The Way It Works (5 page)
It breaks my heart to think of how hard Moms worked to buy this suit for me. All so I could get a good job. But I'm not going to stand here in a pawnshop and cry. I have a new plan already, and I'm going to follow it. That's one of the seven habits from my book. Know what you want and work for it. All I want right now is to get out of this town before it kills me.
I make the long walk back to the impound lot. I go to the counter and hand over most of the cash I just got. The guy behind the counter asks me to wait a minute while he finds his receipt book.
I don't care. What's my hurry? I have nothing but time.
A
fter I pay my towing charge and the storage fees, I have eighty-one dollars left. That's enough to fill the tank with gas and buy enough food for a few days. And then what will I do? I have no idea. It's in God's hands now.
I never was very religious. But maybe I should start going to church. Nothing I do seems to work. And come wintertime, a nice warm church would be a good place to hang out.
Then I remember something. How could I have forgotten? I was supposed to have a date with Yolanda tonight.
Well, that's not going to happen now. I'm so depressed I can't even face her. What will I do? Just not show up, I guess. I hate doing that, but I can't look her in the eye and tell her I'm homeless. Unemployed. Broke. She would throw me out like last week's trash. And her dad would hold the door open for her.
It's not right to just blow her off. But it doesn't matter if I call her or stand her up. Either way, I lose her. And after what I've just been through, I can't take the idea of being humiliated again.
Today was supposed to be the best day of my life. Instead, it's one of the worst. I haven't felt this empty since I watched my mother pass away.
“Give me a second to find your keys,” says the owner. He's looking around behind the counter. “It's a little crazy here this morning. The courier is late again.”
“Sure,” I say. “Take your time. I got nowhere to be.”
The owner goes to the door and opens it.
“Steve!” he yells. “That courier come by yet?”
I can't hear Steve's answer, but it must be bad news. The owner slams the door and shakes his head in disgust.
“People are so unreliable,” he says to himself. Then he picks up a newspaper and looks under it. My keys are underneath. “Here are your keys, sir. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
I take my keys. But I don't leave just yet.
A lightbulb has gone off in my head.
“You say you're waiting for a courier?”
I ask him.
“Yeah, that's right. I have a package that has to go across town. And it needs to be there in an hour.”
“You mind me asking how much they charge you for that?”
“Thirty-five dollars.”
I nod.
“I'll do it for twenty,” I say.
“What? Are you serious?”
“Give me the package, and I'll deliver it right now. Twenty bucks. Guaranteed.”
“How do I know you won't steal it?”
I take out my wallet. I remove my driver's license and put that in my shirt pocket. Then I hand my wallet over to him.
“Here,” I say. “That's everything I have. All my id, my money, everything. When I come back, call them up and ask if they got the package all right. Then you pay me and give me my wallet back.”
The owner stands there staring at me for a minute. I think he's about to throw me out. But then he nods.
“You got yourself a deal,” he says.
I hold out my hand. We shake.
“I won't let you down,” I say.
The package is a manila envelope. It feels like it's full of papers. I take it under my arm. Then I go out to the lot and find my car. It starts up right away. That's something to be happy about, at least. If I had engine trouble, I might just have to lie down and die on the spot.
Then I drive across town. It feels good to have my wheels again. I find the address with no trouble. It's a law office downtown. I know this city like the back of my hand. That's one good thing about all the time I spent job hunting.
I drop the package off. Then I head back to the lot.
Back in the office, the owner is waiting for me when I come in.
“I already called them,” he says. “They said you made the delivery. Nice work. Here's your wallet back. And here's twenty bucks.”
He hands me a crisp new bill. I put it in my wallet, along with the cash I have left. It's a lot more fun putting money into a wallet than it is taking it out. Now I'm twenty dollars richer. Suddenly I don't feel quite so low anymore.
“Thanks,” I say. “You going to have more packages to deliver?”
“I have to send one out every week,” he says. “They're legal documents. Always to the same address. And they always need to be there by the same time. You think you can promise me that?”
“You bet,” I say. “I'm never late. Guaranteed.”
“Well, you just got yourself a job,” says the owner.
“Mister,” I say, “you have no idea how good those words sound to me right now.”
O
kay, so one little courier job a week is nothing. But ten of themâ¦that would start to add up. A hundred, and I'd be in good shape.
It looks like I have a new job. And this one is
not
too good to be true.
It's just good.
It's two days later. I'm broke again. But this time it's okay. I just spent fifty bucks on a stack of business cards. I've never had business cards before. They make me feel official. But more importantly, they make me look good.
The business cards say
NEV-R-LATE
URBAN COURIER
. And they have my name and phone number on them.
The phone number belongs to the new cell phone I just got. That's what I spent the rest of my money on. Can't do business if you don't have a phone.
So now I'm walking door to door. I go into every business I see. Lawyers, doctors, dentists, financial firms. I don't care. Everyone needs a courier sometime. And I want that courier to be me.
I do the same thing in each place. I introduce myself to the receptionist. I hand her a card and explain who I am. Then I ask if the office manager is available. Most of the time, the answer is no. But sometimes I get to speak to the person in charge.
“I'll make this fast, because I know you're busy,” I say to them. “I can deliver anywhere in the city for half the price of the competition. I'm never late. Guaranteed. If you want a reference, call this number.” And I give them the name and number of the owner of the impound lot. He's already agreed to be my reference. So maybe my car getting towed wasn't such a bad thing after all.
I've been doing this for a whole day. I've knocked on maybe fifty doors. I want to hit fifty more before five o'clock.
It's just three o'clock when my phone rings for the first time. I'm so excited, I almost drop it. A jeweler needs something picked up and delivered to him asap. Can I do it now?
“Sure thing,” I say. “You'll have it in an hour.”
While I'm making that delivery, the phone rings again. A music store owner needs me to go pick up a guitar for him. It just happens to be on the way to the jeweler.
“No problem,” I say.
That's my first day. I make fifty bucks, cash. I charged the jeweler a little extra because it was a rush job. But he didn't care. He was just happy to get his package.
I sleep in my car again that night. But this time, I don't mind. I had enough money at the end of the day to buy a decent meal. And my brain is spinning with possibilities. How far can I take this thing? It's the right idea at the right time. I always thought I would love to work in finance. But it would be even better to work for myself.
I'm up bright and early the next morning. I grab a quick breakfast and start pounding the pavement again. Knocking on doors, introducing myself, handing out cards. I don't stop until lunchtime. My phone hasn't rung yet today, but I figure it will take time to build up a good business. I'm patient.
I keep going all afternoon too. By five o'clock my phone hasn't rung once. What's going on? It's the end of the day and I didn't get any work. What am I doing wrong?
I need more coverage, I realize.
Then I have another idea: Scooby.
Scooby isn't hard to find. He haunts the same turf day after day. If he's not on his regular corner, he's either at church or at the shelter. I track him down around six o'clock.
“Walter,” says Scooby. “Nice to see you! How's it going?”
“Listen, Scooby,” I say. “How would you like a job?”
His eyes get wide.
“A job? Seriously?” he says.
I explain what I'm doing. Then I tell him my offer: I'll pay him twenty bucks to deliver a hundred business cards for me.
Scooby smiles.
“I used to make two hundred grand a year,” he says. “Now twenty bucks sounds like a fortune.”
“Will you do it, Scooby?”
“Of course I will, Walter. It sounds perfect. If a man can't make a living, he has no pride. I was starting to get pretty depressed. You know what I mean?”
“Do I ever,” I say. “You're going to need some clean clothes. I brought these for you.” I give him my other pair of jeans and my last clean shirt. “Make sure you look presentable. Wash up and get a shave.”
“No problem.”
I give Walter the business cards. I even pay him in advance. Then we shake hands.
“If this thing takes off like I think it will,” I tell Scooby, “there's a job in it for you. A real job. It will pay real money too. So don't let me down, Scoobs.”
“I won't, Walter,” he says.
I sleep like a baby that night, mostly because I'm so tired.
The next morning, I'm back at it. Knocking on doors, drumming up business. My phone rings at nine thirty. It's another job. I get two more jobs before lunchtime. I get four more in the afternoon.
At the end of the day, I've got one hundred thirty bucks in my pocket. And that's after I filled my tank with gas.
I go find Scooby again.
“I don't know what you're saying to people out there, but it works. You got me a lot of work today,” I tell him.
“It's easy,” he says. “If I'm talking to a woman, I just tell them you look like Tiger Woods. If it's a man, I tell them you're the next Donald Trump. Now everyone wants to meet you.”
“Scooby, you just earned yourself a steak dinner,” I say.
I treat us both at a steak house I know. Last time I was here, it was with my moms. We were celebrating my graduation from community college. I try not to think about that. It makes me too sad. Besides, I have something new to celebrate.
After we've eaten, Scooby pats his stomach and gives me a huge smile.
“Thanks, Walter,” says Scooby. “I feel so good, I hate to go back to that shelter.”
“I know what you mean,” I say. “Hopefully you won't be living there too much longer.”
And I won't be sleeping in my car much
longer either
, I think. Scooby and I shake hands.
“You want to work again tomorrow?” I ask him.
“You bet,” he says.
“Great. I'll meet you at the shelter at eight am.”
“I'll be there,” Scooby says. “Wild horses couldn't keep me away.”
T
ime is passing quickly now. A whole day will fly by without me even noticing. That's how busy I am. The phone just doesn't stop ringing. It turns out a reliable courier was just what this town needed.
Just two weeks have passed since I delivered that first package. In that time, I've earned over twelve hundred dollars. I gave Scooby a raise and bought him some new clothes. I bought clothes for myself too. But not a suit. People don't want a courier who looks slick. They want a guy who looks like he's not afraid to get his hands dirty.
So, I bought myself a uniform at a professional supply store. It's a dark blue jumpsuit with lots of pockets. I need the pockets because I have to carry a lot of thingsâa receipt book, an order book, a few pens and my cell phone, to name just a few. I even have a name tag that says
WALTER
in large red letters. Underneath that, it has the name of my business. People take one look at me and they know I'm serious. And that makes them trust me.
At the end of every day, I meet up with Scooby at a coffee shop. I got him a uniform too. So we sit in our blue jumpsuits and sip coffee. We talk about how things went that day and how we can do better. I've got Scooby delivering packages now too. He looks completely different. Even though he's still sleeping at the shelter, he looks full of pride. He got a haircut and some new glasses. And now that he's eating regularly, he doesn't look sick all the time.
I'm still sleeping in my car. But now I'm just doing it to save money. Soon enough, I'll be able to get my own place again. I can't wait for that. I'll be off the street. And I am never, ever going back.
Now it's Monday, the start of my third week working for myself. I've been at it all morning. I'm sitting in my car, having a donut and taking a break. I'm in a part of town I know well. Across the street is the pawnshop where I sold my suit. And in my wallet is the pawn ticket.
I get out of my car and cross the street. In the window there are all kinds of things people have soldâa bowling ball, a computer, a tennis racket, a pair of earrings.
There's a mannequin too. And on the mannequin is my suit. At his feet is my Underwood briefcase. I never actually carried any papers in that thing. But it felt good to have it at my side. It made me look serious. Almost like a lawyer or something.
I take the pawn ticket out and look at it. Then I look up at the suit again. If I want it back, all I have to do is fork over four hundred bucks. Then it's mine again.
