Rain Delay: IV of IV

David’s chin descends towards his chest until he jolts awake. His face quickly cycles through serenity, fear, and vacancy. Chilled by the frosty air still whispering through the closed vent, he quivers. He runs his hands up and down his upper arms. His triceps are textured like a Butterball. The sky is clearing. Slick surfaces radiate the noon glare. John reaches forward and twists the knob on the radio for noise. His gut presses lightly against the wheel and David imagines adjusting the mirror causes a honk. A worn Van Halen's 1984 cassette juts out of the stereo’s mouth like a stuck-out tongue.  Both men hear a commercial for MaxBurn Energy Supplement, but the content only registers with David. He considers the product and its outlandish claims. He pictures insecurity and laziness as bottomless wells of profitability and the derricks of capitalism slurping it up. He scoffs at the debasement of free markets and scoffs at the few drivers he imagines swerving around American lanes trying to scribble down the 1-800 number. 

John is nearly finished with his magazine. He’s in the black and white section. One of the pages is dog-eared. He wonders what it was he was interested in. It must have been the wheels. 18” Alloy Wheels – 2 for 1. $425 + S&H. John’s 1970 Dart needs wheels. It at least needs a crank shaft, passenger door, an intake manifold, both quarter panels, and paint, too. Not like any of it matters. Olivia needs braces. Her teeth look good enough, but John’s a monster for even asking the question. Why Curt can’t pay for the braces, he’ll never know. Curt’s got the money. Does Staci have a clue how much licensed plumbers make? $17.00 an hour his ass. DFS is a joke. He bets Curt gives them old pay stubs. John thinks all government employees are slugs or worse.

John swigs from his gigantic blue cup. 64% of maintenance employees drink from insulated cups with capacities of 54 liquid ounces or greater. After two years of dishwasher cleaning not prescribed by the mug's underside, John’s container states ‘riple ig ULP’. The cup’s warped seal leaks with every sip. Ritualistically, John always places two fingers of his free hand beneath his lip to catch the inevitable dribbles. He wipes the liquid on his pants leg.

Annoyed with his own inactivity, David turns to John. “It stopped raining an hour ago. Let’s go.”

John shakes his head slightly. “Nah. Too wet.”

“No, it’s not. We’ll be fine.”

“What’s your hurry?”

“I’m drifting in and out of consciousness. If I don’t get my blood pumping, I’ll fall asleep again.”

“Where’s your book?”

“I finished it earlier.”

“Here.” John opens the center console and retrieves February’s Road and Track.

“No thanks.”

“Not into cars?”

“I’m into them insofar as I need them to travel from point A to point B.”

“Mm.”

“May I go change filters without you?”

“Nope you mayn’t. It’s slick up there. You’re liable to fall. I can’t have that on my watch. We don’t want a worker’s comp claim, do we?”

“I can’t take this any longer.”

“Sure you can. Just follow my lead. See here? See how I’ve got my seat leaned back like so? This makes a body comfortable so’s you can relax. You may want to write that down.”

David’s face twitches with aggravation. “Do you ever feel guilty wasting the District’s money?”

“What a minute now.” The magazine flops limply onto John’s stomach. “Who said anything about wasting?”

“I did. We haven’t been productive for ten minutes today. It’s 12:15. All you did was unhook your ladder from the roof and decide it was going to rain.”

“First off, we need to be safe. Do you think the District wants us getting hit by lightening? It’s dark to the west. Maybe there’s another batch coming behind. Second, down time’s built in. They don’t pay us top dollar here. A little loafing comes with the territory. If you work too much, they think something’s wrong, like you can’t get your stuff done quick enough. So I only do what I need to do to keep the building happy and I don’t leave tickets open for more than thirty days. After thirty days, they pop on Glen’s report.”

“There wasn’t any lightening this morning. It was just rain.”

“There was a chance. I hear 15% chance.”

“Slight chance.”

“How old are you? 18?”

“20.”

“20. That makes it worse not better. 20 years old and you can’t bear to do something for yourself.” John shifts his weight to assume a confrontational posture. “Always doing something for others, doing what’s expected of you.”

“I don’t see how altruism and expectations are—”

“I’m not the hardest worker in the world, but I’m not the dumbest either. I’ve been around, Dave, and I’m smart enough to have caught on to the game being played here.” John lifts his cap and rubs his scalp with his free hand. “These higher-ups who pat you on the back for a job well done, they’re just pumping you full of air. They just want something more from you, want you to keep on making them feel good about how they manage, how they’ve got an eye for talent—how they can make 10 guys do the work of 15—or maybe just how they made the right decision going into the trades because look at them now, bossing others around and getting listened to. They just wanna take from you, Dave—”

“Are you familiar with the notion of a contract, John? A binding agreement between two parties…”

“And you’re so spineless you’ll bend over backwards to give it to them. All for lousy food pellets. All for a compliment or what? A good grade. Wise up. They’re paying us the same whether our noses are brown or not. Employee of the month doesn’t come with a bonus. It’s a photocopy, kid.”

“Getting out of this van and fulfilling my end of the terms set in our handbook is something I want to do for myself because I value integrity. Because I have enough self-respect to fulfill my duties.”

“Self-respect? It’s not self-respect if you get it from others. ”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The hell I don’t. I know exactly what I’m talking about. And I know you, too, better than you think I do. You’re not comfortable in your own skin. That’s why you can’t sit still.”

“I study for hours. I sat still next to you since 7:45.”

“And you hate every minute of it. Unless you’re sleeping.”

“Being stationary is not a virtue.”

“Well shit. Neither is hyperactivity. Lemme tell you something, Dave. You’re dumber than you look if I can say that. I mean it. Do you really think I’m talking about sitting still? It’s a damn metaphor. If a guy can’t keep his own company without some sort of distraction, he hates himself.”

“Ah. So then what’s that magazine? What’s this sound coming out of the speakers? What’re these wrappers on the ground? The tools of love?”

“You know this isn’t stirring me to do much more than thump you.”

The shade of David’s blushed cheeks nearly matches John’s broad nose. The two break eye contact. John raises the magazine from his lap. David bends down to retie his boot. A modulated voice recapitulates the day’s top stories. Nine are dead, thirty seven injured after a crane collapsed in Seattle.

David reaches for the door handle. John extracts his next cigarette.