Topic: Shopping

Author: Chris Dunn

Have you ever found yourself stuck in a moment, pinioned by fortune with nowhere to run, where all you can do is concede and accept that you are trapped this time, and that the easiest way out is to take your punishment and try to recover? Sure, right... Many times, but each one leaves its particular mark on your memory.

I was a month or two into my first retirement somewhere in the early 00’s. Anderson Publishing had grown too big in its small pond and rather than allow the tiny upstart to make waves in the online ocean, LexisNexis had come swimming along and gobbled us up. The buyout price on shares of stock was substantial, and I had managed to negotiate a nice bonus for my tech team on top of that. By negotiate, I mean, I went to the Lexis partner in charge of the transition and told him, “Curtis is about to walk. I can’t do it without Curtis.”

“How much does he want?” asked the unnamed suit.

“Like $10,000,” I opened with. Curtis had initially thought the transition job was worth closer to $50,000, but we knew such high numbers were beyond the pale, so we agreed I should start at 10K and accept 8K.

“We can make that happen,” said the suit, adding on that we should likely make similar - though smaller - accommodations for the rest of the tech team including myself. Damn! I’m an awesome negotiator.

Anyway, along with cashing out my 401k, it added up to an estimated three year ride without needing to make another dollar. I was living in the latter days of my commune at the time and my monthly nut was in the low hundreds. I took it all as a sign. It was time to write my novel.

Back in high school, we did one of those, “Where do you see yourself at 35?” essays, and in addition to a naively optimistic view of my social life, I predicted for myself that I would be working on my “Second novel…” by then. As I at this time 33, and had yet to write the first one, I saw this as an issue. Remember, I was a math major at one point. But fate had intervened! A window was open, and all I had to do was jump out. What else was I waiting for?

I committed to the project. I already had an outline for an extensive fantasy series based around a campaign which had just ended. 150 pages of notes, places, and storylines surrounding El’aNac and his adventures. I’d write a page a day. In 300 or so days, BAM! I’d have a novel. It worked! It worked amazingly well. I had two novels done by 35, and 6 finished before I had to go find another job. They were some great, and productive years, but this story isn’t about that.

You see the downside to writing a page each day, is it doesn’t really fill up a whole day, more like an hour. All I was really doing was fluffing up the outline into a more cohesive narrative. My players had already built the characters. The major scenes were all set. They just need some dialogue and some framing material. Once the hour of work for the day was completed, what was left to do?

I decided to get in shape. I bought myself a gym membership at the local tennis club. Ostensibly, I had planned to build stamina playing racquetball. But after 20 minutes on the court left me gasping for air and clutching my chest, I decided I would need to work up to that. Fortunately, the tennis club had a gym, and a near perfect one at that. Lots of machines, free weights, treadmills and nearly nobody in sight. I never had to wait for my turn or reserve a machine. I could go from the elliptical to the treadmill to the weight bench, according to the whim of the moment. I stayed mostly on the treadmill. “Cardio, that’s the key. Build that stamina…” I told myself.

On most days my dad came along and walked on the treadmill next to me. He did wonders for my confidence and sense of productivity. We’d put in thirty minutes a day, three days a week and even at such a meager pace, it was beginning to show dividends. Each day, I found I could a little longer without walking breaks, and I began to even fantasize about maybe doing a 5K run that coming Spring. I wasn’t hoping to win, or anything, but I felt confident I could finish, and that was saying something considering where I had started in the late fall.

One winter’s morning, my father and I trudged through the slush in the parking lot headed to our latest exercise appointment. As usual, dad wore his exercise attire to the gym - his technique did not involve sweat, so he headed straight to the treadmills. I, however, was all-in. I had the gym bag and a key lock for the locker. I brought my own towel and a change of clothes. My method involved sweating so badly, I needed new socks at run’s end. But this day, after I found an empty locker and opened my bag, I realized, “Crap!” I had forgotten to pack my gym shorts.

It would take me over thirty minutes to go home and get new ones. By that time, my dad would be finished and wondering whatever happened to me. I could go tell him, take him home, but that just seemed like a hassle. WAIT! This place is a tennis club. They’ve got a shop that sells all kind of gear. I’ll just go buy a pair of shorts. I needed a new pair anyway. Sure enough, though the place was little more than a 10 x 10 room at the front of the facility, they had plenty of shorts to choose from, and in my size as well.

“Okay, if that’s all,” said the attendant as she rang up the garment. “That’ll be $43…” And some change, I’m sure, but my mind was stuck on $43! For a pair of shorts? I didn’t need special tennis shorts with some animal logo, I just need a pair of drawstring, sweat-catchers to avoid the scandal of running in my boxer briefs! $43?!

“Fine,” I said, hoping my face did not look as stunned as my mind was. “Can I charge that?”

I still have those shorts, mind you.