There’s this couple that I see very often at work.
When people come in enough, you tend to recognize their faces.
When people come in more often than that, you generally can expect what they might be picking up.
This couple was kind of like that.
They were always really nice and everything. It’s always pleasant to come across people like that after dealing with a dozen other customers who walk all over you.
So, like I said, they come in pretty consistently. They’re maybe in their early thirties or so. Thereabouts.
They would come in every week with some small addition like a new interior door or a few gallons of paint or something.
The woman was pregnant. They actually bought this shitty crib we offered for a short amount of time. You kind of gathered that they were modest in their spending, you know?
Actually, last week the husband came in to try to return it. It was one of those real generic looking things. Unfinished wood and everything. I guess if you’re handy, you could paint it.
That was the issue he was having when he tried to return it. It was already built and already painted. The general manager finally caved and agreed to a restocking fee. The thing was only thirty or so dollars in the first place.
The guy drove around back to return it and I was there to unload it for him. He didn’t say anything to me and his wife wasn’t around. So I pulled this crib out of the back of his truck and he drove away.
And this thing was beautiful. It was bright blue with this really cheery landscape painted on it with these real nice clouds and this bright yellow sun and trees and everything.
Because it was painted and used, we had to break it up and throw it into this massive dumpster dedicated to wood scraps. They didn’t even give it a second look. Why would they?
All I could picture while my sledgehammer was ruining this thing was this man or his wife sitting down in their garage or basement and spending hours priming and painting this for their to-be-kid.
When I knocked out the spindles, all I could think about was this thing sitting in some stereotypically typical nursery, but the lights are all off. Nobody home?
So I swung harder and harder.
I looked down into the pit and there were splatters of blue and yellow and green amongst a wash of brown and dingy gray. I should’ve taken a picture...
I wonder what happened to that couple.
I bet they lost the baby. saddood; That would explain why they didn't try to sell it.
Quote from: FAMY2 on October 17, 2011, 04:18:30 AM
I bet they lost the baby. saddood; That would explain why they didn't try to sell it.
this is true, not many people are in the market buy dead babies.
Quote from: N o t S i d on October 17, 2011, 04:31:45 AM
this is true, not many people are in the market buy dead babies.
I don't see why not. n_n
Quote from: FAMY2 on October 17, 2011, 04:18:30 AM
I bet they lost the baby. saddood; That would explain why they didn't try to sell it.
this was my impression as well. talk about depressing. saddood;
I hope you write books for a living
This was a really good post. Have you ever considered writing a collection of essays in which you write about everyday experiences like this? I'm sure you have considered it. If you ever do, I would buy a copy.
Thank you.
I would too. O_0
:(
I was thinking about this thread while in the shower. You know, you have the bones ready for a great essay or short story here and I think you should fill in the rest and send it to a magazine or something.
Quote from: Reisen on October 18, 2011, 09:27:30 AM
I was thinking about this thread while in the shower. You know, you have the bones ready for a great essay or short story here and I think you should fill in the rest and send it to a magazine or something.
i was thinking about this story in the shower and i realized 3 Things Died in this essay/ Story thing.
Quote from: Reisen on October 18, 2011, 09:27:30 AM
I was thinking about this thread while in the shower. You know, you have the bones ready for a great essay or short story here and I think you should fill in the rest and send it to a magazine or something.
I dunno.
I can slap a skeleton together, but I tend to get discouraged easy.
Quote from: silvertone on October 18, 2011, 01:15:10 PM
i was thinking about this story in the shower and i realized 3 Things Died in this essay/ Story thing.
Elaborate.
The child, the marriage and the
dream embodied in the painted crib?
Quote from: Boognish-Redux- on October 18, 2011, 01:46:49 PM
I dunno.
I can slap a skeleton together, but I tend to get discouraged easy.
don't mean to sound pretentious or anything but i've been writing for a long time and i know a good idea when i see one and this is a good idea
you should totally go for it
Quote from: Boognish-Redux- on October 18, 2011, 01:47:57 PM
Elaborate.
The child, the marriage and the dream embodied in the painted crib?
The child
the Marriage
and the Art (the crib)
which would lead to the destruction of the illustrious yet fleeting American Dream for those people?? idk
Quote from: silvertone on October 18, 2011, 02:03:01 PM
The child
the Marriage
and the Art (the crib)
which would lead to the destruction of the illustrious yet fleeting American Dream for those people?? idk
Nah. Fuck the American dream. There isn't one.
But, regardless, if that's the case with their baby, I feel horrible.
i'm almost tempted to say that if you're not going to use this little vignette for something, i will
but that would be rude of me n_u
Quote from: Reisen on October 18, 2011, 02:19:19 PM
i'm almost tempted to say that if you're not going to use this little vignette for something, i will
but that would be rude of me n_u
Ok Kaz, ok. I'll put it in the to-do/salvage pile.
This isn't that great of an idea. Stop making him feel better than he really is. Boognish is good enough to recognize ideas that should be used.
Quote from: ,,,-,,, on October 18, 2011, 06:45:23 PM
This isn't that great of an idea. Stop making him feel better than he really is. Boognish is good enough to recognize ideas that should be used.
If his post didn't touch you on an emotional level then I feel sorry for you son. 5thgrade;
I can touch myself dittodood;