Trash Happens
Sam and I are sitting in the booth of a common fast food restaurant. Both of us have the day off and our spouses have run off to the next great garage sale. I’ve taken the greasy, wax paper wrapper off my breakfast sandwich and stuffed it into the plastic cup that was once filled with orange juice. A minute later, Sam does the same because he’s unoriginal and likes to copy me. (Watch what happens when I yawn.)
Our seats allow us the benefit of a large window and a convenient view of the front counter. It’s the perfect perch for people watching. Neither of us can figure out why the goofy looking adolescent taking orders refuses to release more than one space age packaged jelly at a time. Many customers are forced to ask twice or make return visits.
“So, what grand discovery do you suppose your wife will come home with?”
I start to spin my cup. “I don’t know. One thing’s a given. It won’t be anything I’m all that interested in. Sometimes at night I’ll catch Melissa telling our boy tales of the magic rummage sale where clean tables are stacked high with designer shoes, rare knickknacks, and practically new appliances all for only fifteen dollars.”
Sam nods, “Yea, Marisa used to rope me into driving on those little excursions. Never again! I saw more out of date women’s clothing than my grandmother’s closet. All I really saw were piles, and I mean piles, of baby clothes. I even saw one were the lady was trying to sell the mini boxes of cereal that she had stolen from a motel! She was asking a dime a piece!”
“Hey, you know the saying, ‘Get it for free, sell it for a fee.”
“No, Matt. You made that up didn’t you.”
That’s when I noticed a beat up, rust fringed pick up pulling into a parking spot near my window. A moment later, a young man wearing a loose, stained basketball jersey stepped out. He complimented the uber-casual look with wide jeans, a ball cap turned backward, and a tattoo that said something akin to “Yo’r Mama.” His companion (I didn’t see a ring, and yes, I looked.) Was a woman who easily outweighed him by sixty pounds or more. She wore a tight tank top (Why? Gracious, why!?) and sweat pants. She tossed her cigarette butt to the asphalt before reaching in and grabbing a child whose hair was tangled into a Celtic knot.
“Look, at this family coming in but don’t really look.”
Sam gave me a deadpan look. “I’m not blind. They parked just outside our window.”
“Here’s what I don’t understand. Don’t we have stereotypes for this very reason?! Don’t those folks who ever look into a mirror and say, ‘Holy Cow, baby, did you realize we look just like white trash? We’ve got to do something about this!”
“You’re sounding arrogant.”
“I am not! Look, there are only two options for these folks. Either they don’t care or they’re too stupid to realize what they look like. If they don’t care, then it’s as if they are willingly assigning themselves to that sort of scrutiny.”
Sam hunched his shoulders a bit as they shuffled by the window. “Maybe they don’t have any money.”
“Don’t give me that! Even poor people are smart enough to handle something with buttons! And heck, I could teach a chimp to brush hair! No, it takes a certain amount of effort to look purposely bad.”
Just then our wives drove into the parking lot to retrieve us. Both popped out of my wife’s SUV and opened the back hatch. Inside were garbage sacks filled with someone else’s garbage (aka amazing bargains). Both females waved for our attention. Fred looked and the women started jumping up and down pointing to their haul in mock celebration. Melissa even held up a new, mildly tacky lamp she had just found.
“Uh, Matt, your car is filled with garbage sacks and it looks like our significant others are thrilled. I don’t’ see any junk in that pickup’s bed.”
“Shut up Fred, the women are just trying to be funny.”
December 18th, 2008 at 9:06 am
Are Sam and Fred two different people?
Good read Matt.