Stephen Dixon - Garbage

“Thanks for nothing,” the counterman says when the man on the phone says “Here.” “I was nice to hold it but say goodbye now.” I give him two dollars from my shirt pocket and he says “That gives you just five minutes more.”

“Just saw your spotter, “I say on the phone.” That how you always did it? Quick little guy through my bar window or wherever I went to or you also used cars or from apartments across my street or spotters inside? Just curious and only wanted him to come in for coffee, no more cracked heads. Anyway, take him off. I’m through.”

“We have no spotters. And about your being through, you could have hung in some more. You were getting to be fun. Not to be mean about it, we were all enjoying what you were putting up with so well and your spunk against us. Though we had a whole bag of tricks for you in the future, so you weren’t by a long shot done yet.”

“I can picture your last trick. Me cemented to the bottom of a cesspool.”

“Don’t be silly. But what I also have to find out and this is the most important of the call is what your plans are starting today?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Okay, get all the curse words out of your system. Damn, piss, shit, fuck too. But what’s it going to be? I hope not the old mistakes. Staying in the city?”

“Might.”

“Want advice? Don’t. Want even better advice? Don’t. We absolutely don’t want you around, period period period. Not for two years at least. We, so the truth goes, want to make a complete show to that little private garbage collection world that you knew what was best for you after all and so cut out for good. Then after two years, come home. We won’t complain. And you’ve worked hard all your life and when you were a kid for your father when you went to school both, so take a long vacation. Make believe you’re also taking it for your dad and his old man too, who I bet between them never took a vacation once.”

“They didn’t. And I have no money for vacations.”

“That’s what I also meant about your going too far and didn’t have to. Busting up your place, what did it get? Stupid. Should have sold what you could first. Then if you wanted to have fun, break what you couldn’t give away for nothing and if that didn’t do it, then also your landlord’s bar window glass.”

“I wouldn’t’ve made much if I did sell.”

“Would have been plenty enough to keep you going for a few months. By that time you would have thought of something, like an out-of-town job. But now you’re broke, aren’t you, or close, and you’re not going to do anything but go to pot worrying about it.”

“I’ll stay afloat and keep alive.”

“Oh listen to you, such big brave-boy talk. No, you’ll drink a lot and then too much all day and night because you have no other interests and then shoot off your mouth endlessly about how you outdid us somehow instead of just quit your bar and left town. Not that we couldn’t handle your boozed-up bragging. But more you make a fool of yourself shooting off, madder we can become if what you say or at least your attitude gets around. No, we want the whole show. Get out of town. Those two years. Leave tomorrow and if you have to say anything to anyone about why you left, say it was because we were too much for you after a while but that’s all.”

“I have no money to go anywhere.”

“You’ve a little, so that’s enough. As for your hotel, run out on it.”

“I don’t want to run out. I want to pay for it and all my other debts.”

“You need a loan?”

“Think I’d take it?”

“Think we’d give it?”

“Sure you would, at interest rates I couldn’t in a lifetime repay. That way you’d get me out of town and make a pile off me besides and maybe even have better reason to dump me if I didn’t come up with the interest and balance in a few months.”

“We’d make nothing from you and do nothing too because we don’t do those things to people and second of all because there’d never be a loan. You’re one guy we don’t trust. But what are you going to do starting today? I’m here to know.”

“Can’t talk anymore. Seriously, this counterman’s giving me the eyes like he wants me and his phone dead. It’s no personal answering service he says he has.”

“Just whisper to him Porky why.”

“Why like in the question?”

“Like in the letter. But what’s the difference, you’d only be saying it, so he’ll know.”

“What’s it mean?”

“That you would have known if you had let us serve you months ago. All sorts of wonderful fringes coming from us. But since you’re on your way out of here anyway, I’ll be a good guy and tell. Means he won’t charge for what you eat and will let you talk long as you want on his phone free.”

“Maybe I want to pay for my meal and don’t want to talk.’’

“Then you’re really stupid. Because who else is giving you a free meal when you’re hungry and a phone for as long as you want, especially when you still have unfinished business to discuss? You can even call long distance when we hang up. Go on, tell him you want to call out of town and as far away as you like.”

“I have no one out of town. And what more we have to discuss?”

“Such as what I don’t want to harp on again but you’re forcing me to about your making it a big thing and sticking around the city and junk — just don’t.”

“I’ll see.”

“I said don’t. Telling you, advising you. I’m actually going way beyond what I intended and befriending you: leave the city by this afternoon at the latest. But without talking to anybody about your bar, or at the most, if you have to, then that you were quietly forced to go. Or as a compromise, that it was over some woman you went crazy for and left — that always works and it’ll build up your rep.”

“Will you get off the phone?” the counterman says. “Your five minutes are long up and I just don’t want you on anymore.”

“Porky Y,” I say.

“What’s that again?” Comes closer, says low “Tell you what. This time use it all you want. Don’t make it a habit, but use it now. That line about my wife is to keep the other slouches off because most can live on the phone. When you’re done with your call I’ll reburn you some new toast.”

“The old will do. I like it both cold and burnt too. No kidding,” when he puts another two pieces in the toaster, “I do — That code message of yours really worked,” I say on the phone. “About the other thing, I’ll think it over, but I’m too sleepy and hungry to say yes now or no. Want to call me at the hotel later today or me call you someplace?”

“No. Answer now.”

“Can’t.”

“I said your decision, Shaney. Last time: what’s it to be?”

“Move to another city for so long? I don’t know. I’m not trying to give you a tough time, but I never lived anywhere else. And about my mouth staying shut, how do I know all times what it’s going to say?”

Hangs up. I sit down and the counterman gives me a fresh bowl of hot cereal. I mix in the milk and pat of butter and start eating. Phone rings. Counterman answers it and says “Yes … Yes … Yeah … Sure.” Hangs up, takes my bowl away though I’m not half finished with it, chucks it in the garbage pail under the counter while I eat off what’s on my spoon. “Sorry, I can’t serve you. You know what I’m talking about, so I’ll see you.”

“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve money, so give me my eggs, toast and sausages and more coffee or I’m phoning the police from here and you can explain it to them.”

“Don’t make it hard on me. Just go.”

“And don’t hand me that don’t-make-it-hard-on-me crap. Give me my food or I call from your phone.”