Sunday, August 27, 2017



by William Snyder
© 2017
Ten screaming paperboys sit with me crammed into Jim Davis’ station wagon. CCR’s “Proud Mary” blasts from the car radio. It’s Friday night and we’re headed for Ascot Racetrack. I don’t know any of these screaming paperboys and they’re cliqued up. It’s uncomfortable, but there seems to be a lot of that when you’re eleven. Jim the paperboy manager rolls up to a red light and shouts, “Chinese fire drill!”

Everyone pours out of the wagon but me.

“Get out of the car, kid!” Jim says.

I slide out. Noticing the others are circling the wagon. I follow a few feet behind the last kid. He jumps in, slams the door, and the wagon peels out, leaving me standing there choking on exhaust and burned rubber. The rumbling of stock cars in the distance rattles my teeth.  A horn blast from a Yellow Cab startles me into action. Making my way to the sidewalk, I kick a light pole with my Chuck Taylors and assess the situation. There is nothing to do but walk the remaining four blocks to Ascot Race Track.

Jim Davis the paperboy manager has set the bar very low for future my bosses of the future.  

No comments:

Post a Comment