THE BOLAN CHRONICLES: Reading #33

33. Approximate Minutes Reading (AMR): 7

Introduction to Characters
Howard: Service Station Employee--Jake's co-worker

THE BOLAN CHRONICLES

Chapter 3

A House

**The Hobbling Lush**

January, 1982. As an attendant at Ray’s Gulf Service Station, Jake’s tasks included pumping gas, wiping windshields, checking oil, and collecting payment. Not a week passed before his reputation as a friendly, hard-working young man began to spread. Business revenue at the station increased as a result of Jake’s efforts, and after one year of employment, his wage had increased from $2.75—fifty-cents above the national minimum wage—to just over $4.00 an hour. 

The only other employee was Howard, a large man with a loping walk. Howard was thirty years old but looked to Jake to be at least forty. Jake once told Donna that he thought the guy as a kid must have had something relatively large stuck up his ass. “The man looks in pain with every clumsy step,” he’d said. “And this big boy just got himself a new name…Howard the Hobbler.”

Howard had three kids in primary school and a wife who worked as a carhop at a Sonic Restaurant in Wallingford, nearly thirty miles out of town. They’d graduated from high school the same year, but Howard had taken five years to finish.   

Howard got along well enough with Jake, but he’d been working at the station for two years prior to Jake’s arrival, and he was only making a $3.50 wage after what he thought to be a hell of a lot of sweat-and-grind. He was good at keeping his opinions to himself, and he tried always to let loose of a grudge, but the raise that put Jake over his own hourly earnings put Howard over the edge.  

He was checking the oil for a regular customer, Erma Baker, a retired school teacher in her mid-sixties, while Jake cleaned the windshield of her brand new bright red Oldsmobile Cutless Ciera. 

“This is a beauty, Mrs. Baker.”

“Thank you, Jake.”

“Got a name for her yet?”

Mrs. Baker cupped her ear and said, “A what, dear?”

Jake stepped around to her side, “A name. You know, a name for the car.”

“Oh. Well, it’s an Oldsmobile, but I don’t know what else they call it.”

“Well they call it a Cutless Ciera, but what do you call it?”

Still confused, Mrs. Baker just smiled.

“You see, Mrs. Baker, our cars take on a kind of life of their own.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, and since they take on a kind of life of their own, they deserve a name,” 

“I suppose,” Mrs. Baker replied.

Then Jake pointed at his truck parked on the corner of the property, “That red and white pickup over there isn’t just another Chevy, Mrs. Baker, that’s Rookie, my red and white Chevy.”

“Oh, I see,” She replied, and she cupped her chin and said, “In that case, maybe I’ll just call it Red.” And she giggled.

“Perfect!”

Howard closed the hood and replaced the gas pump nozzle. With a wave and a half-grin, he bid Mrs. Baker a good day and she drove off.

“This job’s getting’ better and better, Howard.” Jake said.

“How’s that, Bolan?” Howard was wiping his greasy hands with a rag.

Coolly, Jake said, “Up to four bucks an hour now. Never thought I’d see the day!” And he smiled. “My old man wasn’t makin’ four an hour till he was nearly forty years old.”

Howard’s response surprised Jake. “You got a twin, Bolan?”

“Huh?”

Howard cupped his mouth, “I said, you got a twin? Cause I remember a guy who looked exactly like you, tellin’ me that his dad maybe had the boringest job in the world, but he always made a whole lot o’ money.”  He shook his head. “Maybe I’m the dumb shit, but I thought for sure it was you who said that.”

Jake mumbled something then replied, “You musta misheard me, Howie. My dad didn’t make his gazillions until later.”

Howard rolled his eyes. “Oh, I see, uh-huh.” 

As the two of them stood at the time clock at the close of the workday, Jake asked, “You must be up near $4.50 or so, huh?”

Howard sighed and rolled his eyes. “Bolan, I done seen $4.50 over a year ago. In fact, every hour I work represents just a bit more than a five-spot on my paycheck.”

Jake froze. “What the hell! More than five an hour?”

Howard paused, let it sink in just enough, then smiled and said, “Bolan, Bolan, Bolan, I keep that bullshit rollin.’ Rawhide!”  Then he made like he had whip, flailing it at Jake. “Whookish!”

Jake despised being fooled.  

“Don’t worry about it, Jake.” Howard said, “Just keep suckin’ up and you’ll find yourself one rung higher than the next guy.” As he walked away he sang, “Don’t try to understand ‘em, just rope, throw, and brand ‘em, soon we’ll be livin’ high and wide!” Jake heard him belly laugh as he got into his car. 

Howard shut the car door, and Jake called out, “Hey! Howie!”

Howard rolled the window down and replied, “You really do have a poor memory, Bolan.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I told you not to call me Howie. Remember? We were standing next to the soda machine, you reached in and pulled out your blessed Orange Crush then said some stupid thing like, ‘Drink of the gods,’ or something like that.”

“Ah!” Jake said, “Then I said something clever like, ‘You should try this stuff—you might become the service station god, Howie!’ Right?”

Howard rolled his eyes. Then he said, “What do you want, Bolan?”

“I just wanted to give you a little advice, that’s all. See, I may seem to be suckin’ up occasionally, but when that’s accompanied by hard work, the result usually meets the objective.”

Howard was annoyed; mostly at his complete inability to understand whatever Jake meant.

 “What?”

“Yeah. That’s okay, Howie. I’m sure you’ll figure it out by later tonight.”

As he rolled the window up, he said, “You can be such a prick.”

Jake followed him with a grin as Howard drove off.

By the end of the month, Howard had lost his job and his marriage. He’d been pulled over one Thursday night as he drove home from work. He had asked the large-eared officer what he had done wrong. The officer replied that he had pulled him over for speeding, and that he noticed that he was also swerving and would he mind stepping out of the vehicle. Howard had stepped out, and the officer had cuffed him, opened the back door to Howard’s car, pulled out a bag with an unopened bottle of Jose Cuervo tequila, unscrewed the cap, poured out half of its contents, then looked at Howard and said, “Damn, boy!  You drink all that at once?”

This was the beginning of the end of Howard’s otherwise happy marriage and stable blue-collar job. He was a weekend beer drinker, but losing his wife’s trust and respect led him to more serious beverage consumption. He lost his job by the end of the month, and his wife refused to accept a life with a husband who turned out to be “…just like the lush my momma married.” 

Ken Cale was a patient man and a good and understanding boss, but Howard’s DUI and on-the-job drinking was something that he would no longer tolerate. One too many complaining customers held hostage to Howard’s beer breath was the last straw. As a result, Ken’s appreciation for Jake’s loyalty and sober attitude had increased. Following Howard’s dismissal from the service station, Jake Bolan enjoyed more hours of work and another raise. Indeed, he was securing the kind of reputation that the police department valued. 

Several days after Howard was fired, Donna asked Jake if things between he and Howard had gotten any better. “Oh, they done got much better, sweetie.” James said.

“Wow! That’s great!” Donna replied.

“The Hobbler done been let go.”

Surprised, Donna said, “Jake! Why?”

“Well, let’s just say I’ll be referring to him as the Hobbling Lush from now on.”

“My God, Jake! Was he drinking on the job?”

“Somethin’ like that.”