Julio got a text message requesting his availability for a 7:30 shift at the Fed-Ex warehouse. He loved his day-labor app. He could request, accept, or decline warehouse shifts anywhere in the city or surrounding area.
The process was a labor auction. If no one picked up the shift, the pay goes up as employers become impatient and desperate to have anyone load their boxes, sweep their floors, stock their shelves, or perform any manual labor that decades earlier paid a decent salary with benefits.
The price for today’s Fed-Ex shift was $90 for six hours. He waited 20 minutes until it hit $135 and pressed accept before anyone else took the shift. He knew it wouldn’t go any higher, the enemy also played the game.
It was mid January in Central Texas. The world was gearing up for the coldest part of the year, freezing pipes, salted roads, and shitty drivers. The bad weather days relieved commuters and school districts from another day of illiteracy, mediocrity, and monotony. The weather was overcast, in the high 30’s and set for 20’s by the weekend. Julio put on his gloves, pulled down his bright orange beanie, shoved his housemate's pansy-ass dog out the back door, made sure the dog had water, unplugged his electric scooter, and zipped away. He's a dog, he’ll be alright, he thought.
Julio made his way through neighborhoods of shotgun pier and beam 1940’s tract homes under canopies of leafless pecan and oak branches swaying and drumming on each other. He passed the high school where his housemate's son attended, reached Rick Perry Blvd and scooted his way uphill into the cold for $135.
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At the red light exiting the grocery store parking lot, Gilbert kept his eye on traffic coming downhill from his left. His car was cold, his hands were cold, his gas station coffee stunk the cab, and he was hungry. There was a break in the traffic and he accelerated into man coming uphill from his right.
The man rolled over the hood and landed on the driver's side of the car. The weight of his car crushed the electric scooter. Gilbert put the car in park. “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck”, he squeezed his steering wheel. There were no cars behind him.
The man was still on the ground. Gilbert got out of his car while Julio got to his knees and stood up. Traffic coming downhill slowed down as they passed. A gray haired woman driving a red SUV shook her head in disapproval.
“Holy shit, man. Are you alright?” Gilbert’s day was fucked. His vehicle tags were expired, he had no car insurance, and now this.
“Yeah, I think so” Julio’s left wrist and right ankle throbbed, then his lower back and left hip joined the drumming pain.
“Do you need to go to the hospital?”
Julio looked around, thought about for a moment. “Can you take me to work?”
“Huh?”
“It’s right up the street. The Fed Ex warehouse. You know where it’s at?”
Gilbert was confused. “Sure.”
“Can you back up? I gotta get my scooter from under your car?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” On his knees, Julio reached under the car and tried to pull out the bent scooter. Gilbert watched. “You want me to back up the car?”
“If you don’t mind”, Julio grunted from under the car. Julio stood up and back away while Gilbert engaged the car forward, a crunch followed by a pop. Gilbert quickly shifted the car into reverse, another crunch, then pieces of plastic blew out towards the street.
“I’m so sorry man.”
Julio shook his head at the absurdity, sucked a deep cold breath into his lungs and limped over to picked up the scooter. “Mind if I put it in the back seat?”
“Sure.” Gilbert opened the back door.
Julio threw it onto the back seat and hobbled over to the passenger's side. A car pulled up behind them and honked. Julio winced, the pain doubling as he sat.
“It’s back that way?” Gilbert motioned to his left, confirming with Julio.
“Yeah, but you’ll have to turn around somewhere down there.” Julio pointed to the right. They both looked far into the downhill boulevard building up traffic as other lights opened up a flood of cars coming uphill. “Fuck it, just take me home.”
“Home?”
“Yeah, man. Just keep going down all the way to where the high school’s at and make a right turn. I’ll guide you from there.”
“Are you gonna call the cops?”
“Why? What are they gonna do?”
Gilbert made a right turn while the car behind him squeezed out a longer and more aggressive squawk. He drove cautiously, scanning the road, using all his signals. He continued shaking and apologizing. “Can I take you to the hospital?”
“Nah, I don’t have insurance,” Two miles down the boulevard an ambulance raced by them with lights and sirens. Gilbert glanced over at Julio. “Keep driving.”
They pulled up to Julio’s home. Gilbert helped him with the scooter.
“You want some coffee, water?”
“Coffee? Water?” Gilbert looked confused.
“Yeah man, you look shook up.”
“Ok. Coffee sounds good.”
They walked into the warm house where the heater was humming and the smell of coffee and toast mixed with the scent of burnt dust pushing from the air ducts. Julio limped to the sliding glass door by the kitchen to let the dog inside. A cold gust blew on his face and ears. The dog ran up to the stranger, barked, sniffed his pant legs, then squeezed his fat hairy body under the couch.
“He’s a pussy, he won’t bite. Sit down, man.” Julio made his way to the kitchen. “Sorry, man, looks like there’s no more coffee.” Julio picked up the empty press, showing it to his guest. “Want some water?”
“Sure.”
Julio opened the fridge. There were four beers next to the pitcher of filtered water. “Want a beer instead? Might soothe your nerves.”
“Aren’t you going to work?” Asked Gilbert
“Looks like I’m taking the day off. What about you?” The can hissed. Julio took a sip.
“Fuck it, gimme a beer.”
“Atta boy!”
Gilbert took the cold can from his limping host and downed a heavy slug. Then tipped it back again and took another hearty gulp.
“It’s an IPA, strong and bitter.”
(Continued)
Julio stood over him, sipping his beer. “You were thirsty. You gonna be ok?”
“Yeah, what about you? I hit you with my car.”
“Dude, I know. This shit’s gonna hurt for days.” Julio turned and hobbled down the hall. “I’m gonna get some ibuprofen.”
“I’m Gilbert.”
“I know, you told me already.” Julio’s voice carried down the hall. “I’m Julio.”
“Nice to meet you. Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m so sorry.”
“You already said that.” Julio’s voice sounded closer.
“I’m sorry, man.” The heater shut-off for a few minutes. “Is Wholeo short for anything?” Gilbert asked in his texan accent. The wall-sized flat screen television across the room stared back at Gilbert. He could see his thin scraggly unwashed body in its reflection. He needed to shave. He realized he was wearing the same pearl-snap western shirt from yesterday. His sweaty feet were cold inside his square toed cowboy boots.
“Yeah, it’s short for ‘you owe me a fucking scooter’.”
“I’m sorry man. How much do I owe you?”
Julio limped into the living room. “I’m fucking with you, don’t worry about it. Want another beer?”
The guest belched. “Yeah. Thanks, man.”
Julio finished his beer on his way to the fridge. “Where were you going, anyways?”
“I was going to an AA meeting.” Gilbert popped the top of his 2nd beer.
“Oh shit, man.”
“It’s fine.”
“Well, too late now.” Julio chuckled. “You should still go. I’m sure you’re not the only one who’s gone in there drunk.” Julio eased himself into his housemate’s recliner, pushed back to engage the foot rest, turned on the television, and scrolled through the streaming options. “You’re not going to cry are you? “
“I’ll be alright. How much was the scooter?”
“Five-hundred something. Don’t worry about it.”
Gilbert took out his billfold, pulled out the cash he withdrew earlier to pay his dad for the car he used to hit Julio, a 2002 Toyota Corolla with 195,800 miles with stained cloth seats, bald tires, a cracked windshield, and the smell of cigarettes. He hadn’t paid his dad for almost a year.
“Can I use your bathroom?”
Julio pointed to the hall. “First door on your right.”
Gilbert brought down the seat and sat to empty his bladder. He pulled out the cash and counted the money. He knew he had to give this guy something, but $200 wouldn't be enough to cover the scooter and his injuries. He needed gas. I should buy him some more beer, he thought. He washed his hands, walked back out to the living room, and handed Julio $160. “That’s all I got man, sorry. I can bring you more later.”
“Don’t worry about it. Sit down and watch something while the beer wears off.”
“I was thinking of grabbing some more beer to replace the ones I drank and to thank you for helping me out.” Gilbert realized his words were confusing and meant nothing, but he was sure the gesture of buying his victim beer would strengthen the sentiment, proof that he was a man of his word willing to set things right.
“Ok, I'll be here, watching Gilmore Girls.”
Gilbert drove to the gas station at the end of the street and returned with a six-pack of the finest IPA in the tiny corner store. Julio was asleep in the recliner when he returned. Gilbert went to the kitchen and put the six-pack in the fridge. He stared at the six-pack of bottles and decided to take two from the pack, after all, Julio originally had four. This would even out the situation. Then he thought about offering one of the two beers in his hands to Julio.
“Hey man, I brought the beer. It’s in the fridge.”
Julio looked up at him, half asleep. “I’m good, man. Sit down and watch TV.”
“I think I’m gonna take off”.
“Ok”
Gilbert drank one of the IPA’s on the porch and tossed the bottle into the recycling bin on the side of the house. He popped open the second beer and started his car. The cab was depressing, he could smell his own breath. The heater kicked on but barely pushed. He drove to the end of the street, made a right turn onto the main boulevard and disappeared uphill into the overcast morning.