Encounter at the Hardware Store

I wrote the first part of this story in 2011. 11 years later I found it unposted and thought, "Put a lot of work into this one. Time to finish it."

So here it is.

_____________________________

Encounter at the Hardware Store

Thomas Roberts and Jebidiah Ridley were not exactly friends. They were more life long acquaintances. They were born in the same year. They grew up in the same town. They shared the same classrooms, playgrounds and teachers. For awhile, they even tried the best friends for life routine. But once Thomas' father got wind of it, he took his son aside, "Thomas, you don't get friendly with the help. It serves no purpose other than to lead them into grand ideas and notions they cannot handle."

"The Help?" Thomas asked. "What does that mean Father?"

"Jebidiah's father works one of the looms down to the mill son. Getting friendly with his son is not a good idea. Jebidiah will most likely end up running that same loom one day. They're simple salt of the earth folk Thomas. Our duty, and at some point in the future, your duty will be to provide for their well being by supplying employment and stability. Our paths should not become intertwined. It only stresses the employer/employee relationship."

Thomas was seven years old when he learned this lesson regarding his rightful place in the local pecking order. He understood little of it, but caught on that he was expected to keep Jebidiah at arm's length. He would have many more lessons in the next 20 years right up to the day he took over running the woolen mill after his father passed away while holed up in Boston with his mistress of fifteen years. 

Thomas' father had been correct. Once Jebidiah finished middle school, he applied for a job at the woolen mill. There would be no high school, no college, no chance at all to escape the life he and his father had been born into. His father had been weaving wool there for 30 years and set up a cushy job for his son as an office custodian. No mill floor work, no missing fingers from renegade yarn, no back breaking labor pushing huge carts of finished apparel wool. His son was going to have it better than he did. Jebidiah's father died two days later when an out of control cart of finished wool crushed him against one of the huge fire doors set up between shops. 

At least the torch had been passed.

~ * ~

Tom Roberts pulled up in front of Sunnyvale Hardware. His mind was busy figuring what parts and pieces he needed to fix that antique lamp his wife had been pestering him about. He almost walked right over Jebidiah Ridley who was bent over by the shovels stacked up carelessly near the front door.

"Jeezum Jeb, ferchrisakes, what the Hell?"

Jebidiah straightened up. In his hand was a True American #12 feed shovel. Shiny new aluminum, light as a feather and it had one of those new gee whiz poly carbonate grips. Jebidiah turned and squinted in Tom's direction. "Just pickin up a new shovel. Thought I'd try this one..... Seems plenty rugged"......He turned the #12 shovel over and looked at the back side, "Um, I don't know though, wish it were straight out flat." He spun back to view the top. "She is a light one though."

Tom looked at the shovel and nodded.  "I got one of those last Spring. The old steel one Pepe used in the barn finally shit the bed. They are nice, but they wear out quick. Guess it's the aluminum.... just doesn't hold up to real shoveling."

Jebidiah set the shovel blade on the ground and leaned on the handle. "Well sir, I ain't gonna use it in the barn. Need a new road kill scoop. That old flat snow shovel I bought a month ago jes ain't working out."

"Why's that Jeb? Not rugged enough for that occasional moose you sometimes run over?" Tom grinned and shook his head.

Jebidiah snorted. "Funny man. No, the flat shovel was fine for scoopin, but not so good for cookin."

"Cookin?" Tom's eyes opened some as his mind created an image of Jeb holding a shovel full of dead possum or squirrel over an open fire.

"Yes sir, cookin. Seems they don't make a straight clean shovel no more. All of them are either plastic or the metal ones come with some kinda anti stick coating that bubbles all up when I hold it over the fire........Makes the meat taste funny."

Tom felt immediately sick. ............. "Jeezum"

Jebidiah stared at Tom. "So Tom, what shovel would you recommend? ..... For the smaller roadkill I mean, like squirrel, raccoon, possum, skunk or crow?  Uh, I don't fry up chipmunks no more. Ain't worth the trouble. By the time they are cooked, there's nothing left to eat. And it ain't often I find a dead crow neither. Did you know they's smarter than most humans?"

Tom's blank face and slightly opened lips indicated he was befuddled and taken aback. He had only been a waving friend to Jebidiah these last twenty years. He had no idea how much Jeb had embraced trailer trash culture as an adult. He had no comment and stood silently with his mouth open.

Jeb continued to stare at Tom for some time. And then, "What's the matter with you Tom? You okay?"

"Uh..... Yeah, I'm fine." Tom finally moved in the direction of the electrical parts aisle. Over his shoulder, "Nice seeing you again Jeb. Say hello to the missus for me."

Jebidiah smiled , Glad to see you too Tom." He grabbed his aluminum feed shovel along with four more and found the check out.

Tim Cross, owner of Sunnyvale Hardware was manning the register. " Hey Jeb, buying more feed shovels I see. Guess you liked the first one fine, huh?"

"Yeah Tim, you were right, they are kinder on the back. The boys in the chicken houses told me to thank you."

"Hey, I saw you talking to Tom Roberts. What's he up to? I mean ever since the mills shutdown, his family sure fell on hard times."

"Oh Tom, I guess he's fine. But I will say this. I am glad the mills left for Asia. I was forced to find a new career."

"Right. And you seem to have done well. How many egg operations do you have now?"

"Just set up my 19th egg house up country west of Rockland.  131 employees now total. Life has been good."

Jeb signed off the bill and headed to his new truck, a brand new Ford F-250 with duallies and custom wheels. His phone rang as he climbed in the cab. It was his wife at the office. One of his chicken houses still had not seen the compost truck. They were up to their asses in chicken shit; could Jebidiah look into it please?

"Yes my darling, anything for you."

"You are so full of shit Jebidiah Ridley,, I just might have to take you over my knee tonight and ...... Love ya." Click.

Tom Roberts came out of the Hardware store with a tiny paper bag in hand. 

He could not help but notice that the pick up he had lusted after when he went into the store was still there. He paused and took a good look at the exact truck he had seen at the Wallace Ford just last week. He was sure though it had different rims now. He mused that there was $60 K parked in Sunnyvale Hardware's lot. 

It was then he noticed someone staring at him from the cab.

The window slid down silently. Jebidiah Ridley leaned out and smiled. "That's right Tom, she's mine. Paid cash too. Wish your ole man was still alive, I'd tell him to go fuck himself. ......... You have a nice day now, hear?

_________________________________

The first tune I saw I picked. Might not be a great fit, But I really liked it. Niall Horan's song, "No Judgement".