Paying for College - The Novel Page 15

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  The next morning, Drew while lying on his bed propped himself on the elbow and looked over at me. He asked, “Dude. You’ve got any aspirin?”

  “Sorry, but the pharmacy’s closed.”

  “You’ve missed a bitchin party last night.”

  “Unfortunately, my stomach needed a break. No way could I join you guys for a little drink.”

  “So what happened to you last night?”

  “I spent a little personal time with my girl.”

  “Are you sure? Are you still with the same girl? I saw her at the party.”

  Well brothers, here’s where being a good poker comes in handy. I wanted to scream ‘what the hell is Phaedra doing at a party with a bunch of drunken degenerates and social misfits?’ Instead, I said, “Well. She went, but we met after the party.”

  “Oh. I’m not implying anything, but she was surrounded by dudes.”

  “I know she can be a little friendly. I will talk to her about it.”

  Drew rubbed his head, “Dude, my head hurts.”

  “I’m on my way to class, but I’ll tell you what. I’ll stop by the student union after class and pick some aspirin up for you.

  “Thanks dude.” Then Drew laid down and fell asleep.

  I went to my morning class. After class, I stopped at the student union for some coffee, and I did buy several some packets of aspirin. Then I headed to the computer lab and found a vacant workstation towards the back where someone forgot to log off.

  Shaking my head, I sat down. That person even left his browser open with his email account opened on one tab. Brothers, I thought wouldn’t it be funny to send a naughty email to his friends, or maybe email Dean Tremaine and the university president and tell them what I thought of them via vicariously through a stranger. But brothers, that would be wrong. I had other pressing issues like that tuition bill. I closed the browser, reopened it, and surfed to YouTube.

  I found a YouTube video, where a guy with a goatee and a long pony tail showed how he break a safe open within two minutes using a long crowbar. Ironically, the safe’s dimensions roughly matched the safe in the library. I watched with full attention as the guy wedged a three-foot crowbar into the upper lip of the door. Then he used his body to apply force to the crowbar and worked the crowbar back and forth while the safe’s lips opened a little.

  He moved to a new spot farther down, and worked the safe while the lips opened a little more. He pulled back and forth, back and forth. Finally, the safe’s lips revealed a crooked smile.

  The guy proceeded to the safe’s side where the three stainless steel bars slid across the safe’s door that locked the door. The metal to the safe’s door peeled back a little, and the door popped opened.

  I watched several more Youtube videos, where various people of dubious nature showed how quickly one could open a metal safe.

  Now I thought, where do I get a three-foot long crowbar?

  After my last lecture for the day, I dropped the aspirin in the dorm room and left it on Drew’s desk. Then I walked to the salvage yard, a mass graveyard of ancient rusting relics on the other side of town.

  I walked through the seven-foot high, metal mesh gate and walked between rows of old rusty cars stacked on top of each other three cars high. I peered into the distance. The labyrinth of wrecked cars stretched at least a mile.

  I entered a large metal warehouse, where grease covered the floors while engines and transmissions laid at random places everywhere. Along the back of the building, large metal shelves reached the ceiling with every shelf overflowing with old dirty parts.

  I walked to the office.

  A customer was arguing with the clerk. “C’mon man. I need that part for fifteen.”

  “I said twenty.”

  They both turned to glance at me. Then they returned to haggling.

  The customer picked up the part, “Lookie here. Part’s old. It’s been used.”

  “Then you git and go n buy somewhere else.”

  “But Tom, you’re eating into me’s profits.”

  “Just charge double for that part.”

  “I want to. But I want the customer to come back too.”

  “But fifteen’s too low. I needing make profit too.”

  “Okay, okay. Here’s your twenty.” The customer pulled out a brand new twenty and handed it to the clerk.”

  “Thank you Fred, for your business.”

  “We’re still goin fishing this weekend?”

  “Yup. I’ll bring a case of coldies.”

  “You do that. Make sure it’s Budweiser. Not that Milwaukee crap.”

  The customer left, and the clerk stared at me, “What do I do you for?”

  “I’m looking for a crowbar,” I stretched my hands outward, “About his long.”

  “What’da need it for?”

  “Renovating a house.”

  The clerk squinted his left eye and scratched his chin. “Whatcha going to do?”

  “I’m taking out the drywall between the family and living rooms.”

  The clerk answered, “Oh, I think I may have something.” Then he disappeared into the warehouse.

  Memories flooded my mind. I remember my mom stayed at grandma’s house for the weekend while dad and I renovated the house. I helped my dad scoot a couch and end table away from the wall that divided the living and family rooms.

  We went to the other side of the wall and moved a desk.

  My dad and I laid large, old bedsheets on both sides of the wall.

  My dad yelled, “Pull it tight, boy. That way, cleanup be easy. And no dust will get on the floor.”

  The fun started. I picked up a hammer and started bashing the drywall while the drywall cracked and broke. Small pieces began falling to the floor onto the bed sheets. In several places, the drywall clung to the wall, refusing to fall to the floor.

  Dad picked up a crowbar, “Lookie here, boy. Just shove the crowbar between the stud and drywall. Then push back and forth.” A chunk of drywall fell to the ground.

  He passed the crowbar to me. I shoved it between another piece of drywall and the stud. I pushed in and out, but the chunk didn’t move.

  “Here. Hold your hands at the end of the crowbar. Apply more leverage.”

  I moved my hands to the crowbar’s end and pushed and pulled back and forth, and a chunk of drywall fell to the floor.

  After removing another piece, my dad said, “Just think. If you have a crowbar long enough, you could move the world.”

  “Move the world? That would be cool.”

  “Move the world,” I mumbled as the clerk returned to the room holding a rusty crowbar.

  “Here you go,” as he placed it on the counter.

  I grabbed the crowbar and inspected it. “It looks like this thing has been around for a while, at least a century.”

  “Yes sir. And it’s yours for twenty.”

  “Twenty? Oh, come on. You probably found this lying on the ground somewhere around back. How about ten?”

  The clerk shook his head no. “Twenty.”

  “But I can go to a store and buy a new one for thirty.”

  “Then you just do that. You git. Go to that store and buy a spanking brand new crowbar made in China. This one here is made in the good ole USA. With real American steel.”

  “But it’s too short.”

  “I’ll you what, I throw in a metal pipe too.” He reached down and picked up a two-foot metal pipe and placed it on the table.

  I picked up the pipe and inserted the crowbar into the end of the pipe.

  “See, you’ve got at least four feet.”

  “How about fifteen for everything.”

  “Nope. Twenty. I’ll throw in the pipe for free.”

  I knew it would be useless to haggle with this guy. He wouldn’t even bargain with his fishing buddy. I reached into my pocket and pulled out two crumpled tens.

  “Thank you kindly.”

  I slid the crowbar and pipe into m
y backpack. I shook my head back and forth because the pipe and crowbar jutted out from the backpack at least six inches.

  I left the building and looked around at the ancient relics. I betcha I could find some interesting things here along a nightly stroll while holding a flashlight.

  On the way out, I spotted a paper bag lying on the ground. I picked it up and shook the dust and dirt off it. Then I slipped the bag over the pipe and crowbar to conceal them.