Audio!

If you are too cool to read, simply don’t like reading, or reading gives you a headache, there is good news today. No matter which of these things ails you, you will find reprieve in knowing that Memoirs of a Gas Station is now available as an audiobook.

This was a lot of fun to make – the narrator is a voice actor named Daniel David Shapiro from Los Angeles. We had dozens of auditions, but Dan’s voice and delivery stood out as the best for the story, and sure enough, he killed it. Check it out and have a quick listen at this link.

The work commute or cross-country road trip just became a lot more enjoyable. Or, at least, less sober.

Jim Speaks

Yes, the charismatic co-star of the buddy-cop smash hit  my travelogue Memoirs of a Gas Station finally has a voice. When I asked Jim – my partner in crime boozing and travel during the summer of 2008 – to write a guest post for this blog, half of me expected a scathing rebuttal to my (allegedly) foggy recollections and half-baked opinions published in the book. It seemed this would be the perfect opportunity for him to slam me on my own turf, and I was completely fine with it.

But if we’ve learned anything, it’s that Jim almost never does the predictable thing. Instead, I opened my email inbox and found this gem – a passage detailing our origins and the things that made us the wonderful weird way we are. Please enjoy, courtesy of Jim:

“Men wanted for hazardous journey. Low wages, bitter cold, long hours of complete darkness. Safe return doubtful. Honor and recognition in event of success.”

That’s how I remember the Facebook message I sent to Sam Neumann Spring of 2008. Bold, brave, and manly as a grizzly fight atop a mountain of Bud Light. All attributes I would generally ascribe to myself.

In actuality it read:

“What’s your plans for the summer? Nothing? Well, you should go and work in alaska with me. Broads, beer, bush whacking, 23 hours of sunlight, the list goes on. But seriously, you should think about it. We’d make 9 an hour, plus room and board. Somehow you end up with a Ferrari. Give me a call.”

Not quite the eloquent, grammatically correct and awe-inspiring message my memory served, but it did the trick. I bagged my best pal for a summer of pumping gas and hawking muffins for just over minimum wage 2500 miles from home.

In truth, Sam and I had done a lot of bizarre things together, so it only made sense that he would respond with a resounding yes to this, the dumbest proposal of our friendship.

To understand why Sam said yes, you need to know about a few notably dumb, key moments which led to our summer of love and moose:

  1. The First United Methodist Scavenger Hunt
    While other teenagers smoked drugs and listened to Limp Bizkit to express their emotions, Sam and I made up shit that we thought was funny to fill our evenings. One such evening, Sam and I fabricated a church youth group scavenger hunt. This consisted of us blasting contemporary Christian rock, going to fast food restaurant drive-thrus and excitedly yelling “Hey! It’s team eleven with the First United Methodist Church Scavenger Hunt, are we the first team through?!” What followed was serious confusion, us reading off a list of items like 50 packets of mustard, 40 straws, a small tub of sour cream… all of which we assured them should be pre-assembled, as promised by our youth pastor, Rod. We filmed this and thought it was fantastic.
  2. Foul Play
    When we found out that our high school had an unused TV studio, we decided it was time for it to be used. We somehow connected with the spastically excited director of the defunct TV studio and decided it was only right that we should start our own show. It would be called “Foul Play” and we would pick a topic and argue about it. Usually it was sports, about which I know absolutely nothing. But, we figured that doesn’t stop anyone on CNN, so we went for it. We had a run of two episodes, but I’m pretty sure with 18 viewers, it was the highest rated television program ever to air on Chisago Lakes public access.
  3. Sam’s Big Day
    During graduation party season, Sam and I lamented about answering the same dumb questions over and over at the event from friends parents and distant relatives. Well, being ingenious smart-asses, we came up with the perfect solution: a video that answered all those questions so people wouldn’t have to ask. The result included Sam on a pontoon and in various lake situations answering questions such as “Where will you be attending school this fall?” or “Where are you working now?” Classic! Like everything we did, not everyone got it, but we didn’t care. It was bizzaro and pretty funny in our minds…
  4. Friday Afternoon Taped (FAT)
    As middle-schoolers, Sam, myself and a few other good buddies decided that we were all pretty funny and we also had access to a video camera, so we would come up with a sketch show that would rival Saturday Night Live. The result was FAT. A several-year series with a revolving cast and recurring characters, such as the Owl Man, T Pederson’s Tricked Out Trick Hour, Sylvan Learning Center, among other things. I’m pretty sure it won some awards.
  5. Mungo Jerry Prank Calling
    In what many (Sam and I) have deemed the best prank phone call of all time, we would call friends and family from an unknown number and sing the melody of “In the Summertime” once through. When we ended, we would wait until we heard them respond in some manner, then we would launch into the song again. This would continue until the person hung up. Hilarious! And as you can imagine, not everyone got it.

In short, Sam and I were always up for whatever ridiculous thing the other suggested. Our trip to Alaska was the pinnacle of that. A pinnacle I hope we can top. Sam, it’s on you. I’ll keep an eye on my Facebook message inbox.

Animals

In celebration of Memoirs of a Gas Station being released in paperback today, I decided it would be a good idea to scrounge up some more old Alaska videos.  What we have here are a few short clips I shot on my Nikon point-and-shoot camera during that fateful summer – some delightfully low-quality amateur wildlife videography!

These were all taken from the banks of Horseshoe Lake – a local spot we used to go to to hang out or look for animals. A few days there, I had the good fortune of moose and beavers allowing me to observe them. You’ll hear me providing my usual superfluous narration…and that other voice? That’s Damian, who will be doing a guest post on this blog sometime in the future with his take on the summer and the book.  (And by the way, he has a blog of his own at http://damiankyle.wordpress.com/. It’s hilarious, and you should probably give it a read if you haven’t already).

To the animals:

 

As you can see, not much happens. The beavers were very friendly though – on more than one occasion, I sat and watched them build a dam on the edge of the lake. Tireless workers, they are. If only I’d gotten an otter on video…

Talent

If you’ve read any of Memoirs of a Gas Station, you’re almost certainly familiar with Jim, the worldly, strapping young lad that was the catalyst for – and my de facto guide during – the trip to Alaska. Jim is one of my best pals and, in all honesty, a damn saint for allowing me to write and publish so many (mostly subjective) good-natured but incendiary quips about him. He is a man of many talents, and I’d like to share one with you below.

Now, I may have mentioned in the book that we from time to time skirted our gas station responsibilities and/or played mind games with customers in an effort to maintain sanity. This is probably an example of that. On an especially boring afternoon, Jim decided that he would answer all customer questions while juggling oranges – an activity that he obviously mastered.

 

The question was about a shuttle service in the canyon; one we received an average of 37 times per day, and thus were robotically conditioned to answer. This could be why he made it look so easy. At the end, you can hear me applaud Jim’s work, then sulk back to the menial reality of the job and “ring up” the next customer. At least we had those 19 seconds.

 

Free Stuff

Hey gang,

Ever think to yourself, “Man, I enjoy ebooks and humor and gas stations and Alaska – along with humorous ebooks about gas stations in Alaska – but $2.99 is just a little too rich for my blood”? Well, this is your lucky day. Actually lucky two days, because today and tomorrow (June 18 and 19), Memoirs of a Gas Station will be available FREE on Amazon.com. Just follow this link to get a piece.

Download, read, love. Hell, write a review. If you’ve been nervous about diving in, this is your chance – it’s risk-free. You literally have nothing to lose.

Just the fact that you’ve come to this page in the first place assures me that you’re awesome, so I’m confident you’ll do the right thing. Bottoms up!*
*Technically, “bottoms up” doesn’t make sense here. But I’ve decided it can go wherever it wants. It’s a pretty nonthreatening and fun-loving cliche. So bottoms up.

Visual Stimulation

Have you read Memoirs of a Gas Station? Are you currently reading it? Is it in your metaphorical “to read” pile? Are you considering reading it, but first trying to get over your deep-rooted psychological aversion to books?

If you answered “no” to all of these questions, that’s okay. Seriously, it’s cool. I’m not even mad. I mean, sure, I put like a year and change into writing the thing, and I’m basically baring my soul for the whole world to see…but no big deal.  I promise. Would you excuse me for a second?

If you answered “yes” to any of these questions, then welcome. Come on in, take off your shoes, and get comfy. Let go of your inhibitions. Be with me. Take your coat off and let me fix you a drink. Scotch okay? Great. For you, I have a little something. You know when you read a book and your mind creates little mental pictures of people and places? I’ve come to destroy those. Not because I hate you…I love you. I just thought it might be fun to put some visuals with the words. So…some photos from the cast and crew of Memoirs:

This is Jim. I chose this particular out-of-focus shot because it captures the essence of working at a gas station: dread, regret, and shame. This was taken immediately after Jim found out he would be spending his summer working at the Lynx Creek Store. See the smirk on his face? He couldn’t help but smile a little at how much life had screwed him over. I can almost here him asking “Why, God? Why me?” It was a true low point in his life, and like any good friend, I was there to capture the moment.

This is Horseshoe Lake, the sight of many moose and beaver viewings. It was a fairly popular, yet cozy little spot. The farthest body of water you can see – on the left side – is the Nenana River. Our living quarters were situated near the banks of that river.

This is a bear. Not exactly sure where I found this guy, but I assume I was staring him down, holding a Bowie knife, and daring the son of a bitch to attack. Or I was in a seat on a bus, taking this picture through a glass window. You decide.

Damian (left) and Kenny, early in the season, getting ready to attack some hills near a place called Toklat. Yes, that Kenny.

On the banks of Horseshoe Lake, watching a moose eat dinner. On the other side, some parents and snot-nosed kids look on.

This is a Dall Sheep. I named him Roland. Kenny and I were near Savage River, climbing a mountain and looking for a suitable campsite, and this guy kept following us. At one point I stopped and waited for him to crest the hill, then snapped a quick picture before he could gore me or whatever they do with those horns.

That’s it for now, but do come back for more in the future!

The Finger

Following the release of my book Memoirs of a Gas Station (*cough cough* $2.99 on Amazon *cough*), I’ve been digging through the media archives for pictures and short videos of the excursion. This is partly for general reminiscence and partly to make sure I haven’t grossly distorted any facts (no comment). In the process I’ve come across some entertaining little nuggets, which I’ll be sharing here in the near (and possibly far) future.

Today, I’d like to take a look at this gem: it’s a quick video chronicling some minor home surgery on one of my fingers. And by “minor home surgery,” I mean thrusting a blackened needle through the fingernail to release the considerable pressure from blood that had built up underneath it. If you’ve read the book, you’ll recall this was a consequence of accidentally let it slam between two large steel doors with faulty springs. This was also the same time I realized the dining hall closed at 7 p.m. It was 7:15. I was hungry. Overall, not a good night.

The finger of course turned purple and immediately swelled up to the size of a small pineapple. And, oh, it kind of hurt. In the coming days the swelling would get better, but as the fluid beneath the fingernail filled up more it became almost impossible to use the finger, for each time it was so much grazed by a paper bag I was using to corral some senior citizen’s six-pack at the gas station, my hand would shoot with pain. It was during one such bagging session when a passerby noticed how I was favoring the finger, and told me to use the technique shown below.

This video is highly embarrassing for a few reasons. First, judging by the pitch of my voice, I either hadn’t gone through puberty when this was shot or had just inhaled a balloon full of helium. Whatever. Second: the obvious physical and mental struggle I went through just trying to accomplish the simple task of putting a needle through my fingernail. I was clearly confused on the proper procedure, and I think my hands were sweaty because I knew it was all being captured on camera.

Regardless, roll the tape.

That was Part 1. You probably noticed a voice in the background talking to some hipster probably named Blake about some band probably called Animal Collective. That was Jim – much more on him on this blog in the future. He was on the other side of the room looking away, because he knew what was going on and had some blood/sight issues. I offered him a spot on the surgical team, but he for some reason declined.

Anyway, we took a break to strategize the best practice for the procedure, and somewhere in that discussion the needle found its way into where it needed to be. Which is when the camera began rolling again. WARNING: This one is a little more graphic. So if you’re squeamish…just be ready to cover your eyes.

And just like that, Kenny – who had been observing the ordeal –grew tired of my inability to finish, jumped right in with his unsweaty hands, and pulled the damn thing out. I really do owe him. The finger got much better after this (I squeezed most of the blood out), and eventually the fingernail just fell off to make way for a new one. The circle of life, ladies and gentlemen.

I’d like to thank Kenny for his uncanny action and also the female behind the camera – who will remain nameless, to protect her innocence – for shooting it.

Please feel free to share similar experiences or just make fun of me in the comments section down at the bottom of the page.

Announcement

Everyone please gather around for a quick announcement in the form of shame-free self-promotion:

In case you were wondering, my first book, Memoirs of a Gas Station, has been released as a Kindle e-book. It’s a fun and totally-worth-your-time account of one summer I spent working at a gas station in central Alaska. If you enjoy this blog at all, I can definitely probably guarantee you’ll enjoy Memoirs as well, because it contains the same sarcastic tone and general view on life. And a whole bunch of hilarious and fulfilling stories about animals and hippies and hitchhiking and stuff. Plus, it’s cheap – only $2.99. What a deal! You can get it for pretty much any technological device you own (not necessarily just a Kindle, although that works too). Click here to take a look.

That’s all. As always, thanks for reading.

Hitchhiking with a Lunatic

(In the summer of 2008, my friend Jim somehow convinced me to travel to Alaska with him and work at a gas station. What follows is an excerpt from my book on the ordeal, Memoirs of a Gas Station. This particular passage describes one of Jim’s attempts to hitchhike from Denali to Fairbanks – I was not with him on this trip, but Jim tells a colorful enough story that a toddler could probably recollect it with 80% accuracy. I’m shooting for 75. I once asked him to put the story into writing himself, but in the midst of assembling a prolific collection of wolf shirts he never found the time. Alas, this will have to do.)

Another car zoomed past, showing no absolutely zero sign of stopping. This was becoming routine. Jim had been walking alongside the road for what he estimated to be an hour and a half, and was getting nowhere. While hitchhiking is an inexact science, you can usually count on some kind soul (or pothead) to pick you up…especially in Alaska, where the laws are a little more lax. Today was not one of those days. The highway was somewhat remote and the cars were sparse, so Jim knew it wouldn’t be all that quick. But he was getting concerned. He had left early in the morning, but the sun was getting warm now. The plan was to get to Fairbanks and back before evening, and it was looking increasingly unlikely.

Another ten minutes passed without any cars. He wasn’t even turning and holding out his thumb when he saw a vehicle anymore; he just held out the Fairbanks sign and kept looking forward. Although his pack was nearly empty, it was getting heavier, and his shirt began getting moist under the straps. He glanced behind him and saw nothing but rock and highway.

The idea of giving up crossed Jim’s mind. He could turn back and be home in another 90 minutes, which would leave enough time to do something constructive with the rest of the day. There was always next weekend to try it again.

He heard a rumble behind him and didn’t turn around. Slowly walking forward with his head half-hung, Jim held the sign to his left when the sound got closer. He knew the vehicle was bigger than a car when it zoomed past by the way it felt. When it was a few hundred yards down the road, Jim raised his head to look. It was an old Winnebago, probably from the early nineties, loaded down with gear. Sleeping bags, tents, random canisters—even a canoe on top. He watched in fascination as the motor home moved down the highway, baffled that it didn’t topple from all the gear throwing it off balance.

The brake lights lit up, then stayed lit for a few seconds, and the Winnebago moved to the side of the road. Jim realized he had a ride and began jogging to go meet the good Samaritan(s). He quietly thanked God.

As he approached, Jim saw a husky bearded man in overalls exit the driver door and disappear behind the vehicle. He got closer and a young boy no more than 12 years old hopped out of the passenger side. The boy yelled at Jim when he was close enough to hear.

“Come on in!” he shouted. Jim began jogging faster, almost running now. He didn’t want to piss off his ride by making them wait. The boy greeted him as he reached the Winnebago. He was fairly normal-looking kid for his age; lanky, buzz-cut, what appeared to be a kool-aide stain around his mouth. He was friendly and exuberant in helping Jim into the back seat of the motor home, where his younger sister was sitting. There was as much shit on the inside of the Winnebago as there was on the outside. The boy introduced himself as Troy, and his sister as Starlight. Starlight must’ve been eight or nine, and probably had ADHD. Her blonde hair was in loose curls and pulled and pinned in every direction. She had roughly half her teeth, and was equally happy to invite Jim into the vehicle. Starlight held a small cat in her lap, which she tugged and squeezed every time she got excited. This happened a lot, and thus the cat was subject to a certain amount of abuse.

Their father was relieving himself outside. Jim tried to get comfortable amongst the mess in the backseat, while Starlight and Troy eagerly smiled at him. They were happy to have a new passenger.

The driver side door opened and revealed the man, who greeted Jim as he climbed back into his seat. He was nearly as odd as his children, and his words boomed through the cabin of the motor home. The clothes he wore must’ve been at least a decade old and probably hadn’t been washed much in that time. His beard was an overgrown and tangled mess of black and gray. The man’s actions were constantly dramatic; the climb into the driver seat looked like an epic struggle, he spoke in a tone just below shouting, and his little round eyes darted around quickly. He seemed to be constantly on edge about something. The man introduced himself as Vince.

Jim thanked him profusely for the ride. Vince told him not to mention it and closed the door. He was just helping out a brother in need. Troy and his father asked Jim the standard questions as the Winnebago got moving—where are you from, where are you going, where do you work, etc. Starlight smiled and stared as she twisted the cat’s ears in unnatural directions. Jim gave them his background and explained he was trying to get to Fairbanks. Vince watched the road and stroked his beard as he took in this information, as if he was making a life-changing decision. You’re in luck, he told Jim, because they were headed to Fairbanks as well. They would be able to get him to his destination. While this satisfied Jim, it also made him uneasy knowing he would be sharing a Winnebago with this family for over 100 miles. Vince promptly informed him that it might take a little longer than expected, because their vehicle didn’t go over 50 miles per hour. Jim nodded as if it was no big deal.

He asked Vince about himself and his family. The man was happy to oblige, and launched into a narrative outlining his world views and plans. They had fled Anchorage to escape the oppressive government and schooling system, and were now headed north in search of deliverance. A place they could get away from The Man. They didn’t know exactly where they were headed, but the plan was to hang out in Fairbanks for a few weeks while they plotted their next move. Vince was currently unemployed; the trip had required him to quit his job. They’d left his wife (and the kids’ mother) in Anchorage to work for a few more weeks and make enough money to finance the move. She would meet them in Fairbanks at some point.

Vince explained he thought about everything spiritually first and logically second. This was the best way to do things. They were being oppressed and abused by the ruthless Anchorage government, and the spiritual and logical decision was to flee. It was very possible the government was still after them, although Vince doubted it would follow very far north. The schooling system down there was a gigantic conspiracy that would certainly ruin the children’s lives if they stayed in it much longer. Vince would home school them from here on out.

He spoke more about the atrocities of government and public school as the Winnebago rambled down the road. Vince began asking Jim if he agreed with what he was saying, and Jim wholeheartedly endorsed all of his opinions. Down with the oppressors. He wasn’t about to disagree with this guy. Soon, Starlight was hopping around and yelling that she had to pee. Vince sighed and maneuvered the vehicle to the side of the road once again. He told Troy to go help his sister, and they both ran out the door as soon as it opened, leaving Jim alone with Vince in the RV. The man leaned back in his seat and was silent for thirty seconds before he spoke again.

“Starlight has not turned out the way we planned.” His voice was quieter now, and he didn’t move his gaze from the road.

Jim didn’t know how to respond. “Oh, really?”

“Troy is shaping up to be an exceptional man. Strong will, very intelligent, good problem solving skills. I am very pleased with Troy’s development. But Starlight…it hasn’t been the same with her. There’s a difference between the spirit of a boy and a girl, you know. You can tame a boy’s spirit, but you cannot tame a girl in the same way. And that’s what is happening with Starlight. I’m not able to tame her spirit.”

As usual, Jim agreed. Whatever you say.

The kids ran back into the Winnebago as fast as they had run out. Vince started the engine and slowly brought the vehicle up to speed (around 48 mph) again. He asked Troy if everything had gone alright. According to Troy, everything went smoothly. Starlight resumed molesting the cat, and the drive continued.

“Young man,” Vince said suddenly as he looked at Jim, “I need to know something. What is your…final destination for today?”

Jim was slightly confused but repeated what he said earlier. “Um, I’m hoping to get to Fairbanks.”

“I know. But exactly, where is your final destination. Where, exactly, do you hope to end up?”

“Well, I want to get Wal Mart or Fred Meyer at some point.”

Vince resumed stroking his beard as he took in the information. He squinted his eyes and nodded his head periodically, still navigating the highway. After a minute of thought, he spoke again. “Okay. Thinking spiritually and logically, I believe we can get you to Fred Meyer in Fairbanks.”

Jim thanked him and said that would be great.

“Now,” Vince continued, “spiritually and logically, what can you do for our cause? What can you…contribute…to our journey?”

He didn’t expect this. But hey, they were giving him a ride. And they might be bat-shit crazy. Maybe if he offered them money, they wouldn’t chop him up and eat him.

“Oh, how does 20 bucks sound?”

Vince stared straight ahead and didn’t say anything. Jim decided to up the ante.

“Or how about 30?”

“Hey!” Vince exploded with happiness. “That would be just great. Did you hear that kids? This young man is going to help us on our trip!”

The kids agreed it was a truly magnificent contribution.

An hour passed. The Winnebago was approaching Nenana, a small river town which was the only real sign of civilization until Fairbanks. Starlight had to pee again, and Vince informed his passengers they would be stopping for gas and snacks. There was a small convenience store in the gas station, and Jim saw an opportunity to pay his debt and be done with it.

“I tell you what,” he said. “Instead of just giving you money, how about we all go inside and I buy you guys some groceries? They have a lot of stuff, and it should add up to around 30 dollars.”

Vince was again overjoyed. “Well how about that! What a kind man. That would be just terrific, wouldn’t it kids? He’s going to buy us groceries!” Starlight and Troy nodded in approval.

When his jubilation subsided, he paused and lowered his voice. “You know,” he said, “I’m not sure if this is the best place for a donation like that to happen. A place like this just…doesn’t have the selection of a larger store.”

Jim said nothing.

“Why don’t we just wait until we make it to Fairbanks, and we can do the grocery buying there?” He looked at Jim.

“Sure.”

Another hour. The Winnebago was finally pulling into the outskirts of Fairbanks. Thank God. It had been a long 2+ hours of anarchy lectures and attempted cat murder, and Jim was ready to be done with it.

Vince asked the best way to get Jim to the Fred Meyer. Jim told him where it was, and Troy quickly recited the quickest route to get there. Over the course of the ride, Jim had found the kid to be remarkably intelligent. He seemed to be articulate for his age, and was thoroughly impressive when reciting math tables. It was anyone’s guess as to what would happen to this intelligence under the tutelage of his father.

The man promptly dismissed his son’s route suggestion. That would take them near an Army base, and Vince was having no part of that. The place would be swarming with government swine, and he would not go anywhere within miles of it. He didn’t want to give the oppressors a foothold. He and Troy argued for a while. Vince finally put his foot down and took the long route, which added another 15 minutes. Jim was getting antsy.

After another eternity, they pulled into the Fred Meyer parking lot. Jim quickly thanked them and prepared to hop out. Vince began stroking his beard as he gazed out the windshield, then at Jim.

“Well, here you are,” he said. “We’ve delivered you to Fred Meyer. Now all that’s left is your contribution.”

Jim rifled through his wallet and realized he only had seven dollars cash. That certainly wouldn’t satisfy the man. He explained that he’d need to go inside and use the ATM, that he’d just give them the money and let them buy the groceries themselves. He told Vince to wait there, and he would be out in a minute.

The ATM was easy to find, right inside the sliding doors. Jim shook his head as he withdrew the money. He could’ve damn near paid his way to Fairbanks on a legit bus for $30. Whatever. He would give them the money and be done with it.

The Winnebago was waiting where he left it. He opened the driver side door and handed the cash up to Vince, who thanked him and reminded him to avoid the oppressors at all costs. Jim closed the door and went back into the store. A wave of relief washed over him. It cost him three and a half hours pay, but he made it to Fairbanks and was now rid of the strange family. He checked his watch and figured he had enough time to do a healthy amount of shopping before he had to start trying to catch rides back. Because of the large volume of cars in the area, it would probably be easier to get picked up going back. He made a silent promise to avoid old Winnebagos from there on out.

The store was huge, and he had a lot of work in front of him. He walked to the food section and decided to start there. Camping food was a priority; stuff that’s quick, easy, light, and cheap. Ramen noodles were a staple. He found some instant potatoes and tossed a few packets into his basket.

Troy was standing at the end of the aisle. Jim didn’t believe it was him at first, but after staring for a few seconds he realized it wasn’t just a look-alike. Troy saw him and yelled down the aisle.

“There you are! My dad’s looking for you!” He motioned for Jim to follow him. Jim stood there for a moment and considered refusing or just running, but that wouldn’t do any good. He reluctantly followed the boy. This was weird.

They moved out into the open area of the store and saw Vince and Starlight standing by the checkout aisles. Jim walked over to see what they wanted, and Vince’s eyebrows rose as he drew near. He wasn’t sure if this was the smart thing to do, but he saw no other option. Well, except running. He kept that option open. Vince spoke first.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding here. You see, I was of the impression you were going to buy us some groceries.”

Um…what? Did he forget about the $30 he just received? Jim explained that he had said that initially, assuming they were buying groceries in Nenana. Since they didn’t want to do that, he just gave them the money so they could buy their own fucking groceries.

“No,” Vince said matter-of-factly. “No, I don’t believe that’s what you said. I specifically remember you telling us you were going to buy us some groceries.”

“Yeah, but instead, I just gave you the money. It’s the same thing. You can buy whatever you want with it. It’s my contribution.”

Vince paused and eyed him. “Kids, do you remember this young man saying he was going to buy us groceries?” The kids nodded and agreed.

Jim stared at the man. He was either legitimately crazy or just a slimy bastard. It didn’t really matter which. He wasn’t budging. What a dick. Starlight was standing there holding a large bag of trail mix and a few packs of beef jerky. Her eyes gazed hopefully up at Jim, as she offered the items for him to take and buy. Jim looked at her, then back up at Vince. Without a word, he grabbed the fucking food, placed it in front of the nearest fucking cashier, waited while she fucking rang it up, and paid with his fucking debit card. It came to $24.17. He handed the plastic bag to the old man without looking at him and began walking away. Vince thanked him loudly for his contribution to their cause. Jim didn’t look back.

Four hours later Jim had bought everything he needed. His pack was loaded down with food and camping gear. He was tired and still pissed about what had transpired earlier. The thought of trying to find another ride was not an appealing one, but the sun was getting low. On his way to the highway, he spotted a parked bus from the Princess Lodge—another hotel located in Denali. There was a short, husky woman with bleached hair having a cigarette out in front of it. Jim pegged her as the driver, and he was right. He introduced himself, explained his situation, and found out that the bus was heading back to Denali in 30 minutes. Jim practically begged the woman to let him ride along. Please, he said, I need to get back tonight. She inhaled deeply on her cigarette as she thought it over. They weren’t supposed to do this, she told him, but after much deliberation, she supposed it would be alright if he sat in the back and didn’t talk to anyone. He gladly obliged, found a seat in the rear, and slept the entire way home.