August, Saturday 1. 2026. - Putting Around

“One ring, straight to voicemail. Whatever, I would probably hang up on me too. The clerk had mentioned he had to stay late with all the glee of a child who found out the McDonald’s ice cream machine is broken. He is my biggest hope in this moment. It doesn’t look good. I don’t mind being a nuisance though and, besides, it’s important to me. So, here goes another call.

One ring. I’m already tied for my personal best. Two rings. We’re crushing records, my hopes are soaring high. The third ring doesn’t inspire hope. They haven’t hung up on me yet but I’m beginning to feel like I might ring straight through to damnation, as if Icarus managed to fly right in the pocket only to glide over his destination and off the edge of the world, condemned to just leave a voicemail. A fourth ring. Wait, a fourth ring? Did I miss it? There wasn’t a fourth…

“Hello?”

Stunned for a moment, I had to compose myself enough to say what I wanted. Instead, I just blurted out everything I knew. “I was just at this Goodwill,” “I was trying on clothes,” “Not in the dressing rooms, but by the dressing rooms near the office,” details that seemed important as context but did not inspire the curiousity or solidarity of the clerk who answered me.

“Anyway, I think I left my bag there. It’s blue and has a logo of a little red fox and inside is a camera and a pen,” I managed, finally saying something of relevance. I love that camera. It’s nothing special and I’m not even sure someone would care to take it but the thought of not having it sucks. I don’t care too much for the pen.

“Has anyone returned it? Or, maybe, could you look for it?”

Yesterday had been a busy day for me. I had one errand to run: go into Center City, drop off my rolls of film and buy more, and putt around the rest of the day because I will then have finished my one errand. Getting to Center City turned out to be difficult. What would have been a ten minute ride on a canceled train turned into a bus ride that made me carsick while winding it’s way through neighborhoods and a ride on a line in a different town entirely.

Luckily, that train was waiting for me when I arrived. The El had unfurled from it’s doors a red carpet just for me, a lucky recipient of a single seat. The most coveted of seats. The whole car clapped as I accepted my gift.

I sat in silence looking out the window past nine stops before I arrived at mine. As I left, a man said he liked my leg tattoo and I thanked him. I finally made it to Center City. Step one of my single errand, check.

I dropped off film. I bought more film. The film-monger commented on my leg tattoo and we talked about our various ink. They had a big stomach piece that hurt the worst, a common sentiment among the belly-tattooed people I’ve talked to. Only palm-tattooed people say it’s worse. They told me they’re waiting for their frontal lobe to fully develop before considering job stoppers. Responsible, even if it is a lot less cool. I’m not cool enough yet either which might actually be the fault of my frontal lobe. Hopefully theirs developing brings them more chutzpah.

With film dropped off and purchased, I putted. During my putting, I saw a white pigeon. I saw a man in Revolutionary War uniform whistling Yankee Doodle down the street, presumably to lead a group of tourists around Old City. I went to a deli I loved when I lived a couple blocks away. I had to ask for help with the ordering machine that kept giving me errors. I had been clicking “Next” when I should have clicked “Finish”. Obviously. As I waited for my hoagie, I proceeded to be as in-the-way as I possibly could to this poor woman who wanted to grab a drink from the same cooler as me, a sweet treat from the same shelf as me, and go to the same register I zig-zagged my way to. The store is small and cluttered and aisles narrow, but I must admint I’ve lost some of my city sense of spatial awareness.

Once fed, I continued my putting around. I saw a man watering flowers and also kids riding by on bikes, chuckling as they laughed and contorted and gasped at the cold water. He offered to water me too, which I declined with a smile. He complimented my shirt to which I said “thank you”. Almost immediately after, I gave an emphatic “yo, thank you” when he upgraded the compliment to my whole outfit. I putted a little faster and a little prouder after that.

As I walked to take the train home, a woman who looked like she could have just finished a shift as a docent pulled up next to me at an intersection. I could hear she was listening to Kill the Poor by Dead Kennedys. I’d love for the band to cover that song one day. She turned the volume down as she came to a stop.

So maybe I had just been tired. Or maybe I was riding the high of spending time with L. They had just scored a really cute shelf where the legs are pencils and it’s painted bright primary colors. It has real erasers and sells to collectors for up to $1,800 we found out later. Luckily, we aren’t collectors and Goodwill sold it to us for $15.

In any case, I waited in a nearby McDonald’s for the Goodwill to open. I had ordered a coffee and a hashbrown for the wait because I love the hashbrowns and it’s been years since I last had one. I was given two by the woman working there. The ordering machine gave me trouble there too.

My bag was right where I had left it when I hung it on the end of a clothes rack near the office to try on clothes over my clothes because the changing rooms were closed. Safe within was my camera which was loaded with a fresh roll of film from the day before. Beside it was the pen too. I thought to grab a soft serve on my way to the bus home, but the ice cream machine was broken.