Chapter Six

Cyrus, that is, Joe Anderson woke up early that fine morning with a list of projects he wanted to work on and errands he needed to run. After a delightful breakfast of Lucky Charms and coffee, he rinsed out his cereal bowl and left his dishes next to the sink to clean later. He put on his boots and leather jacket, grabbed his black Jansport backpack and went out to the garage.

He opened the garage door and rolled his Triumph out into the sunlight. It was quite dirty, as Joe felt motorcycles were meant to be ridden, not washed. Cleanliness may or may not be next togodliness, but filthy bikers get the best chicks. Or so Joe always said.

Joe took a quick look at the tires to make sure there weren’t any obvious nails sticking out of them, then went back into the garage to get his helmet. He liked the anonymity inside a full-face helmet, not to mention the drastic reduction in flying insects hitting him in the face compared to an open faced helmet.

With the helmet secured on his melon, Joe swung a leg over the bike, checked his brakes, and thumbed the starter. The motor leapt to life with the distinctive sound of a British inline twin.

He rolled on the gas and pulled out on to the road in front of his house. His first stop was the nearest mailbox. There was a mail drop outside of a bakery near his house. He turned into a parking spot in front of the bakery and shut off the bike. He took his helmet off and walked over to the mailbox. He had a couple of letters in his backpack, which he dug out of the bag and dropped in the mailbox. Then he went into the bakery to get a loaf of Italian bread. He passed a few friendly words with the baker, stuffed the bread into his bag and went back out to the Triumph.

Once he was situated again, he zipped into traffic again and made his way to the grocery store to pick up some cheese and a tomato or two to go with his bread.

Joe made his way through the grocery store carrying a basket to keep his few items in. He laughed to himself, as he always did, as people who ordinarily wouldn’t look at him twice leapt out of the way of the scary biker. Joe made a point to be polite and courteous, but he did enjoy watching the sea of people part before him as he wandered the store in his leather jacket and boots.

Once he had secured a fine asiago cheese and a couple of lovely ripe tomatoes, he strode to the check outs and got in line. He had just started to daydream when he realized the woman in line in front of him was saying something to him.

“Joe? Hi Joe!” Judy said. “How are you this morning?”

“Judy! I wasn’t paying attention, I didn’t see you there. I’m doing great, just out for a quick ride while I take care of a few errands,” Joe said. He was a little embarrassed he hadn’t noticed Judy; he was usually more attentive about who was around him.

He and Judy made small talk while the cashier rang up the person ahead of Judy in line. Soon enough it was Judy’s turn. Joe waited patiently as the cashier scanned and weighed each item Judy had. After a few minutes the cashier gave Judy the total. Judy dug in her purse briefly, and brought out an envelope with her food stamps in it. She gave Joe an embarrassed look as she handed the food stamps to the cashier, who rolled her eyes and called for a supervisor.

The supervisor came over, gave Judy a withering look, signed off on the food stamps and hurried away again. As Judy’s receipt printed, the cashier looked her right in the eye and said, “Why don’t you get a job instead of living off the government?”

Judy flushed, and looked down.

Joe stepped up closer to the cashier, raised and said, “How dare you judge a senior citizen in hard times? Who are you to say anything besides ‘Have a nice day’ to this woman? I’m glad you’ve never needed assistance from anyone. I hope in the future, you’ll have the class to stick to your principles and not expect help from a damn soul.” The volume of his voice increased as he spoke, and he nearly started using his preacher voice. He caught himself at the last second.

The supervisor who had just left came over to find out what the ruckus was. Judy was looking at Joe with her mouth wide open. She couldn’t believe nice Joe from down the street could get so angry so quickly.

“And you! I don’t believe for a minute you don’t know what your cashiers are saying to customers with food stamps,” Joe continued. “If you honestly don’t know then you’re incompetent, and if you do know,” he paused, “if you do know, you’re a rat bastard. I don’t expect much, but I would expect a group of union employees to have a little sympathy and compassion for someone in trouble.”

He set down his cheese and tomatoes as the supervisor and cashier sputtered.

“Shut up,” he said. “I don’t even want this stuff now. I won’t be in again, but I will be calling your manager.”

He helped Judy gather her bags, and escorted her out of the store. She was still staring at him.

“You don’t have to stare, Judy,” Joe said. She blinked, and looked down.

“Neither you nor Thomas deserve to be treated like that, especially in front of a bunch of strangers. And especially not by some fucking cashier,” Joe said, and stopped quickly, realizing he’d just dropped the F-bomb in front of an old lady.

Judy looked shocked for a minute, then clasped her hands together next to her cheek in a girlish way and said, “My hero!”

Joe laughed and said, “Aw, can it, granny.”

He helped her load her groceries into the car, made sure she and Thomas would be coming over for dinner and cards later that week, and went on his way. Riding helped him mellow out quite a bit, which was a good thing because now he had to find a new grocery store.

If there was one group of people he had sympathy for, it was poor folks who were stuck in a bad situation and trying to make the best of it. Joe knew that no one wants to get food stamps – just having to use them was humiliating enough. And the underlying idea, that somehow these people don’t deserve basic necessities like food regardless of their job status, truly ate him up. It made him want to hit things.

After a while he reached another grocery store. It wasn’t one of his favorite places to shop, but at least they had decent tomatoes. He checked out without incident.