I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I haven’t written publicly in a while.  

Privately I’m 30,000 words into a novel about…well something.  

However, I do miss writing for an audience.  Actually, I miss it a lot.  

I have a million ideas.  Seriously.  If I was more motivated.  More driven.  More focused.  I’d have probably already signed a trillion-dollar book deal.  Or at least have published a pamphlet I leave on people’s cars.  I enjoy it a lot.  

So to back up, on Sunday, I worked a very long shift.  And I mean very long.  It was very busy.  It was crazy. We are at the end of restaurant week and to be honest, it’s been a great help to an otherwise boring spring.  

When I came upstairs from the office at 4:00 to check in on the staff, make sure the doors were open and inspect the dining room Cher was playing on the speakers.  I smiled to myself.  Who doesn’t love Cher.  Although, it did make me remember that my 23 year old host from Norway has no idea who Cher is but that’s another story.  

As the night started at 4:00, the music continued.  I learned that the station was a Cher station on Pandora.  The music continued and as it did, the songs I knew continued.  One right after another.  And every song that played had a story.  Dolly, Journey, Billy, The Bee Gee’s, even Elvis.  

My young host and servers were all hanging out waiting for the night to begin and as the songs played I kept them entertained with a story about each one.  And is always the case, I thought to myself, this would be a great writing exercise.  Sharing music stories with all of you.  

This is the first.  It might be my last and only one.  But it IS my first. 

New Kid in Town:  Eagles.  1976/1977. 

For me it’s January 1977. 

It’s snowing.  It’s been snowing for 12 months.  

We missed the last day of school before Christmas break, which was supposed to be the day of our Christmas party.  It’s now the middle of January.  It’s still snowing.  It’s been almost a month, and we have still not been back to school.  For almost 8 days we didn’t leave our house.  Our road, Carrick Road, has not been plowed in a week.  Our yard, stretches out for a 100-yards, even though, 50 feet from our house, it’s supposed to drop 5 feet to the road.  It is snowy.  

When the plows finally clear a one lane path, my parents need to go back to work.  I’m in 6^th grade and my mom the worrier won’t let my brother and I stay home by ourselves.  

On the first day of clear roads, we get up at 6:30, get dressed and by 7:00 are on our way to Lexington with our parents.  We’ll stay at my mom’s office with her, while my dad goes to his job.  

It is snowing.  Hard.  The snow in the headlights looks like a scene from some space movie.  There is snow on both sides of the road.  My father has both hands tight on the steering wheel.  He is hunched over, paying attention.  You can tell he knows it’s his job to drive, to get us to our destination in one piece.    

A song plays on the radio station WLAP, 630 am.  New Kid In Town by the Eagles.   The song wraps up and a DJ tells us about the weather.  The news.  They continue to talk as my dad slowly maneuvers the slippery roads in his pick up truck

There is no talking. 

We drive.    

My mother lights another cigarette, she hates traveling in the snow.  She will smoke non-stop until we arrive at her office. 

After what seems like 6 hours we finally arrive in Lexington on Newtown Pike.  The roads clear.  There is a collective sigh of relief as the worst of our trip is behind us.  Finally, we arrive at 200 Cox Street.  A tile and carpet subcontracting building.  

We have made it alive.  My mother is happy.  

We get out of the truck, and climb the icy concrete steps to the cold aluminum sided building she works in. She unlocks the door.  We are the only ones there.  She flips on the over head fluorescent lights and turns on the heat.  There is no plumbing in her office so they keep the heat off when no one is there.  It’s about 4* and won’t be warm till around the time we eat lunch. 

She is a bookkeeper.  She has been a bookkeeper for years.  She started this job, working for my uncle three years ago.  Her office is wood paneled, covered in maps.  There are sample books of carpet and tile everywhere.  The walls, the “art”, the maps on the all are all yellowed from years of smoking in the office.  The office smells of damp cold air and cigarette smoke.  

My brother and I will spend the day here.  I’m 11 but my mother doesn’t trust my brother and I to spend the day alone at home.  We will go to her office every day.  We sit on the floor if anyone else is there, as she only has one chair and it’s hers.  There are two offices behind hers is occupied by the man who runs the business.  The back office, the owner of the company, I haven’t seen in weeks.  We get settled and we countdown the 8 hours wait until we can go home again.  This pattern repeats itself, every day till the second week of February.

I wander around the office.  Looking at calendars.  A map of Lexington.  The blueprints of a school they have been hired to carpet and tile.  I go through drawers.  I open boxes.  It’s 8:45 and I’m bored out of my mind.    My one consolation is that I can read.  Once I figure out where to plant myself, I’ll pull out a book and get settled.  

Today I am reading a book called Today I Am a Ham.  I love reading.  It’s saved me from my life more times than I can count.  

My mom turns on her radio, pours a cup of coffee, lights a cigarette and starts to work.  I can hear the sound of the adding machine and typewriter.  The phone rings, Good Morning, L. Standafer Company.  My mother has a phone voice.  She is a different person when she answers the phone.  Calm.  Kind.  Relaxed.   Not at all how she talks to us.   

She answers the questions.  Takes notes.  Say’s goodbye and hangs up.  She goes back to work.  

I wander around the building.  Into the warehouse, which is not heated.  I can see my breath as I walk around looking at rolls of carpet and boxes of tiles.  I eventually find myself in her boss’s office.  It is filled with blueprints.  Even to this day, I’ve been fascinated by floor plans.  I look through them, thinking one day I might like to be an architect. 

I seat myself in her boss’s empty chair. I pretend to be the boss, picking up the phone.  Opening and shutting drawers.  Finally, I pull out my book to read.  The time goes by faster when I am reading.  I open the book to the first page.   I’m a little old for it, but I had it at home and it’s been a favorite for years.  I read, and read, and read, and read, and read.  I start to get drowsy. I close my eyes for a second, and I’m asleep.  

When I open my eyes, it’s time for lunch.  We eat boloney sandwiches, with potato chips and dessert is a Little Debbie oatmeal pie.  After lunch the day repeats itself, with my mom answering the phone, me reading and my brother doing who knows what. 

At 4:30 my father arrives, to start the drive back home.  It’s as treacherous as the morning drive.  

Everyday for 6 weeks I hear the song New Kid In Town.  And to this day, when it plays, I can see myself squeezed in to the middle of the pick up truck, listening to the lyrics, followed by the news on WLAP.  

I have a love hate relationship with this song.  It’s a lovely song, but the music, the lyrics, take me back to the winter of 1977 and my long trek to the 200 Cox Street.