all right over there?" he asked. "Oh just fine, is the room warm or is it just me?" I asked. Carlton howled with laughter. "I think it's time we should order! Have anything you want, cost is no object." he exclaimed
Menus were delivered. I opened the menu and I immediately had trouble getting my eyes to focus. Carlton noticed my head making circular motions when I happen to look at him. He looked a little concerned. Finally my eyes fell on the Lobster Bisque. After eating off a hot plate and warning up Spaghetti-Os, the thought of real seafood was very appealing. I slammed the menu shut making a clapping sound that was noticed by some of the people at adjoining tables. I didn't realize I had closed it so hard.
The waiter appeared. "Are you ready to order?" he asked. "Lobster Bisque." I said. "Excellent choice my dear. I'll have the prime rib, fries, and the salad." Carlton said. The waiter looked at Carlton. "Fries?" he asked. "Yes, fries, now get hopping!" he shouted.
I sat feeling so nice and relaxed, thinking about all my accomplishments. "Well I'm sad to hear you're thinking of leaving." said Carlton. I suddenly realized he was talking to me, and dreamily stared over at him. "Oh sorry, I was just day dreaming. What were you saying?" I asked. "I said I'm sad to hear you're thinking of leaving." he repeated. "Oh yes, yes I am too, that I'm only thinking about it of course, and hopefully if things work out, and I can figure out how to accomplish, then I'll be able to proceed with my plans, that is if my plans work out in such that it makes it possible for me to accomplish the plan, I may be able to do it." I answered. I was vaguely aware that I wasn't making much sense in gathering my thoughts to complete a cohesive thought. I sipped some more champagne and swished it around in my mouth without thinking. I swallowed and took another sip. The champagne went down so smooth and effortlessly now.
Meanwhile, Carlton was studying the people at the other tables. Carlton was a people watcher, but in this case he was wondering if anyone had noticed the odd behavior of his female companion, that being me. The waiter brought some bread and I immediately grabbed a roll from the basket. I stared at it and studied it before I bit into it. I didn't bother to butter it nor did I at least break it in half. I suddenly realized how tired I was, or was I? I felt fine when I came him.
Suddenly a plate was placed in front of me with a a large bowl containing an orange colored soup with little red chunks in it. They placed Carlton's prime rib in front of him. He snapped his napkin open and tucked it under his chin and attacked the prime rib. I felt for a moment I should attack my bisque with the same gusto, but Instead I took my spoon and was picking through the chunks of red in my soup trying to identify what they were. I scooped up some of the soup and sipped it slowly. "Carlton, I've only had lobster a few times, and I don't remember it tasting like this." I said. "Well here, let me have a taste." he answered. He took his spoon and scooped and sampled the lobster. "Tastes fine to me. Give it another try. It's probably the sauce that's throwing your taste buds off." he said.
I decided to plunge ahead and began to eat my Lobster Bisque. I felt a sense of obligation to eat all of it. I paused to nibble on some bread, and then continued eating the Lobster Bisque with occasional sips of champagne. Now the room was getting very warm. I watched as Carlton was vigorously cutting away at this prime and downing his fries. There was something about the red blood gushing out of the meat that I suddenly found repulsive. Then I grew more light headed, and then my stomach lurched.
"I feel sick." I said. I stood. "I have to throw up." I said. Every head in the restaurant was facing me now. With that Carlton leaped out of his chair and began pulling me toward the rest rooms. I didn't make it. There was a large potted tree by the door and I instinctively fell to my knees and vomited into the pot. I looked down at my lobster bisque and realized it looked almost exactly the same as it did in the bowl five minutes before. There were muffled voices and doors opening and closing and then I heard nothing.
I awoke the next morning to find myself in a strange room. I had no idea where I was. Then I realized I was in a bed. But whose bed? I lifted the covers and looked under the covers. Relieved, I still had my clothes on, but my shoes were missing. I had a splitting headache.
Then I heard whistling, a knock at the door, and Carlton entered carrying a pot of coffee and scones. "Well, well, what have we here? I believe it's sleeping beauty, back from the ball I gather." he said in a jovial manner. "Who put me to bed?" I asked. "I did of course, and don't worry, you're still a virgin." as he broke into laughter following up with his patented hacking cough. "Oh, i say, that's rich! I mean you're a lovely girl but just not exactly my type if you know what I mean." he added. "Good God, besides Earl, and your father for that matter, they would skin me alive if I ever . . ." he trailed off as I interrupted him with a loud shriek. "Earl! I have to get to work. It's Saturday and I have to get to the garage!" I shouted.
Carlton stared at me in disbelief, and moments later was driving me back to my room but not after I'd downed a cup of coffee and one of his scones, which thankfully I was able to keep down, but my headache was horrific. I took a cold shower trying to wake up, dressed, and drove over to the garage. I changed into the overalls and began to attack the storage room. I spent the next few hours sorting out parts. I tried to pile all the exhaust pipes in the corner but without warning it collapsed in a great crash. The racket brought Earl in to see what happened. "Sorry, just trying to sort things out." I said.
"Monique, would you help me in here for a moment?" Earl asked. On the bench, he had a starter motor torn apart, and needed a extra pair of hands. "Slide this on here like this, and hold it while I try to insert the clip." he said. I spooled the gear on a few times to see how it fit. "That's it, hold steady." he'd said. I held the gear in place and then I heard a click, and it was done.
"Hmm, what was that part and what does it do?" I asked. "That's the Bendix drive. When power is applied to the motor, it forces this gear forward to engage the flywheel. That cranks the engine and when you hear the engine fire, you release the ignition key, and the gear retracts.” he explained.
Next we installed new brushes at the rear of the starter and slid the brushes and the armature inside the casing. Then Earl let me install the rear cover plate and slide two bolts in place. It took a few tries to line them up but I finally got them to thread properly and tightened them in place. Earl smiled. "Good job. Now we just have to attached the solenoid, and we're done." he said.
I looked down at my hands. After working in the storage room and helping Earl, my hands were jet black. I couldn't imagine my hands being so dirty, but they were. "Well I think we're all done for the day so let's get cleaned up. We went over to the sink in the corner of the garage and Earl took a large white can off the shelf and removed the lid. "Scoop some of this into your hands." he said. "What is it?" I asked. "It's Gojo. It's a hand cleaner made especially for mechanics with greasy dirty hands." he said mimicking an announcer on TV trying to sell the product.
I reached in and scooped out the greasy liquid. Earl followed working the greasy goo into hands and rubbing it into his fingers and the backs of his hands. I copied his motions. I felt like I was a part of a ritual, a ceremonial ritual, yes, the ceremonial washing of the hands, which is carried out at the end of each day. And I was allowed to participate in this sacred rite. I had assembled the starter, or at least helped assemble it, so I had earned the right. Then we rinsed off our hands in the sink, and miraculously, all the dirt seemed to be miraculously washed away. We took paper towers and wiped our hands dry.
The goo actually had a nice smell to it. My hands were clean, but Earl's were not quite clean. I noticed Ear's still had grease in the tiny cracks in his knuckles and under his nails. I guess it would be a true miracle to get his hands clean I thought. Earl's palms and fingers were puffy, almost swollen and oversized from years of tightening wrenches.
"Earl, do you think you'll ever get your hands completely clean?" I asked innocently. "Someday maybe, a real mechanic always has dirt under his nails." he said. And that was all he had to say. A few days later I was sitting in class taking notes, and happen to look down and notice that I had still had some of the black grease under one of my finger nails. I smiled and thought, “Well, I guess that makes me a real mechanic.”
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51-55, F
