Boaz Bloom and Tumble-Down Row, Part Two

November 6, 2007, 11:00 am; posted by
Filed under Articles, Featured, Job  | 1 Comment

The last of the Best of Job, continued. Part one is here.

My father spent Monday getting my grandmother’s checking account transferred into my name so I could pay contractors, etc., then Mom helped me shop for some things and clean out her fridge to make room.

I threw out my Grandmother’s ketchup, and she put it back.

“It’s over 3/4 full!” She stared at me in amazement. Did she raise this boy?

I pacified her, but as soon as she was on her way home, I threw it away. I’m not going to finish something a dead person started, especially not something like ketchup. That’s a pretty particular food item, fairly intimate, wouldn’t ya say?

I should say so.

I might have enjoyed the sudden responsibility I had to tie this woman’s life up if I:
(a) hadn’t known that they just didn’t want to be bothered with it, and
(b) didn’t want to be bothered with it myself.

But all was not lost. I had use of her boat of a Buick, a big house to roam around in, and an entire town to explore — and hopefully some farm girls to trick.

 

My first week there was filled with poignant things…finding pictures of my grandfather during the war or my dad in diapers on the boot of an old Chevy truck, shopping at the IGA and having my back slapped for being a “good old Thein boy.” All the poignant, soul-awakening things a good author would detail for you — but the things, in this case, that I hope you can just accept as having happened. I can’t do them justice.

Thanks.

Thanks for your support at this time.

 

For all its blossoming effects on me, that first week was incredibly boring also, and I burned through a considerable amount of money. In my scientific study and pursuit of the bands of farm girls who roamed Chap, I had logged much time at the local batting cage and miniature golf oasis, dispatching large portions of root beer floats (they LOVE ’em out there; some of their Bibles even say Jesus was the “Root Beer Float of life”) and trying to attract attention through poetic amounts of time solemnly swatting at balls in the fast-pitch cage.

I’ve got a solid swing, dontchaknow?

But being from New Hampshire marked me more as smarmy than exotic. I made some minor inroads with a girl named Becky (isn’t that a precious Missouri name? She had all the other local effects too — long, carefully braided brown hair, freckles on her cheekbones., the simple dungaree fare that made her the exotic one), but nothing to write home about.

She was more polite than interested, but I’ve exchanged that currency and spent it before.

Speaking of writing home, I was almost out of money and I couldn’t touch Grandma’s account except to get Jessica Thein’s life squared away. My parents don’t hurt for cash even a little, but to their credit, they’ve never been swift to bloat their children’s pockets, and this was no different. My mother told me I had more free time than I knew what to do with, and I should simply get a job in Chap.

I don’t mind working, friend, I just also don’t mind not working.

I know what’s bothering you… My grandmother’s name was Jessica. I think she was one of the first ever, but I need to do some research on that. There’s no Biblical Jessica, no Queen Jessica, no Athenian legends or anything, but now America is just filled with them. You can’t go out without running into 3 or 4 of them, with their silly little perms and cavity-laden smiles. America needs them too. Half the coffee served in America today (the day you read this) was served and stirred by Jessica. They’re an army, them and Jennifer.

Jesum.

But don’t be bothered by it. Somehow she’s a Jessica — was, I mean — and I enjoy the pioneering spirit her parents had to take the first “Jessica” plunge. Either way, the sawmill on the edge of town hired me on the spot. They seemed like a good lot, and as long as my summer had spun that far out of control, I wasn’t going to try to rein it in by working at the local Dairy Queen or something, for familiarity’s sake.

I was gung-ho. Let’s chop up some wood.

–TO BE CONTINUED–


Comments

1 Comment to “Boaz Bloom and Tumble-Down Row, Part Two”

  1. Boaz Bloom and Tumble-Down Row, Part Three : Bweinh! on November 13th, 2007 11:05 am

    […] The last of the Best of Job, continued. Lost? Read part one and part two. […]

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