Paper Man

I don't go looking for trouble.  I really don't ...

When my contract with Giant Pharmaceutical House ended during the summer, I took the opportunity of the free time to start walking in the morning.  Short ones at first, which evolved into about an hour. When Jan started school early in the fall, I developed the habit of waving goodbye to her and then immediately going out, which is about 6 a.m., give or take a few minutes.  It's quiet.  Few people are out and almost no one has left for work.  It's also too early for the school bus routes to start up.  I use the time to wake up, tackle things that are bothering me and plan the day.

Almost as soon as my new walking schedule had began, I noticed there was one person who was always out there with me.  The paper man.  For the first few days, I noted a few things about him. He drives an old beat up Toyota Camry, finished with that pukey greenish-blue color that could only have been thought up by color-blind GM and Toyota engineers, and it was missing one hubcap.

As time went on, I noted that during his rounds, he constantly stared at his delivery sheet, which he propped across the steering wheel with both hands.  As the weeks went on, I thought this odd as one would guess that he would have his delivery spots memorized after a while. Eventually, I figured out that this guy had four motor functions he was attempting all at once.  Driving, being aware of his surroundings, reading his sheet, and pitching papers out the driver's and passenger's side windows. That's a lot of shit to do all at once.

Several weeks ago, I was walking on the sidewalk, when a folded up newspaper whizzed right under my nose as I strode across a driveway.  And then the Camry passed me, papers ejecting out the windows as it made it's way up the street.

"Bastard must not have seen me", I thought.

A few days later, still on the sidewalk, I watched a pair of headlights approaching me.  The lights suddenly bobbled and I realized the car had jumped the curb and was coming straight at me.  As I veered into a yard, the car went back onto the street and as it went by, it was the Camry.  I yelled after it, but of course, it just kept on motoring up the street, leaving newspapers in its wake.

Since that morning I've pointed straight at this guy with an accusatory finger every time we've crossed paths.  He never noticed me, or pretended not to.  Until yesterday.  When he smirked at me.

Which brings me to this morning.

I was again on the sidewalk, preoccupied with some matter or the other, when a newspaper hit me square in the back.  The Camry drove by on my right.   Without thinking, I picked up the paper and heaved it at the car as hard as I could ... but I missed.  The car drove on.

As he turned the corner, I followed his path.  For a half-hour, every DH newspaper I saw in a driveway went someplace else.  In the street, on the other side of the street, under a car, on top of a car, in the bushes, on a roof ...

(Publisher's Note:  I know what you're thinking.  They'll get over it.)


And here's hoping that more than one phone call went into the newspaper office this morning ... and that a certain prick had to go out and re-deliver a few papers.

I need to go practice my smirk to prepare for tomorrow morning.

UPDATE 10/14/11:  Just after lunch, I looked out my front window and saw this on the lawn:

Yessss ... I do believe that someone got his shit smacked yesterday.  And I've received a very "special" delivery/message in return.  As George Bush once said ... "BRING IT ON!"