Reach For The Stars

“Reach for the stars.”

The dim white light from the digital alarm clock on the nightstand reflected off of the blank walls in the room.  4:51 it read.  He had always thought it was silly that the snooze function on the alarm was for nine minutes, who decided that was the appropriate snooze time?  Not that it mattered, he never hit the snooze button.  It would be more rational to just set the alarm for 5, but he liked having the option.  He rolled to his side, flipped the blanket off, and sat on the edge of the bed.  To ache like this at his age just seemed wrong, the soreness in his back made him lean forward for a while when he stood up.  After a few seconds he managed to straighten himself and he made his way to a simple bench along the wall near the bed, where the clothes he’d set out the night before lay folded.  The jeans were worn after heavy use with a handful of stains that showed an awareness of the mess they could have been made, while at the same time it was evident that a certain amount of reckless abandon played a part in their happening.  The work shirt was a simple tee shirt with a company logo on the left breast, the logo was also on the back with the owners cell phone number underneath, in a print that was larger than it should have been.  A little bit of arrogance, he had always thought.  He  found out later, after having worked with the company for a few months, that anything that would make the phone ring and bring on another job was all that mattered.  Lingering on that thought he paused, perhaps he was the arrogant one to have made the assumption in the first place, he continued with his morning ritual.  He pulled on the jeans and shirt, grabbed a pair of socks, and headed down stairs.  It was a two story home, but it wasn’t his.  He rented a room from one of the owners of the company, he had befriended him during his first year, so for five hundred dollars per month he had a 12×10 room to call his own.  Once downstairs he made his way to the kitchen where the coffee pot was already brewing.  “No matter how early I get up, this asshole has to make a point”.  That first cup of coffee was always his moment of bliss before the day would begin, one cup was all he got…all he wanted.

“Everyone is special”

Breakfast always weighed him down so coffee and a couple cigarettes were his morning fuel.  Being at the shop first was the goal, you’d think it was out of some dedication to company or exemplification of work ethic…it wasn’t.  He liked his way of doing things, and if he got there first he could prep for the jobs of the day his way.  One thing he figured out early was that routines made the hard work feel easier, the more you can control the better.  He jumped into the company truck, a white late nineties model Ford crew cab.  It had been a work truck before, for a lawn maintenance company, so the odor of oil, cut grass, and sweat was always wafting from the vents.  The sunlight finally began to crest the horizon after he had loaded the truck and attached the trailer.  This would be the coolest the day would be, south Texas summers are brutally hot and even these small rays warmed all they touched.  He had started the coffee pot in the office when he first arrived, and now with his preparations complete a second cup of coffee was in order.  He lit a cigarette after his first sip, the faint buzz and euphoria washing over him.  There’s something to the combination of the hot smoke and black coffee that just pair perfectly.  The working man’s Pinot Noir and smoked Gouda…he chuckled at the thought.  This was the time that the laborers would begin to stroll onto the lot.  This bunch never really had a predictable…well, a predictable anything really.  Sometimes they’d show up with smiles, clothes freshly washed, and a handful of snacks.  Other times they’d be sullen, the previous day’s uniform on, and a half drank malt liquor can in hand.  Their output never really changed so he figured it didn’t matter.  After some small talk, off color jokes, and a small argument everyone was ready.  He grabbed the keys to the old Ford, the clipboard with his jobs list, sunglasses and hat.

“You can be whatever you put your mind to”

The once black hat bill, now sun beaten and gray, dripped sweat, pooling along the bottom rim of his Oakley square frame sunglasses.  Dirt, now mud, gathered along the creases of his elbows and wrists as they cranked the last strap over the trailer, securing the equipment.  The weatherman had predicted 98 degrees as the high, it’s a trope to say that they never are correct, the thermostat read 105.  The laborers were taking turns at the nearby hose bib rinsing off, intermittently pulling drinks of water from the hose.  It was 5:30PM, job completed, but the workday was hardly over.  First, was the dreaded process of collecting payment.  Dizzy from the heat, he reached for his clipboard and found the invoice.  Trickles of sweat mixed with dirt, dripped and stained the paper.  Aren’t I the slob I appear to be.  It’s always awkward trying to engage with a client that’s cleanly dressed, drinking what looks like tea (might have had a little extra added to it judging by their speech), while sopping in grime.  He’d done  this many times though, sometimes it was short and sweet while others were drawn out and contentious.  Regardless of the fact that the price had been agreed to, it never made collecting the money any easier. This particular time was a short and sweet one, god bless the buzzed.  With the truck windows down, a lit cigaret in hand, he headed back to the shop.  Life is a series of decisions based on incentives.  Choices of whether to forgo or lean into the base needs we have.  In his line of work the incentives were few, in this echelon of society it’s the small things that matter.  The small thing that he knew would motivate his men to put in the last bits of effort necessary to unload the trailer and truck came in a silver 12 ounce can with the letters “C-O-O-R-S” on the side.  He pulled into a locally owned gas station located across the street from the shop and bought three cases of “liquid gold”.  It was nearly 6:45PM.  It’s amazing the energy that the first beer can give, considering that the last beer has the opposite effect.  It would be after 8PM before he would head home, a case a beer in his belly, the dried salt from his sweat on his arms and neck, and that ache he felt in the morning beginning to return.  Tomorrow morning will come too soon, yet not soon enough.  He needs the routine to begin again, idle hands lend themselves to the devil’s work.