Drew Stephens, July 12, 2002
Last Monday I started my semi-usual drive to Little Rock. The only abnormal thing being the oatmeal cookies and the crumbs. Lots of them. Nanna makes good oatmeal cookies and these were in a ziplock bag, all for me; mine.
I remember the cookies because I recall being incredibly thirsty. It's usually a good idea to wash down 15 cookies with some form of liquid. No form of liquid happened to be on hand. A hot bumpy congested interstate drive. Make that a thirsty hot bumpy congested interstate drive.
The camera lay in the floorboard, as the previous several days in Little Rock I'd wished I'd had it for one reason or another, none of which instances I can call to mind. That's because I didn't have my camera. I can't remember an occurrence or a happening if there exists not a picture of it, for you see, some of us have very short attention spans and even shallower memory banks - most of which can be blamed on television, but don't forget genetics. After all I am a redneck, and this is Arkansas, and I come from a family who has fun by shooting stuff and burning stuff and making wines in basements, picking ticks off each other, constructing lean-to additions to mobile homes, etc etc etc.
But anyway on this particular Monday the camera was there and I was there, and the cookies were there, in my mouth, in my truck. And did I mention there was no liquid. Yes I did. Never mind. I can't believe you're patient enough to have read this far, you ignorant, yet kind understanding person. Gee thanks.
Morning went as usual mornings went, or as usual mornings go. Learn two or three neat things. Watch people who are way better than I am at most everything. Drool over expensive equipment etc etc etc.
I'm sitting on a couch and curiously looking over the shoulders of those involved in computerized graphical tasks. Flash over here, Lightwave over there, and somebody is playing a Smashmouth album from a few years back. It reminds me of a different time and a different place.
I remember janitorial work at an Office Depot. I remember somebody playing that same Smashmouth album over and over and over, while I would be there in the early morning. Twice a week I would wake up around 5 am and drive to the Office Depot. Twice a week I would get there and dust mop all the floors and then wet mop the entire store and then unload the propane buffer from my truck and buff the nice shiny I hate my job floors. Then dust mop the entire store again, because the buffer kicks up rather large amounts of dust - most of which is inhaled, but the rest must be picked up. Then of course I'd get my paperwork signed, load the buffer back into the truck, and drive to college where I could struggle as a freshman graphic design student. What joy I had back then. Boy it was great. I hated the Manager of that Office Depot. Such a pleasure to deprive oneself of sleep so that the tile floors of an office supply mega chain will be extra shiny. Maybe they sold more palm pilots when the customers could look down and see their reflection. Maybe so.
One of the merchandise stockers always had that same Smashmouth album playing when I would get there. I remember telling myself over and over again that I would never be able to find joy in Smashmouth songs, simply because having to hear them repeatedly under such pathetic early morning janitor grunt boy circumstances.
But the same album was playing Monday in a neat little computer lab where cool stuff was being done. Instead of haunting me, the music was almost soothing. I closed my eyes and could hear Mike, the Office Depot manager say to me, "Hey, (he never bothered to find out or call me by my name) the district manager will be here today. We need to do an extra special job on the floors." I'd look at him through sleepy eyes and agree. Sure. Then I sat there a bit more, thinking back about how I'd shown up at the usual time, unloaded my machine from the truck on a cold fall morning, and discovered that they'd hired someone who would clean the floors cheaper. Mike didn't bother to let me know. I'd dragged myself out of bed and driven an hour to find out. Swell. Thanks. I went back to my truck and slept for two hours in the parking lot. And drove to school.
Out to lunch. It's a nice day. I'd heard kratz talk about going into the tall buildings around town and riding the elevators. Yes they will let you do that. So I walk into the TCBY building, the tallest building in Little Rock, eat at a Subway Sandwich, and can you believe it, ..they've got a TCBY yogurt stand in the TCBY building. Never in my wildest dreams.
Eat Yogurt. Board Elevator. Go up to the 40th floor. Doors open to offices and more doors. This building sucks. I want windows. Windows accessible to people riding in the elevators for kicks.
I left the building and went outside to read the newspaper on a bench. Wait a minute, the newspaper wasn't on a bench. I was on the bench. The newspaper was with me, not on the bench. Never mind. I'm retarted.
This addition of the Arkansas Times had an article about large corporations taking out life insurance policies on lowly employees and collecting all the money when they died. Usually this is done for high execs, because a death of an executive can have damaging effects on the company, but lots of corporations are now taking out policies on janitors and minimum wage clerks. The employee dies, the company gets all the money. The policies DON'T require the authorization of the said employee. Wow. That's crazy.
I set down the paper and take out my camera to take a photo or two. This is boring. But today is a nice day and it's pleasant to be carefree and occupied in simple things.
I've always gotten a kick out of relections on glass, ..how buildings mirror and distort the surrounding buildings and trees.
Go back to "work". Not a lot going on. I'd heard about a Louis Jordan tribute sometime this week, and saw in the paper that it would be tonight, so I headed home a little early in time to get ready.
Driving down Cantrel, I saw a fire truck, and then the wreck. A FourRunner was tipped over on its side in the middle of the street. Heck yeah. I've got the camera.
Then the weird part. I discover that I know this person. She works where I'm interning. Among other things she runs the teleprompter for the FLW show. This is strange. I ask her if she's ok and if there is anything I can do.
I feel bad about walking around with this camera but I figure that somebody might want the photos. Who knows.
The cops and firemen asked her if she was ok. It seemed that before she could even reply, they'd shifted their focus to retrieving the precious insurance documents.
I walked back to the alley where I'd parked and made my way around the accident towards home. I'd been listening to an Elton John greatest hits cd. Somehow I managed to sit and drive while the entire Benny and The Jets song played. I hate that song. You know your mind is occupied when you can let something like that happen.
Later that evening we went to the Louis Jordan tribute at Cajuns Whorf. Interesting. Somewhat fun.
The last performing act was CeDell Davis, a man in a wheelchair, using a butter knife for a guitar slide. The man could play. The man could sing. He sounded like Muddy Waters.
The old man ended up playing for alot longer than planned. Lots of people left. All of a sudden it was 11:45 and we looked around and there might have been 10 people. He kept insulting his band members and telling them that they weren't keeping "good time". He'd stop mid-song and insist that they stop and let him play by himself. It was funny the first time or two, but as the set progressed, the man in charge of the event walked up to the stage and told him to let his band play. This continued until CeDell was told "that's it, you're done" and the man politely put his hand over the old man's guitar, as if to tell him that it was time for him to stop playing and leave the stage.
CeDell looked up at the man and said: "Get your HANDS, off my guitar. I'm not done"
It was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. This guy had to be in his seventies, ..an old blues man from Helena, and they were trying to tell him what to do. He wasn't gonna have any of it.
It was a busy Monday. I'm glad I decided to take the camera everywhere. Its fun to do that sometimes.