so i'm outside the rite-aid with my three-gallon jug, fishing in my pocket for change for the usual biweekly refill, when out the door spills a noisy gaggle of kids, each clutching a hand-packed ice-cream cone (this being the beverly hills rite-aid, it still features such amenities).
they spot me and i'm immediately surrounded--"hey, whatcha doin?" i look up at their accompanying adult--they couldn't possibly all be his kids--and he shrugs, like, "go figure--they get excited by the strangest things."
i tell 'em i'm getting water from the machine; i open the door, place the bottle inside and explain how it works--you put the money in, push the button and voila!, water. electrifying, huh?
well, it is to them--they're totally in. and when i ask if they wanna help, pandemonium breaks out--you'da thought i'd made 'em honorary teenage mutant ninja turtles or something. i line 'em up, they each get a coin to insert (three gallons means three quarters and three nickels and there's six kids, so that works out) and, after some discussion, the three necessary button-pushes are each delegated to teams of two.
the process goes relatively smoothly, with great suspense at the end--"how does it know when it's full?" i tell 'em, "it just knows--watch." they do, breathlessly, and when with less than an inch to go before overflow the water magically stops, there is much jubilation.
when it's all done, i cap the bottle, thank my helpers and reach in to grab it, but i'm beaten to the punch by the oldest boy, who wraps his arms around it, pulls it out--it's almost as big as he is and i just know he's gonna drop it but i resist the urge to help him--turns with a stagger and hands it off to me with a proud grin as the younger kids ooh and aah at his strength.
and then, wham! quick as they came, they're gone--racing off across the parking lot to their next thing. i watch them go, then shlep my water bottle back to my truck and head home.
i long ago came to terms with the fact that i'll never have kids and it's definitely for the best, and i'm totally ok with it. most of the time, anyway.
5 comments:
Forget about the kids, what I want to know is why you think that water is worth schlepping back home? Just how purified is the water from the machine?
Well, as you well realize - living in a third world country as I do - buying water is a necessity. The tap water comes out a multihued gurgling gray and brown. That said, what IS wrong with Los Angeles tap water? I never bought water till I moved out of the states. And them kids, the little angels, again - here you would have had to fork out two pesos each just for thier attention.
As for Banos Roma - heh, it's just a two and a half hour drive away. C'mon down, I promise a gay ol' time. Though I still don't know what you look like - so ellusive you are. All these years chatting and I still have my minds eye version of you though - short hefty, red faced Ernest Borgnign type drunkenly swatting at pidgeons with a closed umbrella across a park screaming, "Cocksuckers! Sonsabitches!"
Oh! I need to contact you soon for an address - would like to send you a copy of my book - you prepurchased two advance copies already - like three years ago, right? Hahaha
Hey Luis, you're not that far off!!! Hahhah!!
Charming story, Mike, and delightfully told.
first off, lemme just say this post was not about the fucking water.
luis: i'm thrilled that all of my writing and our correspondence has painted a picture in your mind of ernest borgnine--you really wanna know what i look like, picture mr. clean on the tail-end of a six-month crack binge and you'll be uncomfortably close.
will: thank you for that
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