It is August 18, at 3:55 in the afternoon – what John has waited for over the last week. The greatest championship game ever is about to played, and he has spent part of the morning and the afternoon preparing the munchies and the refreshments he will consume while watching it. He had called the others in the neighborhood whom he knows and are interested in the championship to invite them over to his house to watch it, but most of them have decided to go to the venue in question, way over in Brown Raven, something he cannot afford to do. He even asked a few of them if they would pay his way now, and he would pay them back later.
Their "Are You Kidding?" stares were their answers. The rest of those interested have said they have other things to do that day, and they will record it to watch later. So here descends John, on the basement steps to see who will be champ, when his wife Jane calls out, "You busy?"
He responds, "Well, yeah, I'm getting ready to watch this game that's getting ready to come on."
"Before you do that, could you run an errand for me?"
John grumps, "Does it have to be now?"
"You want electricity tomorrow?" Jane thrusts an envelope with several bills inside: "Well, the electric bill is due, and this'll cover it. Get me a money order."
John trudges down the stairs, turns off the set, admonishes the snacks - "Don't you go nowhere" - trudges back up the stairs, grabs the envelope, and heads for Menick's, six blocks away. As soon as he reaches the first intersection, with the cars whizzing by, he checks his watch: "4:07 – Why did she have to do this right now?" It takes two minutes for the traffic to slow enough to a trickle from both sides for John to cross the street, and even then he had to high-step the last several inches to avoid being hit by the SUV rumbling from his left. "They don't slow down for nothing, do they?" he grumbles as he continues his brisk journey to Menick's.
He sidesteps the children playing in the middle of the sidewalk. He bends his body around the two ladies gathered on the sidewalk to talk about who was and wasn't in church last Sunday. He tiptoes around the minefield that is broken bottles that have been there since last Saturday night. And he walks slowly and impatiently behind a strolling group of four young men deciding which party to go to on the upcoming weekend and which ladies will be worth their while when they get there.
Two of the young men see John virtually mark time behind them and step on the grass – and into dog waste - in order to let John pass. He leaves their profanities behind as he sees, looming in the distance, Menick's.
He pats his right-front pocket to make sure the envelope with the money is still there: "If this thing wasn't here and I had to go all the way back to get it. . ." He leaves the last of his mutterings unmuttered as he crosses the threshold of Menick's. Inside, he stands behind seven other customers. Most of them do basically the same thing: Ask the clerk behind the bulletproof glass for anywhere from one to four bottles of beverage, and it being Mega Night, for anywhere from two to ten lottery tickets. They pay what they owe, and head out the door. In two cases, the male patrons engage the female clerk with some small talk, basically centering around her availability for a date in the near future.
In one case, a customer loads up on eight scratch-off tickets as well. As he makes way for the customer directly in front of John, and passes John himself, this customer smiles and holds up the scratch-offs: "Just to make sure. Them other ones oughta work, but just to make sure!" John smiles at the exiting patron, but he still clenches and unclenches his hands a bit nervously, occasionally touching his envelope. He looks at his watch a few times: "Can't these people hurry up? Don't they know this game is on?" The young man immediately in front of John now has his turn in line, and he spends five minutes buying lottery tickets. A few times he pauses as though he has finished, and the clerk every more wearily asks, "Is there anything else, sir?"
After a four-second pause, the patron says, "Yeah, let me get another one for my lady/son/mama/etc." When the customer finally finishes his purchases, he takes a half-step to the side, partially blocking the clerk's window, while he scratches off his tickets. John tries to wait the patron out, but after another look at his watch, he steps forward and tries to squeeze into the narrow space the customer leaves him. He arouses the ire of the Lottery Buyer: "What's your problem? Can't you see I'm up here? You better wait till I'm finished, old dude."
John barks back, "You are finished. You're hogging the spot, young boy. Give it up. I got things to do."
The Lottery Buyer steps into John's body, bumping stomachs with him: "You better watch your mouth, or you're gonna be in trouble."
John replies, "Have some manners and get your lazy body out of the way."
The Lottery Buyer grabs his purchase: "I'll be outside waiting for you." And the Lottery Buyer marches outside to wait.
John buys the money order that his wife asked him to; the clerk counts out the change she owes John, then looks at him anxiously. He says with a smile, "Take care, now," and exits the store, almost immediately bumping into the Lottery Buyer.
They stand there on the sidewalk in front of Menick's, barely an inch apart, staring each other down. "Don't you be talking to me in front of the ladies like that," the Lottery Buyer growls.
John says nothing, and continues to stand erect and glare at his adversary, who threatens, "I oughta whip you up and down this block right now." They stare for seven seconds more before the Lottery Buyer remarks, "What, you ain't got nothing to say to me, old boy?" He looks John up and down: "What's that in your pocket? Let's have a look."
John, putting his hand over the envelope, warns, "Don't you dare touch me, you understand?"
After six more seconds of glaring, the Lottery Buyer spits on John's shoes and slowly marches away: "Better not say nothing to me." After the Lottery Buyer has walked halfway down the block, he turns to see John in the same spot - standing erect and glaring at his adversary.
The Lottery Buyer glares back for five seconds before he finally walks the length of the block and turns the corner. John stands on the spot for seven seconds more, as new patrons of Menick's step around him. He exhales slowly, pats the envelope in his pocket, and goes back inside the store to get a napkin from the clerk. He wipes off his shoes, deposits the napkin, and exits the store, walking the six blocks back to his house. He presents the envelope to Jane, who complains, "Can't you ever be careful with anything? I hope they take this bent-up old thing."
Quickly, John heads down the stairs, flicks on the television set – just in time to hear the announcer announce, "Boy, what a play! For those of you just turning in, you missed the play of the year!"
As the replay is broadcast, John, in his chair, his mouth full of chips, growls, "Humph!"
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