Recycling is Good for the Environment

There's a little excitement at work these days, involving one of my subordinates, who has become an insubordinate (see what I did there?), and all signs point to a magnificent installment here on the richstud dot com, but for the moment I'm dredging up a bit of writing from my college days. I hope you enjoy.



Used Vehicles

“No, it’s not a mid-life crisis, I just need a new car.”

“Of course, sir,” replied the effusive salesman. “That’s not at all what I was implying. I simply meant, Winston, that you were probably looking for something sleek and modern.”

“The word I had in mind was ‘refined.’”

The salesman nodded seriously. “Of course Winston. If you’ll just follow me this way, I think we have something that will appeal to you.”

Winston followed the young salesman, self-consciously unbuttoning his suit, trying to look more relaxed. They passed several rows of Buicks and Fords before stopping in front of a grid of Porches.

“We just got these in a few days ago,” the salesman claimed. Winston tried to remember his name, Bill or Chuck or some enthusiastic, earnest name like that. Hell, maybe his name was Earnest. “Of course, they’re as new as any car could possibly be and still qualify as ‘used.’ You’ll look good inside one of these.”

“Look, Earnest…”

“…Chuck,” the salesman corrected, never breaking his smile.

“…Chuck. Look. These are nice cars, but I’m looking for something a little more practical. I’ve got a wife and two kids, a dog and a cat. God forbid we should all have to be in the car at the same time, but if it’s got to happen I need a car that can fit us all.”

Chuck clasped his hands in front of him, pursed his lips and closed his eyes, apparently praying to the patron saint of high commissions. “Winston,” he said. “Winston, of course I could have showed you the ‘economy’ cars. I could have taken you to, say, the Pontiacs, or the Subarus, which are nice vehicles, but I look at you and I think ‘here’s a man who deserves a little more.’ It’s the details, like the cufflinks. A man with cufflinks like you doesn’t drive a Subaru, he drives a Porsche.”

Winston sighed. “Look, thank you, but I don’t want a sports car. My Buick is starting to go the way of all cars after a decade or two, and I’m looking for something equally functional but more comfortable. That’s all.”

Chuck tilted his head back as he took in this information. “Of course Winston, I think I can help you out there. Just follow me.”

They passed a few rows of four-door Volkswagons and Saabs. “Right this way,” called Chuck.

“Actually,” Winston tried to say, “what about these…”

“I think you’ll really like what I’m about to show you, Winston,” Chuck interrupted with a smile, and kept walking. Winston followed, scowling.

I'm sure I will, he thought.

After dinner that night, when he had sent Mary and Elliot up to the third floor study to do their middle and high school homework, he looked at his wife. Their meals had been a little bland lately, due to whatever diet she was on currently, where she could only consume raw lettuce and unsweetened water or whatever, which baffled him since she hadn’t gained ten pounds since they’d married. Her skin showed a few wrinkles, but her brown hair wasn’t thinning or graying. Of course, she’d been a redhead when they met but…well, he’d aged a little himself.

“Sally,” he said cautiously, “I’m thinking about buying a new car.”

He’d expected some enthusiasm, maybe an inquiry as to what kind of car he was looking at, perhaps relief that he might finally get rid of the sedan they’d taken on their honeymoon. Instead, his wife instantly grew solemn. “What’s wrong with the Buick?”

“What do mean, ‘what’s wrong with it?’ It’s seventeen years old.”

There was a pregnant pause while Sally looked at him with probing eyes. “It just seems like a random time for a new car, is all.”

“But we’ve had that car since we married. I was a clerk then, now I’m a vice-president,” he rubbed his wife’s back through her caramel-colored cashmere sweater. When had she bought that? Winston made a mental note to peruse the credit card statement more thoroughly. “I’ve got a beautiful family, only a few gray hairs, a house with only a few years left of mortgage, and now I want a new car to go with them. Besides, I was looking at used cars.”

Sally looked at him under her chestnut bangs. “Are you feeling all right?” She asked.

Winston gasped. “Sure, of course. Why?”

“You’re just acting a little strange all of a sudden.”

“Strange? I thought you’d be a little more enthusiastic about the idea, instead you just look worried.”

Sally reached out to her husband’s arm. “I’m just concerned that you’re getting depressed.”
Winston paused, shocked, then laughed. “Honey, don’t tell me that you think…are you implying that just because I want a new car I’m starting that whole mid-life crisis thing?”

“Well, no,” she bit her lip. “But I want to make sure you’re happy, that's all.”

Winston turned away and paced around the room. “The car salesman today was implying the same thing. He…”

“When did you see a car salesman?”

“This afternoon. I took the afternoon off work and went, you know, window shopping.”

“Oh honey,” Sally worried, “you’re not unhappy with your job, are you?”

Winston huffed in exasperation. “Because I want a new car?” He took a deep breath, walked over to his wife and embraced her. “Sally, I know I’m almost fifty. I know we’ve seen some of our friends divorce, and I know that you’re concerned about me.” She looked up at him. “But mid-life crisises – crisi? – either way, they aren’t for me.”

She nestled her face into his collarbone, “Ok honey, as long as you’re happy.”

For the remaining three days of the workweek, Winston resisted the urge to car shop. Sally had dropped the mid-life crisis challenge, and he wasn’t going to prove her right. He left work on Friday two hours early, to beat the rush of everyone who left one hour early to beat rush hour, and drove home leisurely, trying to think of positive things about his car. Well the air stays in the tires, and the automatic windows still work. There was a jolt as the transmission stuttered. The broken antenna prevents me from hearing all the crap on the radio…
He stopped to pick up some flowers, and ten minutes later pulled into his driveway. Sally would be surprised to see him home this early. Kind of like how Janice next door – and her gardner – had been surprised to see Andrew home so early two months ago. Fortunately he didn’t have to worry about that with Sally.

The dog announced Winston’s presence immediately, and Sally came darting out of the bedroom. They greeted with kisses, and Winston explained his early return.

“I’ll put some coffee on,” said Sally.

“Great, I’ll go change.” He headed back into the bedroom, tossed his jacket over the desk chair, and sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. He always sat on Sally’s side, because the cat liked to sleep on his. The drawer of his wife’s bedside table was ajar, and inside he could see the spine of a book. He didn’t recognize the cover, so he pulled it out.
What the hell? Winston held up the thick paperback book. How to Survive Your Husband’s Midlife Crisis. Had Sally bought this? Obviously she had, since it was in her bedside table. Unless she’d borrowed it from Janice. Did Sally think their marriage was going the way of Janice’s and Andrew’s? Was all of this just because he wanted a new car? He hadn’t thought his idea would be taken so seriously.

“Honey,” he said to Sally, back in the kitchen, “I don’t think I want a new car anymore.”

He expected her to be happy. Instead, Sally looked sadly at him. “Oh honey, if you really wanted the car you shouldn’t give up on it.”

What? “No, it was a whim, a temporary urge.”

Sally looked at her husband. “Winston, is everything ok?”

Winston coughed in astonishment. “Yes, everything’s fine. Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Well…” Sally stroked her ponytail nervously “You’ve been acting so strange, what with this deal about the new car, saying first you want one, then you don’t. I worry that you’re getting depressed with these constant mood swings.”

Winston wondered if that book had been putting these ideas in her head. “What mood swings? Deliberating the purchase of a new car doesn’t mean I’m having emotional problems.”

“I’m just concerned, that’s all,” his wife shot back, hurt.

Winston contained his anger. “Look, I’m fine, I’m not having a mid-life crisis, and I don’t want a new car.” He took a deep, calming, breath. “What’s for dinner?”

The next Wednesday, Winston left work frustrated. Accounting firms were brutal when April 15 was just around the corner, and crisis after crisis was pouring in. He got in his car and turned the key, and as it revved to life the ‘service engine soon’ light came on. “Goddamn it,” he growled. Ignoring the light, he pulled out into rush hour. The drive was slow, and he wished the radio worked so he could hear a traffic report. Down the highway the large sign of the car dealership loomed into view. He turned his eyes as the Buick crawled along, but the temptation grew stronger with proximity. I could just stop in to look for a second, he thought. I could wait out the traffic and browse a little.

He pulled in. Before he’d gotten ten paces from his raggedy Buick, a cheerful young saleswoman, he hadn’t seen many of those, sidled up to him.

“Hello sir,” she said through a brilliant smile. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, I’m just browsing,” he replied, noting that she was a redhead.

“We’ll browsing for what, maybe I can help?”

Winston held his breath, and looked over the lot. The cars stood like military personnel awaiting inspection.

“Honestly,” he said slowly, “I’m in the mood for something a little sporty.”