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- Story Listed as: True Life For Teens
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Coming of Age / Initiation
- Published: 05/04/2021
Newspaper Delivery Misery
Born 1954, M, from Cocoa Beach/FL, United StatesNewspaper Delivery Misery
I must have been 15 years old. One year shy of a driver’s license in 1969 on that miserably cold December morning in Dallas. Yes. If I had a driver's license, I would not have been delivering papers on my bicycle in the snow. Which was why I only substituted throwing newspapers for Billy when he was sick. I did not want a regular job of freezing before sunrise.
He had called on a Thursday night, begging me to take his route because he had the flu. Though I hated cold weather, a few dollars took a teenage boy a long way on a Friday night. I opened our garage door at 5:00 am and stuck my head out. Light snow flurries swirled under a streetlight. A north wind numbed my nose in seconds. Oh, this was going to be my worst day yet for throwing papers. Bicycles were not meant to be driven on frozen roads. I knew I would bust my ass a couple of times as I tried to turn corners and deliver 150 papers. Just throwing a newspaper would turn the front wheel enough to crash.
The newspaper bundles were on a sidewalk a long block away from my house at some ungodly time, like 3:00. My job was to use a pocketknife to cut off strings around the bundles. Then fold a paper in half, open a clear plastic bag, and somehow stuff the paper into the bag. Have you ever tried to open a tight plastic bag while wearing gloves? No way this was going to work. That meant no gloves and frozen fingers. I desperately thought about a Plan B. Would any of my friends with cars come over this early and drive my route? Not on their lives.
I sat in our garage leaning against Mom’s car. An orange, 1967 Super Sport Camaro. The only one in town.
Plan C slowly warmed up in my cold brain. I did not know how to drive a car, but I knew how to start Mom’s car. I often snuck out to our garage to start her hot rod. I loved to gun that big V8 engine in our closed garage. Rumble rumble. Thrum thrum, like an airplane engine. I had watched my parents drive many times, and it didn’t look hard. I could figure it out. Deserted streets would have incredibly low odds of me running into a cop at this time of the morning. If I drove slowly, a policeman would have no reason to stop someone delivering papers. I could go to the end of the block, pick up the papers, bring them home, and fold them inside my warm house. Then drive up and down six blocks and throw the newspapers out the window. Surely, I could throw them reasonably close to front doors. People would understand if papers were in the yards on a day like this. A half an hour, and I would be finished with Mom’s car back in the garage before she even woke up. I had to throw papers this morning. Plan C was my only choice.
I put on my warmest coat, opened the garage door, and backed that splendid Camaro out of the garage quietly, hoping not to wake Mom. Slowly I reached the street, turned, and slipped the transmission into drive. Shoot. This wasn’t so bad. I crept down the street with my foot on the brake, ready to stop at the slightest problem. I pulled up to the stacks of papers at the end of the block and parked. I left the engine on, rumbling with steam pumping out of the tailpipes. After popping open the trunk, I threw in the papers, closed the lid, and turned the car around. That's when a pair of headlights pulled in behind me, and my plan fell apart.
Dad was a traveling salesman, burning up the roads all over Texas. We expected him to come home Friday afternoon after a long week working in South Texas. Being an insomniac, he couldn’t sleep Thursday night and decided to drive all night to reach home when his family awoke. His trek through snow and ice had put his nerves on edge. Just as he got to the last street on his long drive, he pulled in behind the taillights of a slow-moving car. An orange car. The only orange Camaro in town. What was his wife doing out this late at night? She must have been out fooling around and sneaking home early. He went from tired to furious in no time. He followed her car as it slowly moved up the street. All kinds of scenarios went through his mind about why she would be driving this early in the morning. None of them good. By the time he reached home, he was beside himself.
In Mom’s Camaro, I grew nervous as those headlights stayed on my tail. With no choice, I pulled into my driveway and parked in the garage. The headlights turned in behind me. I waited for red police lights to turn on. I knew I was busted to the worst screw-up in my life. I opened my door and stepped out, facing the headlights. Dad jumped out of his car and slammed his door shut. What was he doing here?
“Why were you driving that car, Gordon?” His red face had pumped out in anger.
"I am delivering papers, and it is too cold to do it on my bicycle.”
Dad paused. He did not know what to say to that. “Is your mother in that car?”
“What? No. It’s too cold. Look.” I opened the trunk and showed him my newspapers.
He looked inside the car. No Mom. He had to do something with his anger, so he stormed inside the house. I was in the doghouse big time, but I still had to deliver papers. I grabbed my bundles and took them into our game room, where I started wrapping them in warm air. I heard Dad yelling. I held my head down and kept wrapping. After a while, Mom came into the game room.
“What did you do?” she said with a snarl.
“It’s too cold to wrap papers and deliver them on my bike. I’m freezing. I snuck out with your car and brought them back here. I’m sorry.” I kept wrapping papers, trembling in fear and cold.
Her face melted.
“Okay. I’ll get dressed," Mom said. “You put those papers into your Dad's car. I'll drive your route while you throw them. I’d rather take you around than face him. He wants to fight, and you took the air out of him,” she said with a slight smile.
Mom saved me that morning. Both from wicked cold and Dad’s fury. For some reason, he never mentioned me driving without a license. I had found a lucky way to stay out of trouble.
Newspaper Delivery Misery(Gordon England)
Newspaper Delivery Misery
I must have been 15 years old. One year shy of a driver’s license in 1969 on that miserably cold December morning in Dallas. Yes. If I had a driver's license, I would not have been delivering papers on my bicycle in the snow. Which was why I only substituted throwing newspapers for Billy when he was sick. I did not want a regular job of freezing before sunrise.
He had called on a Thursday night, begging me to take his route because he had the flu. Though I hated cold weather, a few dollars took a teenage boy a long way on a Friday night. I opened our garage door at 5:00 am and stuck my head out. Light snow flurries swirled under a streetlight. A north wind numbed my nose in seconds. Oh, this was going to be my worst day yet for throwing papers. Bicycles were not meant to be driven on frozen roads. I knew I would bust my ass a couple of times as I tried to turn corners and deliver 150 papers. Just throwing a newspaper would turn the front wheel enough to crash.
The newspaper bundles were on a sidewalk a long block away from my house at some ungodly time, like 3:00. My job was to use a pocketknife to cut off strings around the bundles. Then fold a paper in half, open a clear plastic bag, and somehow stuff the paper into the bag. Have you ever tried to open a tight plastic bag while wearing gloves? No way this was going to work. That meant no gloves and frozen fingers. I desperately thought about a Plan B. Would any of my friends with cars come over this early and drive my route? Not on their lives.
I sat in our garage leaning against Mom’s car. An orange, 1967 Super Sport Camaro. The only one in town.
Plan C slowly warmed up in my cold brain. I did not know how to drive a car, but I knew how to start Mom’s car. I often snuck out to our garage to start her hot rod. I loved to gun that big V8 engine in our closed garage. Rumble rumble. Thrum thrum, like an airplane engine. I had watched my parents drive many times, and it didn’t look hard. I could figure it out. Deserted streets would have incredibly low odds of me running into a cop at this time of the morning. If I drove slowly, a policeman would have no reason to stop someone delivering papers. I could go to the end of the block, pick up the papers, bring them home, and fold them inside my warm house. Then drive up and down six blocks and throw the newspapers out the window. Surely, I could throw them reasonably close to front doors. People would understand if papers were in the yards on a day like this. A half an hour, and I would be finished with Mom’s car back in the garage before she even woke up. I had to throw papers this morning. Plan C was my only choice.
I put on my warmest coat, opened the garage door, and backed that splendid Camaro out of the garage quietly, hoping not to wake Mom. Slowly I reached the street, turned, and slipped the transmission into drive. Shoot. This wasn’t so bad. I crept down the street with my foot on the brake, ready to stop at the slightest problem. I pulled up to the stacks of papers at the end of the block and parked. I left the engine on, rumbling with steam pumping out of the tailpipes. After popping open the trunk, I threw in the papers, closed the lid, and turned the car around. That's when a pair of headlights pulled in behind me, and my plan fell apart.
Dad was a traveling salesman, burning up the roads all over Texas. We expected him to come home Friday afternoon after a long week working in South Texas. Being an insomniac, he couldn’t sleep Thursday night and decided to drive all night to reach home when his family awoke. His trek through snow and ice had put his nerves on edge. Just as he got to the last street on his long drive, he pulled in behind the taillights of a slow-moving car. An orange car. The only orange Camaro in town. What was his wife doing out this late at night? She must have been out fooling around and sneaking home early. He went from tired to furious in no time. He followed her car as it slowly moved up the street. All kinds of scenarios went through his mind about why she would be driving this early in the morning. None of them good. By the time he reached home, he was beside himself.
In Mom’s Camaro, I grew nervous as those headlights stayed on my tail. With no choice, I pulled into my driveway and parked in the garage. The headlights turned in behind me. I waited for red police lights to turn on. I knew I was busted to the worst screw-up in my life. I opened my door and stepped out, facing the headlights. Dad jumped out of his car and slammed his door shut. What was he doing here?
“Why were you driving that car, Gordon?” His red face had pumped out in anger.
"I am delivering papers, and it is too cold to do it on my bicycle.”
Dad paused. He did not know what to say to that. “Is your mother in that car?”
“What? No. It’s too cold. Look.” I opened the trunk and showed him my newspapers.
He looked inside the car. No Mom. He had to do something with his anger, so he stormed inside the house. I was in the doghouse big time, but I still had to deliver papers. I grabbed my bundles and took them into our game room, where I started wrapping them in warm air. I heard Dad yelling. I held my head down and kept wrapping. After a while, Mom came into the game room.
“What did you do?” she said with a snarl.
“It’s too cold to wrap papers and deliver them on my bike. I’m freezing. I snuck out with your car and brought them back here. I’m sorry.” I kept wrapping papers, trembling in fear and cold.
Her face melted.
“Okay. I’ll get dressed," Mom said. “You put those papers into your Dad's car. I'll drive your route while you throw them. I’d rather take you around than face him. He wants to fight, and you took the air out of him,” she said with a slight smile.
Mom saved me that morning. Both from wicked cold and Dad’s fury. For some reason, he never mentioned me driving without a license. I had found a lucky way to stay out of trouble.
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Valerie Allen
06/06/2021Congrats Gordon! Boy, oh boy - all you guys and your "newspaper delivery stories"! You should hear us gals talk about our "baby sitting stories !" At least we weren't out in the cold. Thank goodness for such a loving mom ~
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Kevin Hughes
06/06/2021Gordon,
As you can see you opened the door to us all who were once "young and dumb!". Smiles galore in the comments and in our memories. My Best friend bought a 1966 Mustang. He brought it over and let my Dad take my sister for ride in it. She was seventeen. My Dad asked her what she thought of the car.
She replied: "It is sure roomy up front. I have never seen one of these from the front seat."
She immediately blushed a deep red. My Dad didn't say anything for bit, and then made her laugh when he said: "I thought it was tough fitting in the back of a Model T. "
She dodged that one.
Smiles, Kevin
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Shirley Smothers
06/06/2021This story made me smile. To be young and dumb again. My Mother often got me out of trouble. Congratulations on SHORT STORY STAR OF THE DAY!
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Gordon England
06/06/2021Glad to make you smile
Help Us Understand What's Happening
JD
06/05/2021I think the bigger problem was that you did not ask your mom for help in the first place. Surely she would not have wanted you to freeze to death, or get into an accident on your bike or in her car, and would have been happy to help you if you had asked her BEFORE you took her car, as she was after you took it! You're very lucky you did not crash it or worse, Gordon! But then you seem to be lucky a lot! Thanks for sharing the story with us, and happy short story STAR of the day! :-)
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Gerald R Gioglio
05/07/2021Gordon, great stuff. It brought back some paperboy memories. Yep, my old man drove me a couple of times when thing were desperate. If you haven't already seen it, you might enjoy my piece "Paperboy," here on StoryStar .
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COMMENTS (5)