c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(2-25)
My 1981 Chevette arrived as a low-mileage, one-owner, used car, bought while working at a local department store in the Ohio community where I lived. It held the promise of being thrifty, practical, and a choice made with future goals in mind. Where my antiquated, rusty Volkswagen had been a nod to past traditions, surrendered when I left New York, the minimalist Chevrolet carried an air of personal discipline and utility. I intended to use it wisely. And soon found that its convertible cargo space, with a rear hatch and fold-down seat, meant that I could carry lots of stuff, like a small pickup truck.
To advance my career, as someone retained after serving on our remodel crew, I volunteered for extra assignments whenever those opportunities would arise.
With the Christmas season approaching, my boss at Fisher’s Big Wheel wanted to transfer copies of the Trivial Pursuit game from a nearby spot. This particular product had become very popular with customers. And somehow, a sister depot in the retail chain had acquired many more examples of the item than needed. I was always looking for extra labor hours, and so he picked me immediately as a potential carrier. In particular, because I had upgraded my mode of transportation to the T-car workhorse from General Motors.
It was the first time that I had felt good about owning a ‘Shove-It.’
Our general manager spoke like a door-to-door salesman, making his pitch to sell a vacuum cleaner, gym membership, or set of steak knives.
“Hey Rod, I need a favor! Okay? Are you up for a road trip? I need you to visit a link in this chain. They’ve got merchandise we could use, down Route 44 at another one of our locations. All you’ll have to do is drive. The receiving crew in Streetsboro will load your car. We want to be ready for prime days coming up before things get really crazy, in December. What do you think? Can you do it? Will you do it?”
I envisioned being liberated from janitorial duties, and cruising over the tarmac with my radio tuned to WMMS, a Cleveland powerhouse. Heavy Metal tunes booming from my Sparkomatic speakers, and the wind toying with my long, shaggy, unbrushed hair. It seemed like an opportunity to get academic credit for skipping school. Or being paid for taking an extended break from work. Either way, a bargain I could not refuse.
Despite the fall season, it was sunny and clear as I headed out on this adventure. I managed to find the unfamiliar address without much difficulty, rolled around to their loading dock, and sat patiently as a team of employees assessed the hauling capabilities of my vehicle. I had expected to run a dozen boxes or more back to my home base in Chardon. But the inventory specialist on duty set my mind reeling with her inflated estimate.
“We need to move 100 copies of the Trivial Pursuit game. Something really screwed up our order. Are you ready for that kind of load?”
By the time they had shoehorned that unexpected quantity of goods into my Chevette, the spartan mobile was squatting low on its haunches. Its smallish tires looked deflated. As I slipped the car into first gear, it shuddered and shimmied before moving. Getting up to operating speed took even longer than usual. I observed that the exhaust note sounded oddly low, and labored.
Initially, I managed to do well once out on the road. Since being away from my store meant having a measure of liberty never enjoyed while within those concrete-block walls, I was in no hurry to return. Yet on the way. I had to make a panic stop, when someone in the flow of traffic decided to turn impulsively, at an intersection. As I hit the brakes, inertia took over. The mass of cargo onboard shifted forward, bending the thin construction of my seats like a pro wrestler’s grip. And, sending a cascade of loose boxes tumbling over my shoulders. I steered hard and kept both hands on the wheel. While staying focused on my direction between the painted lines, and deep, rural ditches. There were games all the way up to my windshield. Thankfully, nothing spilled out of the open windows. But my composure had been rattled.
I puttered through the last few miles before reaching home, at a turtle’s velocity.
My boss was candid and amused about the mess, when I backed up to our rear entrance. He stood tall and lanky, with his narrow tie flapping in the breeze. When he realized what had transpired with my load of games, his eyes went wide.
“Geez, oh man! What happened, Rocket Rod? Did you swerve to miss a freaking deer? That little shitbox must’ve been shredding rubber to get stopped! Woo boy, what a scene! You’ve got bruises on the back of your neck! No really, I’m not kidding! Oh well, at least we got our games! Go have a smoke, and a pop! You’ve earned it! You did your duty for the day! Good job, buddy!”
After hitting the time clock, I sat out in our parking lot. Metal pinging sounded from under the hood of my wheeled mule. It had been pushed to its limits by this random task. I burned through a half-pack of Camel cigarettes, while settling my nerves. Then, turned the ignition key once again.
My house on Maple Avenue was just over the hill. There, my mother would have a meal cooking on the stove, and coffee brewing on a side counter. I looked forward to catching a nap on our couch, in the living room. A friendly spot that doubled as my bed, overnight. Everyone in the family worked different shifts at that point, so there was always someone coming, and going, no matter the time of day.
My pay envelope would be fatter, with the holidays approaching. Something that I owed to a stroke of luck, and my Chevy Chevette.
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