Trailer Park Vignettes – “Homecoming, Part Two"

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-24)

 

 

The night was cool but comfortable, as dean McCray continued to trek westward, toward Ohio and his home base in Geauga County. At a quick-serv depot along the way, he picked up a 12-pack of Piels lager, something he remembered a friend referencing as a favored, budget brew during younger days. Sports writer Jimmy Breslin used to call it ‘a good drinking beer’ in commercials that ran in the 1970’s. It was a last attempt to carry home some kind of souvenir from his journey. A tangible keepsake to help him stay connected, even if only for the time spent consuming this retro beverage. He stashed it in a cooler, nestled in the tail of his Ford Bronco. A prize hidden under luggage, dirty clothes, copies of the Ithaca Times, empty boxes from Pudgie’s Pizza, and vinyl albums purchased at local collector’s stores.

 

He drove past Cold Spring, Randolph, Kennedy, Falconer, and the population center of Jamestown. Then Bemus Point, Sherman, and north of Findley Lake. Finally, he had reached the Pennsylvania border. This demarcation made him breathe heavily, while pondering that it would be his last escape. He had run out of reasons to go back. Out of friends, out of ideas, and perhaps, out of hope.

 

The last leg of his adventure was a silent slog across nebulous vistas of interstate pavement. He turned off the radio, and listened to wind howling through his open windows. Mile after mile ticked away on the odometer. He had turned numb, and stiff. His fingers ached from holding the steering wheel. His right foot dipped low without purpose, as the cruise control held its pace. He felt like an astronaut, probing deep into outer regions of nothingness. Swaddled in black, except for occasional points of light that lit his way, under the stars.

 

Going past Conneaut, in Ohio, he nearly fell asleep. But a merciful ring sounded from his cell phone to provide an intervention by chance. Kiki Krale had arrived at a motel in Madison, after a long day working at one of the travel plazas south of the village. She and other residents of Evergreen Estates who were displaced by the park closure had taken shelter for the moment among travelers and other seekers of anonymity.

 

Her voice boomed through the 4x4 vehicle, providing a point of focus needed to help him maintain consciousness.

 

“Dean! I just checked my device, it’s been hectic here. We’re all homeless now, no lie! Nobody has been allowed on the property, they got sheriff’s deputies and the FBI and who-the-eff knows else crawling around. Why’d you stay away so long? Call me back, dammit!”

 

He pulled over at the TA Travel Center, in Kingsville. Suddenly halting his forward progress exposed the level of his exhaustion. Yet it felt good to step outside of his vehicle, and stretch his legs. When he dialed her number, his voice was hoarse.

 

“Hey Kee, what are you talking about? Homeless? I don’t get it! What happened in our neighborhood? I’ve only been gone for a few days...”

 

His fellow resident shrieked and scolded him for being missing-in-action.

 

“A FEW DAYS? TRY A WHOLE MONTH, AT LEAST, DEANER! YOU DIDN’T CALL OR TEXT OR ANYTHING! NICE JOB ON BEING A TRUE FRIEND, DUDE! DID YOU EVEN WATCH THE NEWS AT ALL, OR READ A PAPER?”

 

Dean was embarrassed to have been out of the loop for so long.

 

“Well, no, I was drinking and dive-hopping, you know? There ain’t too many of the old crowd left. But I scoured those streets until a couple of them popped up, guys I knew over 40 years ago. I was drunk and disorderly, so to speak. I flopped at the Diamond Lounge, that’s the nickname we used for Dee Dee’s house. She’s in her 70’s now, it’s really hard to believe. I sat there drinking bourbon and beer, and talking about old memories...”

 

Kiki snorted at his disinterest in becoming informed.

 

“You didn’t hear about the assassination attempt when Orange Jesus was praying over his faithful, at a rally north of Pittsburgh?”

 

Her cohort gagged and coughed loudly.

 

“Umm, what? An assassination attempt? Like, somebody threw a shoe at him and he couldn’t duck? George W. Bush seemed to handle that just fine...”

 

She wasn’t amused by his sarcasm.

 

“NO DUMBASS! A REAL TRY AT TAKING HIM OUT! THERE WAS A SHOOTER ON THE ROOF NEARBY. A BULLET GRAZED HIS EAR! THAT IDIOT KILLED A SPECTATOR AND NAILED TWO OTHERS! HIS SHIT SHOOK UP AMERICA, AND THE WHOLE WORLD!”

 

Dean felt sick at his stomach.

 

“Okay, I’ll bite my tongue. No, I didn’t hear any of that, just a report earlier tonight about some kind of fracas at our trailer park. I’m sorry, Kee. The truth is, I’ve been blitzed for however long you say it’s been since I left on vacation...”

 

Kiki sighed and lowered her tone.

 

“There was an uprising at the dump where we live. People driving in circles, burning rubber, rolling coal, blasting their truck horns. Somebody called the police because of all the noise, and it got out of hand. You know how it is in that community, lots of flags flying and alcohol flowing. Guns being fired in the air. Fires being set. The township Po-Po couldn’t restore order, so they called in the deputies. Then it became a battle over territory. Things started getting broken, windows, walls, and eventually, teeth and bones! The reporters at Fox 8 News called it another insurrection!”

 

Her distant contact slumped at his dashboard. He didn’t have the energy to stand, anymore.

 

“So, they shut down our property? Just like that? Kicked everybody out and put up ‘no trespassing’ signs? You gotta be kidding!”

 

The young waitress shook her head and began to weep.

 

“Just like that! I’m rooming with somebody else from my street. It’s still costing us a fortune, though! There’s a legal case over getting us reimbursed. I won’t count on it, nobody gives a shit about people who live in boxcars! We’re invisible! We don’t exist!”

 

Dean’s eyes were burning. He sat bathed in the neon glow of signage for fuel varieties and fast-food services.

 

“So, why am I coming home, Kee? What’s the point if I can’t even get to my trailer? When will they lift the lockdown? How long will it take to sort out this mess?”

 

Kiki wiped her tears and whispered into the phone.

 

“All I know is you can share this room. I know you’re a gentleman at heart. We all in this together, bruh. That’s what people always say, right? But it’s true. All of us, the whole park, the whole township, the whole state. Dammit, the whole country! We gotta figure things out! It’s time to make peace instead of enemies!”

 

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Homecoming, Part One”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-24)

 

 

Dean McCray had been thrilled to revisit his former homeplace in New York State many times over the past forty years. But when these trips actually occurred, they only seemed to confirm that he had grown more distant and disconnected from that period of his life. He was older now, more burdened with responsibilities, and less impulsive. The reality of his transformation into a solid citizen filled his heart with sadness. Eventually, he simply quit going back, to avoid confronting the harsh reality of his exile.

 

The concept of anarchy, once an artistic paradigm by which he had lived, was gone.

 

Yet upon reaching retirement and separation from his wife and family, and the point of paying off his mobile home at Evergreen Estates, suddenly the bonds of practicality were untied. He could roam once again. He could do things that were ill-advised and capricious. He could shed the skin of a senior serf. And return to the young perspective of a free man.

 

In Ithaca, on Cayuga Lake, he celebrated long into the night. With music and dancing and alcohol. In his hotel room, he nursed a hangover after this wild moment of triumph. Yet something rang hollow in the experience. Many old friends had either moved away, or died. Others were grandparents now, or great-grandparents. Content to tend to their brood with sage advice and creeping senility taking hold. The counsel of like-minded souls had evaporated over time. The promised land he sought no longer existed.

 

Finally, on a Sunday night blessed with the slow, sleepy influence of summer, he decided to go home. It was his last escape. What awaited in Ohio was loneliness and eventually, the judgment of mortality. So, he did not hurry.

 

West of Corning, he paused in the Village of Riverside. Stealthily slinking along under the cover of darkness, for a quiet moment of reflection. There, a trio of bandmates had once lived. On Balcolm Avenue, and around the corner, on Freeman Street. He sat in his Ford Bronco, sipping coffee from a convenience depot. The drive back to Buckeye territory would take a few hours. He wanted to be awake and alert. But also, clear-headed and unemotional.

 

Tears of regret could come later. For the moment, he needed to be sane and safe at the steering wheel.

 

He drove past Campbell, Bath, Hornell, and Angelica, while languishing in personal memories. By the time he reached Cuba, where the notable Cheese Shoppe was located, it was far too late for a stopover. His eyes were red and fatigued. He passed Olean and then reached Salamanca. There, on Allegany land, he found a fast-food meal, and a parking space. By then, the temperature had cooled. He rolled all the windows down in his SUV, and sat staring into the limitless eternity of night.

 

A twist of the radio knob brought him a crackle of static. Followed by news on WTAM 1100, a station that boomed through the receiver. Despite the fact of still being many miles away from his home environment. He closed his eyes for a moment, and drifted in space. A broadcast announcer spoke in serious tones, as he napped.

 

“The Ohio National Guard was called to Geauga County today, by Governor Mark Moerlein. There have been several violent incidents in a rural development of trailers, after the last election. But recently, the volatility between residents and law enforcement has spun out of control. An evacuation was conducted by the county sheriff and his deputies, following a citizen blockade. The park is now officially closed, and empty. Those who resisted being relocated have been taken into custody. A flurry of lawsuits exploded, but so far, judges have ruled that the move by state and local authorities was justified. Much of Pine Trail Road remains off limits, with barricades set up in front of the mobile-home community. We will bring you more details as they become available...”

 

Dean rubbed his eyes. They felt scratchy and dry. He sat upright, and peered out of the windshield. Points of light dotted the parking area, from cars and trucks and poles towering overhead. Yet no sense of urgency had anyone motivated. He was still in a different world, one separate and apart from his own.

 

He scrolled through contacts on his cell phone. Then clicked on a number for his neighbor to the east, Kiki Krale. Her line rang and rang and rang, until a voicemail program was activated. He breathlessly petitioned her to call back, whenever possible.

 

“Hey Kee, what the hell is going on? I’ve been on a little vacation, one last horse ride to my old stomping grounds in the Empire State. I turned on the radio just now, you know how I roll. I still listen to the regular airwaves, my ex-wife said it was a sign of being an old fart and out-of-touch! Anyway, there was a news bulletin from Cleveland, something about our crap-tastic, hillbilly neighborhood. What happened to the community? Did they really shut down that junkyard paradise? Give me a jingle, I want to know where I’m going to sleep tonight! This little 4x4 ain’t too comfortable for stretching out!”

 

He chewed on McDonald’s fries while waiting for some sort of reply. But his device remained silent. Traffic came and went lazily, as he pondered the situation. Could he go home tonight? Should he go home? The question burned in his head like a hot cinder, spilled from a fireplace hearth.

 

Uncertainty made him impatient, and restless. So, he decided to take a walk, alone. There were few others outside of their vehicles, but after a brief jaunt across the lot, he found a trucker who was resting in a folding chair. The burly, big-bellied driver was bald and covered with tattoos. But he had a friendly demeanor.

 

“Hey buddy, ya look worried! Something go wrong at home, or are ya running away?”

 

Dean laughed softly. He and the professional road warrior exchanged a fist bump.

 

“Not exactly, I was out chasing ghosts, you might say. Over in the Finger Lakes Region. But I found out that what’s dead is dead, you know? Memories live forever, but people don’t...”

 

The rig pilot nodded and grinned, knowingly.

 

“See, I don’t have ta run away from home, this 18-wheeler is my place to live. I got everything I need, right here. And if I don’t, there’s a travel plaza around the bend. I can find a shower and a hot meal. Maybe even a lot lizard for companionship, if I’m so inclined...”

 

Both of them were amused by the candid admission. But then, their mood stiffened.

 

The Ohio refugee crouched with his knees bent. His back settled against the concrete buttress of a light post.

 

“I’m not sure if I have a home anymore, that’s the thing. I’ve lived too long to call myself an orphan. Yet right now, I’ve got to confess that I feel like one!” 

 

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Graveyard Shift, Part Five”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-24)

 

 

Linn Speck felt confidence surge through his flabby torso, while standing in front of the abandoned trailer where Hagreb Tonta had lived for most of the past year. A tattered blanket hung in the broken, front window. Graffiti had been spray-painted all over the trailer walls. There were ruts in the yard from pickup trucks doing burnouts. Litter had been scattered everywhere.

 

He spat on the ground while shouting an oath.

 

“GOOD RIDDANCE, FREAK! THERE’LL BE NO TEARS SHED AT EVERGREEN ESTATES OVER YOU BUGGING OUT! YOU NEVER BELONGED HERE ANYWAY! YOU WERE NEVER ONE OF US! PTOOEY!”

 

Jimmy, his son and twenty-something provocateur, stood to one side with a can of Red Bull in his right hand. He was thrilled to see that the immigrant outsider had decided to leave their mobile-home community, before being forcefully ejected.

 

“HAGGOT DID NOTHING BUT MAKE TROUBLE FOR ME AT GIANT EAGLE! I HOPE THEY SEND HIM BACK TO CLEVELAND!”

 

As the two men were basking in a glow of self-congratulation, Dana Alvarez appeared in a golf cart used at the development. She had been the on-site manager for long enough to be recognized as an authority figure of consequence. An honor that previous members of park supervision never held for long, due to their frequent changes in ownership.

 

She wore dark glasses, and had her straight, black hair pulled back in an orange scrunchie.

 

“Hey pendejo, what’s up with this casa? You and your boy finally chased out that geeky foreign dude?”

 

The elder Speck laughed and cheered to himself. Then embraced his offspring with a one-armed squeeze

 

“YES I DID! OR SHOULD I SAY, WE DID!”

 

The property queen reacted in a way that neither of the agitators expected.

 

“Okay, so you gonna cover the rent on this place till I find another tenant? We can’t beg people to move in here, it’s so far away from anything and everything! That oddball paid his lot rent on time every month, I liked him for that. Dios mío, why would you run him out of here? Now this space will sit empty until the maintenance guys can clean it up, and I can find another buyer or somebody to do a rent-to-own!”

 

Jimmy slurred his reply after a mouthful of the energy drink. He looked sheepish and guilty.

 

“C’mon, Mizz Dana! Haggot was a dickhead! He got me written up at work, and never came to any of the bonfires here at our park. He was too stuck up, you know? Too high on himself! Like he felt better than any of us, that was bullshit! I hated his attitude!”

 

Their manager huffed at both of the rotund troublemakers.

 

“He seemed to be at his job all the time! You gonna fault him for making money? Maybe the two of you ought to take a lesson, then your check wouldn’t be late every freaking month!”

 

Linn pressed his belly closer to the short, slender woman, to appear superior. He pointed a finger in her face.

 

“I PAY MY BILLS, DAMMIT! AND I DO A LOT OF EXTRAS FOR THIS NEIGHBORHOOD! YOU BETTER SHOW ME A LITTLE RESPECT, OR THERE MIGHT BE AN UPRISING HERE, MY ASSOCIATION WOULD TAKE A DIM VIEW OF YOU OVERSTEPPING YOUR BOUNDARIES! DON’T MAKE ME CIRCULATE ANOTHER PETITION! I’M NOT AFRAID OF YOU OR THE OWNERS IN CALIFORNIA OR FLORIDA OR WHEREVER THE HELL THEY ARE!”

 

Dana grabbed his wrist and dug in her polished nails like a barmaid handling a misbehaving drunk. She had no appetite for playing political games.

 

“Look, cabrón! I got four older brothers, every one of them is a cop or did prison time. Take your pick! Who you wanna have kicking your gordo ass? The Po-Po or a convict? They all love their little sister! You think rolling the dice would be smart?”

 

Jimmy tried to project an air of defiance.

 

“My dad was in the guard, he ain’t afraid of a little bitch who can’t even speak English! Pipe down, pipsqueak!”

 

Suddenly, Linn felt his reserve of courage running dry.

 

“Calm down, calm down! I’m not tilting at windmills, Ms. Alvarez. Forgive my boy, he’s an excitable kid. We’re just glad to have that freak off the property. I never trusted him, he was sneaky and slimy. Always dirty, what was up with that shade of tan? What would make a guy like him move out here anyway? This county isn’t a place for his kind of people. We are godly and patriotic and loyal to the land. We take care of this community! We care about being good Americans, all day, every day!”

 

Dana snorted and let go of his throbbing limb.

 

“You wanna take care of things? Pay your rent and keep your fat mouth shut! I know you look at me sideways, like I’m no better than that poor dude with the thick glasses. Except I got the office keys, ha ha! So you gotta behave. Watch your step, gritón, you talk too much! That jawing will get you in trouble! I keep a pistola in my desk! And I know how to handle pigs who get out of their pen, I’ll smash your bolas!”

 

She steered her golf cart back out into the street, and rolled away without another word.

 

At store 6609, there was a scramble to find someone else who would take over their night crew, after Hagreb inexplicably abandoned his post by stepping down from supervisory duties. The veteran clerk asked for a transfer back to Cleveland. He had decided that being promoted, receiving a generous raise, and finding a measure of comfort in the country didn’t mean that much after all. More important was his dignity as a naturalized citizen, and his membership in a family that had endured for many generations on a foreign continent.

 

He could look in a mirror once again, and enjoy seeing his own reflection. That was a privilege worth more than all of the perks and bonuses any employer could offer.

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Graveyard Shift, Part Four”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-24)

 

 

Hagreb was in no hurry to get home from work after finishing his Friday shift. He had finally reached the point of a rare weekend off, which would give him Saturday and Sunday nights to recuperate from normal work duties. This interlude was a reward for having been scheduled to lead his grocery team on every holiday since the previous Thanksgiving. Something that had left him feeling disconnected from family members and the few friends that remained in his private circle. After a quick meal alone at his dinner table, he crashed on the couch. Then, hours later, he awakened to darkness.

 

After the combative encounter with Jimmy Speck, he had needed to zone out completely.

 

With a cold six-pack of Kingfisher Strong, he went outside to his front steps. They were a fiberglass construction common to most of the mobile homes in his park. He sat bathed in light from a fixture mounted to the exterior wall, and equipped with a motion sensor. Knowing that he wouldn’t need to report to his store revived him both physically and mentally. One after another, he began to drain the bottles of imported brew, while scrolling on his cell phone. Then, a young neighbor passed by in the shadows, walking her poodle.

 

Macqui Martone lived up the street with her aunt. After both parents perished in an automobile accident, she had been raised by her late mother’s sibling. Now they were emotionally inseparable, and bonded forever. But the twenty-something girl yearned for a taste of the outside world. Faraway places beyond the limited borders of their rural development. When she first met the immigrant son with his thick glasses, wavy, black hair, and brown skin, it gave her a feeling of having connected with another world.

 

She bounced along, casually dressed in a pink running suit and track shoes. Her pooch yipped and yapped for attention.

 

“Hey Haggie! What’s up bruh, y’all playing hooky from the Big Bird tonight?”

 

The sweet sound of her voice interrupted his aimless play on the wireless device. But he was glad for the diversion.

 

“Hey Mac! I’ve got a respite for two days. They’ll be freaking out I’m sure, but it was approved by our schedule writer. I haven’t had a weekend off in over a year!”

 

His ebullient friend paused while her curious pet sniffed at the grass.

 

“That’s all ya do is work, man! Work, work, work. People around here say that’s why ya got no girlfriend! Damn, what a lonely life!”

 

Hagreb was slightly miffed. He took off his spectacles and gestured with them in the manner of a college professor giving a lecture.

 

“How do you know I don’t have a girlfriend? She might be back in Cleveland, or in India maybe, or another country where my family lived...”

 

Macqui giggled and struck a pose like a model.

 

“Okay bud, ya got me there! Y’all might have a harem of chicas, I don’t really know! But whenevs I come by, if ya be home, it’s running solo. I never even see relatives coming to visit!”

 

The supermarket employee nodded sadly.

 

“Yeah, nobody has a car. They live in the city. I got a promotion out of coming here though, the extra money goes back to help them survive. We all band together, it’s the way we were raised. It’s a tradition of our people...”

 

His leggy, blonde cohort chewed her fingernail.

 

“A tradition from where? Y’all never talk much about yer heritage!”

 

Hagreb shrugged and shook his head.

 

“I’ve found that it’s better to stay quiet. You know, to stay invisible, yes? I’ve gotten enough scrutiny just existing in this new land. My accent, my looks, they sometimes rub people the wrong way. Out here in the hinterland, it has been much worse than in a metropolitan environment. But I know how to cope. I smile and keep my mouth shut...”

 

Macqui went wide-eyed in reflection.

 

“I never thought about that, really. Wow, dude! Just, wow!”

 

Her canine companion lifted his leg and watered the ground. Then, he was ready to walk again. This seemed to indicate that their conversation had reached a natural conclusion.

 

A lifted, Dodge Ram pickup truck rattled past, pulling a trailer, as they exchanged goodbyes. The cowboy hauler left a trail of black exhaust in its wake, and booming sounds of Country music.

 

Hagreb waved with gratitude, while opening his third beer of the evening.

 

“It’s a beautiful night for a break. I needed this a lot! See you again soon, Mac! Stop over anytime!”

 

Once the ration of suds had been consumed, he felt buzzed and mellow. He had been sitting with his back against an aluminum railing, which incorporated the shape of a heart into its design. Yet now, his eyes followed the bubbly female as she disappeared into lingering darkness that shrouded the community.

 

Suddenly, the big-tired truck that had gone by returned, with a shotgun barrel hanging out of its passenger window. Rude insults and curses echoed, along with yowling boasts of defiance.

 

The foreign native rolled onto his side, as buckshot peppered the concrete driveway.

 

“HEY HAGGOT! GUESS WHAT, MOFO? MY DAD CALLED THE PARK MANAGER! YOU’RE A GAWDAMM NUISANCE! SHE PROMISED TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR SHIT! YOU WANNA STIR UP TROUBLE? OKAY, HERE IT COMES BACK AT YOU, TEN TIMES AS HARD!”

 

Another double-barreled blast scattered across the lawn. Then, chunks of construction waste began to fly. A piece of cinder block smashed the front window. Another landed near his feet. Hillbilly hoots and redneck laughter filled the air, as the rig rolled away.

 

Hagreb was trembling. Somehow, he had avoided injury for the moment. But he knew that this streak of luck was sure to run out before long.

 

He made a call to his eldest sister, who still lived by Lake Erie. She did not answer due to the late hour, so he left a voicemail on her machine.

 

“Kiki, this is your big bro. I’ve been thinking about my promotion, now that almost a year has gone by... I think you might have been right about some things being more important than money. I like living here with the extra room and privacy, you know? But nothing is worse than being an outsider. It hits me at work, it hits me at home, and I guess it hits me in the heart. I miss you, and our family. I miss being me...”

 

 

 

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Graveyard Shift, Part Three”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-24)

 

 

When Hagreb Tonta had finished checking in with the opening manager at store 6609, he felt a sense of relief. All of their duties had been accomplished on the overnight shift, and now finally, it was time to go home. He gathered his soft-sided cooler, work tools, printed notes from their company intranet, and headed toward the front entrance with satisfaction causing his pulse to quicken. Every morning, this moment of liberation made him give thanks to God. Though he called upon that deity with a name that was not familiar to anyone else on the crew.

 

He pondered for a moment on the curb outside, lingering under a blue sky dotted with decorative clouds. Then, turned toward the employee parking lot, which was on the north side of their store. He strode briskly toward his Geo Metro, with thoughts of saving enough money to buy a newer, better vehicle. Something he hadn’t yet been able to accomplish despite years of service to his employer.

 

Shock and confusion made him stiffen, as his eyes fell upon the sight of Jimmy Speck, waiting by the battered, red economy sedan. The tubby, tattooed kid had duct tape wrapped around his fists, like a crude street fighter preparing for combat.

 

“HEY HAGGOT! DID YOU KISS THE GENERAL MANAGER’S ASS GOODBYE? I BET HE LOOKS FORWARD TO THAT SHIT, EVERY DAY! GOOD JOB GIVING HIM A KNOB-JOB!”

 

The grocery-team captain started a slow burn. He simply wanted to get in his smallish sedan, and go home. Any sort of delay seemed pointless.

 

“James, please move away from my driver’s door. We’re done for the night, go home and get your dinner. I’m hungry for something out of the microwave. Or maybe I’ll hit the Taco Bell drive-thru on my way home!”

 

Jimmy punched a dent in the side of the rattlebox car.

 

“SCREW GETTING GRUB, I’M GONNA CHEW ON YOUR SCRAWNY ASS!”

 

He jabbed a fist directly into the immigrant exile’s face. Beard stubble ground against his bare knuckles. The strike sent his work leader to the ground with a groan and a thud. He rubbed his jaw and cursed in a foreign tongue.

 

“Get out of here, James! Don’t you know there are cameras on the light poles? Think about your job, do you want to get fired? Security is 24/7!”

 

The young underling laughed and raised his middle finger. He was dirty and sweaty after a night of stocking shelves and pulling heavy pallets onto the sales floor.

 

“YOU NEED A BOOT IN THE TEETH, HAGGOT! I BET YOU SET OUR ASSES UP WITH THOSE CORRECTIVE NOTICES! MODAFACKA! I GET IT, YOU GOTTA SLOBBER OVER A STIFFIE TO KEEP THE DAYTIME DICKS HAPPY! BUT THAT DON’T DO SHIT FOR US! WE JUST GET WHACKED WITH WRITE-UPS UNTIL OUR HOURS ARE CUT! I NEED MORE MONEY NOT LESS, GAWDAMM IT!”

 

The rebellious kid kicked hard at his boss on the ground. Blood trickled from his mouth, as he rolled sideways, to protect himself.

 

“James! They’ll be calling the police, don’t you get it? Walk away, and I’ll forget you made such a foolish, ignorant mistake. Let’s put this behind us...”

 

From the store lobby, shouts of concern began to echo. Co-Manager Cardamon Riffe had quickly assembled a detail of employees, pulled from various departments. His blue necktie flapped in the wind as they ran toward the segregated parking area, pleading for attention.

 

“Speck, what the hell are you doing? Did Hagreb fall or something? Are you giving him first aid? Is he injured? Are you trained in CPR?”

 

The victimized crew head lied through broken teeth.

 

“Yes, yes, that’s it. I stumbled on the way to my car. There were loose stones by the door...”

 

Cardamon raised an eyebrow.

 

“Loose stones? Out here on the asphalt?”

 

Vicki Realti, who was a coordinator on the front end, shook her head and hissed with disagreement. Her ponytail flipped from left to right. She was the third generation in her family to have chosen the supermarket industry as a lifetime career.

 

“I saw it on a security monitor in the cash office! This overgrown goof smacked him right in the chops! Nice work, kiddo! The big cheese will be sending you home for good! What were you thinking?”

 

Hagreb tried to wave off the disciplinary action.

 

“No, no, I don’t want him to get terminated. He’s just a boy, in his 20’s I think. I remember being that age, not long ago. You make bad decisions sometimes. Let him work out a three-day suspension maybe, a slap on the wrist. The union will lobby on his behalf...”

 

Vicki stomped her foot and scowled like a schoolmarm.

 

“HEYY! THERE’S NO SUSPENSION IN THE CONTRACT FOR HITTING YOUR TEAM LEAD! THIS FATASS SFIGATO IS TOAST! HE’S A LOSER LIKE HIS DAD, I REMEMBER THAT GUY FROM RINI-REGO! HE DIDN’T LAST A MONTH!”

 

Cardamon straightened his shirt collar, and his gold badge.

 

“You hit him in the mouth, Speck? Really? Right out in plain sight of everyone?”

 

Jimmy felt his hands turn cold. He slouched against a white minivan next to the parked Geo automobile.

 

“Which one of us are you gonna believe, Mr. Riffe? Me or this brown bum from who knows where? He looks like somebody who ought to be filling two-liter bottles of Pepsi in a convenience store! A bug-eyed freak!”

 

Hagreb managed to get back on his feet by leveraging himself against the side of his car.

 

“Let it go, I won’t sign a report or press charges. He’s a stupid child, we’ve all been there. Let it go, let it go. I’m not hurt all that much...”

 

Vicki cursed in Italian, and gestured wildly.

 

“Fa cagare! That’s a load of crap! You wanna forget about getting a mule kick, laying on the ground? Hah! It’s on the tape now, the union won’t cover him when they see the evidence! He’s done here, bye, bye, kiddo!”

 

Cardamon narrowed his eyes.

 

“Don’t bother reporting for work again tonight. I’m going to call the UFCW business agent. This was your last screw-up, Speck! Your folder was already full of bad paper. We’ll clean out your locker. Get off the premises! You’re done!”

 

Jimmy flexed his muscular arms and muttered oaths of revenge, while walking back to his own vehicle. It was a Chevy Silverado, with a lift-kit, chrome accessories, and oversized tires.

 

“SEE YOU BACK AT THE TRAILER PARK, HAGGOT! MY DAD WILL HAVE PLENTY TO SAY WHEN YOU GET HOME! PLAN ON GETTING ANOTHER ASS WHIPPING!”

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Graveyard Shift, Part Two”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-24)

 

 

Hagreb Tonta was somewhat anxious about moving into an isolated community of mobile homes. The neighborhood was very different from where he had lived before, in Cleveland. Some things were admittedly better, like having a private bedroom, a real kitchen, and a pair of machines for his laundry that weren’t shared with other residents. But he worried about fitting in, socially. Most of the other people he saw were poor, white, blue-collar laborers. The type of individuals usually suspicious of outsiders and those of an exotic, distant bloodline. Yet his worry soon abated. Because he worked third-shift throughout the week, at least six days or seven, he rarely saw anyone else. In fact, other citizens of the park thought that his trailer must have been bought as an investment opportunity, with no one actually staying at the premises.

 

He was home when others were away at work, and gone when many of them returned.

 

His new home store was bigger than any others where he had been assigned. The crew he supervised was big, with at least a dozen employees working eleven o’clock at night, to seven in the morning, between grocery, dairy, frozen, and produce. They had a contract service to do janitorial duties, with several members who were immigrants from Russia. Though their command of the English language was only fair at best, hearing them chatter to each other made him feel less out of place. He was used to living in a metropolitan environment, with a diverse population.

 

At store 6609, just as at home in his new digs, he was an oddity.

 

For a few weeks, the team at his supermarket was quiet about having someone so obviously foreign in charge. His nerdy look, with thick glasses and black, wavy hair stood out among his underlings, who had mostly been hired from local cities and townships in the county. Some poked fun at his accent, or his stilted diction and occasional use of words they could not understand. But eventually, there was an uprising of sorts. When disciplinary actions were handed out by their general manager, for being below the case-count standard, grumbling erupted.

 

Jimmy Speck confronted his team leader on a Monday after their first break, as everyone was returning to the aisles.

 

“Hey Haggot! What’s with the bitch notices we got tonight? That’s bullshit, you figure our numbers. I’ve always busted ass here, I don’t deserve to get whacked! Maybe we got some lazy mofos on this gang, but it damn sure ain’t me dragging tail! Can’t you add up the count right?”

 

His overnight boss felt the air around them get hotter. He removed his glasses, and yawned with fatigue.

 

“My name is Hagreb, have you forgotten? I calculate everyone’s score accurately. Keep in mind that the performance numbers are to track our productivity. It is a yardstick they use. The union steward will tell you that any write-up is actually bogus...”

 

Jimmy huffed and flexed his muscular arms, which were covered with tattoos of Confederate flags, and the Christopher Gadsden snake design.

 

“SO, WHAT THE EFF? I DON’T SIGN THIS GAWDAMM PIECE OF PAPER?”

 

Hagreb nodded in agreement.

 

“The older union members would say that we don’t sign anything but our paychecks. That’s a throwback to the days when we had them printed out, of course. Give your corrective notice to the daytime manager on duty, before we leave in the morning. He or she will write ‘reviewed and refused’ where you would have scribbled your signature...”

 

The redneck kid was stocky and bald. He jabbed his right fist in the air.

 

“I think this is a scam, you’re covering your own ass! We need more help in this dump, the loads have been ridiculous lately! Check the billing totals! Pallets and pallets and pallets of stock, every night! And they want things straightened up, it has to look pretty for the bastards who work here when the sun is shining. Screw them! Screw this company! And screw you, dickhead!”

 

The former Rini-Rego associate frowned and muttered in an unfamiliar tongue. Then, pointed his index finger like a gun.

 

“I was at the old Stop-n-Shop by Euclid Square Mall, we got cut down to a crew of three people working this shift. Our porters would call off or quit frequently, so we had to do the floors and bathrooms when all the groceries were stocked. We also unloaded deliveries overnight, for the meat department. It was torture working for people who had been shuttled around and abused by Fazio’s, a forerunner of that company. They were savages! All bitter and mad and sour about their dreadful lives. You get pampered now, it’s a different world. Trust me, this is a good place to work. Quit complaining, and do your job!”

 

Jimmy reddened like a ripe tomato.

 

“My dad and stepmom live in your freaking trailer park! Linn and Haki Speck! What a hole in the ground! They told me you’re a hermit, other than coming here. No life, no friends, no family, nothing! Dad says he thinks you must be drugged. Is that it? Do you get stoned or messed up on something else?”

 

Hagreb was very tired. But they still had at least a thousand cases of stock to process.

 

“I’ll say this one more time, James. Get back to your aisle, and do your job!”

 

The rotund instigator smashed a jar of spaghetti sauce on the floor.

 

“I’M FILING A GRIEVANCE, HAGGOT! THEY SHOULD’VE SENT YOU TO ONE OF THE GHETTO STORES, NOT HERE! YOU BELONG IN AN ARAB POSSE! THOSE EFFERS TREAT EVERYBODY LIKE SHIT! YOU’RE A PIECE OF SHIT! I DON’T NEED TO BE HASSLED BY A NEARSIGHTED FREAK WHO HAS SKIN LIKE A BROWN PAPER BAG!”

 

His crew leader stood firm, with both legs apart and fists clenched.

 

“Listen to me, you’ve got two choices. Return to your U-boat of stock, or punch out. Either way, we’ll finish the grocery order and tidy up the shelves. But if you hit the time clock, I can’t guarantee that you’ll still be employed here. Please think carefully before you choose...”

 

Jimmy growled and kicked at the red sauce and broken glass.

 

“IS THAT A THREAT? IS THAT A GAWDAMM THREAT?”

 

Hagreb wished that their shift was already over. Yet he did not flinch or abdicate his responsibility.

 

“It’s a statement of fact. Everyone on the schedule has to pull their weight. You and me and all of us... I don’t get a free pass just because of carrying the keys. Understand? Decide what you want to do, and do it now!”

 

The rowdy youngster had his father’s lack of testicular fortitude. After blowing off steam, he had run out of courage. He cut pieces of cardboard with a safety blade, and used them to scoop the glass shards and sauce into an empty box. Then, shuffled back to his aisle.

 

Classic Rock was playing on the public address system. A song by Thin Lizzy echoed across the sales floor.

 

“Tonight there’s gonna be a jailbreak

Somewhere in this town

See, me and the boys, we don’t like it

So we’re getting’ up and goin’ down

Hidin’ low, looking right to left

If you see us comin’, I think it’s best

To move away, do you hear what I say

From under my breath...”

 

 

 

Trailer Park Vignettes – “Graveyard Shift, Part One”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-24)

 

 

Hagreb Tonta had learned to become invisible at an early age. With an ancestry mixed from distant nations around the globe, none of which spoke English naturally, he grew up as an outcast in the new world. His family frightened neighbors after moving into their crowded apartment in urban Cleveland. They were used to shouting at each other like vendors in an open-air market. Communicating through alien words and gestures that had been used for centuries in their culture. He was like a mongrel dog, left to fend for himself on the streets. One of seven children. Dark skinned, with black hair and poor eyesight that caused him to wear eyeglasses that were heavy, with thick lenses. He was skinny and gangly and fared poorly in social situations. But as an overnight stocker with Rini-Rego Stop-n-Shop, he found the one place where others valued his presence.

 

He could work faster and more efficiently than anyone on the crew.

 

When the chain was acquired by Pittsburgh’s Giant Eagle company, he found himself faced with a perplexing dilemma. Corporate supervisors offered him a promotion to team leader, if he was willing to transfer. The move would take him to Geauga County, a place in Ohio that he had never been. His duties on third shift would continue, but be expanded. Besides processing grocery orders, he would be in charge of the workforce from eleven o’clock, until seven in the morning.

 

The drive from downtown, near Lake Erie, to this rural outpost would have been challenging to pull off with his ratty, Geo Metro sedan. So, a when friend in the office mentioned that she had cousins who lived in Thompson Township, he perked up immediately with interest.

 

“How far away is that from my new home store? Could I walk, maybe, if I lived out there?”

 

Head Cashier Tina Renaldo laughed at his question, while counting bills for a bank deposit by her window.

 

“I don’t think you’d want to cover that distance on foot. But it’s only a few miles from the trailer park where I’ve got relatives. They have a singlewide at Evergreen Estates, it has plenty of room, really! A washer and dryer, a long driveway, not too bad for a couple, and certainly roomy enough for someone like you!”

 

Hagreb scratched his head. His kinky hair spilled in all directions.

 

“Trailer? What the heck is that? Like a camper or something?”

 

Tina giggled and paused in the middle of her task. She pondered for a minute, while rolling her eyes. It made her look oddly attractive, despite being dressed in a uniform polo shirt with the store logo on her chest.

 

“Well, I don’t exactly know how to describe a trailer if you’ve never seen one. It’s like a railroad car, sort of... I’d guess that you must have seen trains somewhere, right?”

 

The young immigrant nodded and smiled, while fiddling with his spectacles.

 

“Yeah, we used to ride one going to see my grandma in India. I was just a little kid!”

 

The office clerk whistled and clapped her hands.

 

“Okay then, it’s something like that. Long and boxy and situated on a concrete slab. There’s no attic or basement, it’s not like a house...”

 

He snorted and grimaced.

 

“I LIVE WITH NINE PEOPLE IN AN APARTMENT! ANYTHING WOULD BE BETTER THAN THAT! MY MOTHER HAS TO COOK OUR MEALS ON A HOTPLATE!”

 

Tina shivered just a bit. Yet tried not to appear judgmental.

 

“You can Google the location, it might be worth taking a look. I know there are homes available, they’ve been moving in new ones around the park. The current owners are trying to get their development to full capacity. It’s been half-empty for years! So many vacant lots that they actually rent them out so some people can have extra space!”

 

Hagreb stood with his hands gripping a ledge beneath the office portal.

 

“I’ll check it out, Tee! Thank you! Thanks so much!”

 

When he mentioned the potential promotion at home, after finishing his chores in the wee hours, a fistfight nearly broke out between members of his family. Mother sobbed openly when considering that her eldest son might no longer be at home. Father reacted differently, beating his chest with pride. Colorful language echoed down the corridor in their rental unit.

 

A neighbor began to beat on their side of the wall, in protest to this cacophony.

 

“SHUT UP OVER THERE, GYPSY FREAKS! GAWDAMM! IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU’VE GOT A FREAKING CIRCUS GOING ON, IN THAT LITTLE APARTMENT!”

 

The foreign exile was grateful to have some hope of escaping their cramped and uncomfortable living conditions. But he didn’t know anyone in this eastern county. The idea of a long drive to poke around made him nervous. Still, he figured that the trip could be accomplished for no more than a few dollars, thanks to the thriftiness of his tiny sedan.

 

When a day off finally arrived, he took a nap in the morning, then woke up around noon and embarked on his journey. Instead of risking the heavy traffic flow of I-90, he decided to putter along on Route 322. This let the sputtering Geo motor loaf lazily, while he basked in the sunshine. Something he rarely got to appreciate. Going deeper and deeper into the country, he saw more green fields and split-rail fences. There were pickup trucks everywhere! And horses, cows, and dogs running playfully along the roadside.

 

Once he had turned north toward his destination, it was as if he had left civilization altogether. There were no more gas stations or convenience stores, or video kiosks. Finally, he saw an oversized American flag rippling in the breeze. And a hand-painted sign nearly hidden in a scraggly ring of shrubs.

 

“EVERGREEN ESTATES – A nice place to get started, or retire!”

 

He had written down the address, just in case. But the park was easy to find with nothing else around. After roaming the streets with curiosity, he pulled in at the maintenance garage, up front. Tina, his contact at the supermarket, had said that the property manager worked out of that building. Her name was Dana Alvarez.

 

He had started to sweat in the summer heat. And his stomach felt queasy. Yet the moment made him excited and even giddy. He knocked on the narrow door before entering. Then announced himself dramatically, like an actor taking his place on stage in a theater production.

 

“Hello, Miss Alvarez! My name is Hagreb, and I’m here to ask about purchasing one of your trailers!”