The Dirty Trickster and the Blowhard
Fiction by Sam Aurelius Milam III
I
don't spend all my time pullin' pranks. Sometimes, I like ta travel
but sometimes pranks just happens.
I
was drivin' through south Texas one Sunday evenin' a while back, goin'
east on Highway 90. I like tha old highways and tha back roads 'cause
it's more interestin' than tha damned freeways. Them freeways is
a picture o' what's wrong with this country. Big, fast, efficient,
an' no soul.
It
was gittin' late an' I was lookin' fer someplace ta stop when I spotted
a little motel just past a little place called Marathon. Cooper's
Little Bend was tha name o' tha place. Didn't look too bad from tha
outside so I went in. Right away I recognized tha woman runnin' tha
place an' she recognized me. We went back a long way together but
I lost track o' her late in 1971, in Northern California. I could
see she didn't want ta talk about it so I let it drop. Anyways I
got a room and found out that tha nearest food was a bar an' grill called
tha Barn Grill, about 50 yards ta tha west, acrost tha parkin' lot.
Found out later it really used ta be a barn.
Tha
Barn Grill turned out ta be an interestin' place. Regulars just called
it tha Barn. I sat in one end by some pinball machines and just watched.
Some woman who was tha waitress, Molly by her name tag, brought me a beer
and took my order fer a hamburger. They was a card game goin by tha
juke box which I thought was a strange place fer a card game. Anyway,
I'd been there about 15 minutes, long enough ta git tha feel o' tha place,
when this big, loud guy came in and I saw all tha body language in tha
place change. I could see most of tha regulars didn't like tha guy.
Listenin' to 'im fer a few minutes I figured out why. He was tha
kind o' guy that always has ta tell folks how ta do somethin', how they
shoulda done it, or how he'da done it better. Always talkin', never
listenin'. Kinda guy that thinks everbody just sits around waitin'
fer him ta git there. After about ten minutes I started ta think
o' him as tha Blowhard.
So,
tha Blowhard was lecturin' anybody who'd listen an' he got ta yakin' 'bout
how hard it was ta find good help. Seems he owned a construction
company. Said half tha people he had wouldn't work, tha other half
did things half-assed. Then he got ta rantin' 'bout wages.
Said they all wanted ta git rich offa him. I could see folks was
tired of 'im. Then, I had a big idea. I jumped in without thinkin'
an' said, kinda loud so's everbody'd hear me, "I'll work fer ya!"
It
got real quiet. I hadn't been plannin' ta stay in town but what tha
Hell. He looked around like a bull lookin' fer a bull fighter an'
spotted me right quick. He left his bar stool and came strollin'
over toward my table, real slow, with his thumbs hooked in his belt.
"Oh,
yeah?" he asked, with his chest out. "So what can ya do?"
"Drive
nails," I said. "Saw wood, fit pipe, run wires, lay shingles. You
name it I kin do it."
"Oh,
yeah?" he asked. He really seemed ta like them words. "I guess
you'll be wantin' twice what yer worth, huh?"
"Here's
tha deal," I offered. "I'll work tha first day fer a penny."
He
looked like he was runnin' that back again in his head ta see what he'd
heard.
"Oh,
yeah? A what?"
"A
penny. First day. Two pennies tha second day. Four pennies
tha third day."
Tha
Blowhard looked confused but I noticed that tha bartender had a knowing
look in his eye and a hidden smile on his face.
"Oh,
yeah? A penny a day?"
"No,"
I replied, "That ain't what I said.
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