Finalist for 2015 Big Brick Review Essay Contest

Sunday is the safest day to go the hardware store, empty and safe enough for three boys age 9, almost 7, and looks 3.  The day before, when I went to check on them building bridges for the sandbox, I remembered the sump-pump that I had stored under the wheelbarrow.
An exceptional toy can be created whenever one incorporates a construction grade tool, so the next morning we headed to the hardware store to wait for a sales clerk to ask, “How can I help you?”

The clerk, Charlie, by the name on his pocket, was lured outside by the clanging and loud voices, maybe thinking some teenagers were going to get caught in the act or he was out to get fresh air from a late night of drinking.  He was older, had disheveled hair and was given a shift which isn’t very busy, but still nobody wants. It could be his excuse for not going to church. “I gotta work Sunday mornings,” he might have said to his mom if she asked, “I’ll try to get it changed”.

            When he realized it was us, he went back around the corner. He could have escaped, but Gabriel had caught him smoking near the rear exit and the sign that said, “DO NOT SMOKE WITHIN 25 FEET.”

            He stared as Gabriel began. “We need a hose that’s 24 inches, I mean 24 feet and 1 inch long.”

            Charlie quickly snuffed out his cigarette, but not hard, and carefully put it into his breast pocket.

            “What kind of hose?”

Gabriel digs into a pocket but can’t find the piece we had cut to show the guy exactly what we wanted.  Luckily, I had cut a piece for each boy so Gabriel instantly digs into Oliver’s pocket. Oliver protests with the eloquent “AAHHHH!” and slaps his hands on top of Gabriel’s intruding ones. He probably thinks Gabriel is going after his fruit snacks.

            “Oliver,” I try to placate, “he needs the hose I put in your pocket.”

            “What’s this for?” yells Sam.  We are in the outdoor section of the only hardware store in town-the area out back where they keep everything contained by a high fence. Sam tries to pull a box off the shelf, but its too heavy for him.

            “It’s a picnic table,” gasps Charlie, walking toward Sam, in case it starts to fall.

            “This!” yells Gabriel finally freeing the piece from Oliver’s pocket, who screams, then stops and picks up the fruit snack bag that also came out and holds it up to me, “OPIN-PEAZ! PAPA!”

            “We need 24 feet and 1 inch of this!” I had Gabriel measure the old hose before we left.

Charlie looks at it, “We have that inside.”

            I think, “Oh no, we can’t go inside yet”.  These three in a hardware store are a re-stockers nightmare, especially if Oliver gets to the plumbing section and starts rearranging the 90° elbow pieces, mixing with the 1 1⁄4’ couplings, mixed with the 3⁄4’ reducers, and some 1 1⁄2’ Y pieces, etc....

            “We also need some pipe.” I say. “Something 4 1/2 inches....”

            “OP-IN-PEAZ PAPA!” I reach down, tear open the snack bag and hand it back to Oliver.

            “What kind?” Charlie asks.

            “Sam, please come over here.” Sam has now braced himself so he can give one more big pull. “I wanna see what this is!” he yells. He is short and muscular.  His name is Samuel, but that devolved to Sam as it better fits his day-to-day relationship with the world.

             “It’s a picnic table,” says Charlie.

            “Look at the picture on the box," Gabriel yells. Sam’s mission has evolved from “seeing what it is,” to "can I get this down?”

            I redirected Charlie back toward me, “How much is this pipe?”  I try to fathom explaining the project to Jenny.  The 100 ft. of pipe I’m going to have in the backyard.  The sump-pump pushing the water uphill so it can return down the newly purchased pipe, cut lengthwise, so the boys can see their additions floating down.  Jenny will stare, in her pajamas, half awake and squinting in the afternoon sun, before a cup of coffee and another night shift.

      

      “I’m not sure,” Charlie says.  “Let’s go inside to check.”  Here we go with the bad “back inside” idea, again.

Charlie ducks as the sample hose from Oliver’s pocket goes whizzing between us.  Gabriel found a bamboo stick for holding up tomato plants, slid the hose on and flung it.  Sam thinks this is brilliant, “Can I try?” he says climbing off the shelf and the picnic table box. Luckily, the back parking lot is empty-except for my car- and they proceed to launch the hoses from one side to the other.

             I look at Oliver to be sure he isn’t choking on a whole bag of fruit snacks stuffed in his mouth. He’s laughing as they launch the pipes through the air covering his mouth to keep fruit snacks from flying out.

            “This too,” I say pointing at the corrugated plastic drainpipe that fits at the end of gutter spouts.  “What’s the difference in the white PVC, the grey, and the black?”

            During these few moments of  “occupied” children, I drill the guy with questions, not telling him what I’m doing with the pipes.  My time is too precious to bog down in the details. We now go inside to get the prices, the hose, and some elbows. 

            As Charlie checks his computer for prices, I fill up a bag of free popcorn and hand it to Oliver.  “Can I have some?” The older boys ask. “No,” I say. “Oliver will share.”

            “Ohhhh...” Sam complains, “Why does he get to hold the bag?”

In reality, it's because if he is holding the bag his hands can’t rearrange the shelves.  If he is holding the bag, you can keep close tabs on where he is.  If he is holding the bag, he will walk up and down the aisles like the King of Sheba, while glancing back to see if he is being followed and he won’t find the plumbing section or the neatly arranged nut and bolts.  If he is holding the bag, we won’t get permanently kicked out of our only local hardware store.

            “So he can learn to share, Sam,” I answer.

            “Share, Oliver,” I say in my most pleasant voice.  Oliver reaches into his bag and carefully pulls out one kernel for each brother.

            “Dad, can I look at the pocket knives?” Gabriel got a pocketknife for Christmas (silly grandparents) and is now (and has been) on the hunt for something bigger.  Way bigger.

            “Sure” I say.  He knows exactly where they are.

            “I’ll take 20 feet of that, 20 feet of this, a 10 footer here and 15 feet of that, which I can cut in half long ways.” This may not be exactly what I need but I don’t have time to come up with a three-dimensional blueprint; the boys have entered the building, and Charlie is typing in my orders with the pointer finger of each hand. 

“What are you building?” Charlie finally asks. He has obviously become an ally.  I look down the aisle to see Oliver spilling half his bag of popcorn while grabbing a squirt gun.  I’m thinking, “it serves the store right for putting it at a two year olds eye level.”

            The hardware marketing genius-“if you place the merchandise at the child’s level, the child becomes your advocate for the sale...”-can pick it up.

            “A water feature.” I say, “Now I need some elbows.”

Charlie stares at me still trying to comprehend a water feature with four different kinds of pipe over 100 feet long and a hose 24 feet and 1 inch. I snap him out of it, “You guys have 4 inch elbows?”

Charlie blinks, “Aisle 38.”

            As I grab what I need, Sam is putting pipe couplings and elbows on his body. “Look at my armor, Oliver!” Oliver laughs, drops his bag and slips some over his arms and legs too.

           “Dad!” Gabriel says from the end of the aisle evidently finding us when Oliver screams at Sam for trying to put a “helmet” over his head. “I found the pocket knife I want.”

            Charlie finds us as the helmet is sent rolling down the aisle.  Charlie kicks it back to Oliver, who has taken up bowling for knights. 

             “I gave you 25 feet but wrote 24,” handing me a sheet saying which pipe we are buying. “Thanks.” I say. We are at the critical juncture where we can be out of here in 5 minutes or leave with the staff chasing us out.

            “Boys, take off your armor.” They stare at me. Oliver bowls again.  Charlie kicks it back to him, smiling.  I am losing them. We have to get out of here. 

            “Sam,” I bark, “take these elbows, hose, and sheet to the cashier. Gabriel, show Sam your pocketknife and take a picture of it so we can ask mom if you can get it.  I’ll meet you at the SUV.”

            Sam takes his pipes off, throwing them all into one bin. Charlie pretends not to see; he is aware of the situation and knows there’s a little collateral damage with every large mission, his boots crunching the popcorn Oliver spilled when he decided to prepare for battle.

            I dis-armor Oliver and head to the SUV, strapping him into the car seat where I know he can’t “help.”  Charlie starts to load the pipe through the back and out the front passenger window. “You sure you don’t want these cut?” the pipe is hanging out about 3 feet diagonally from the passenger window. It bends over the back of Oliver’s car seat. “We only have a couple of blocks to go” I assure him. Charlie gives me the “Water feature” look again. 

“You got twine?” I ask. 

            The long pieces get strapped to the top with the ends tied to the front and back of the SUV. I leave Oliver and pay the cashier, buying three suckers and sending the two older boys back to trade Oliver’s sucker for the squirt gun.  After taking his armor off, Oliver had picked up the gun again, Charlie had ignored that too.

            The boys squeeze under the pipes to fit into their seats.  I duck as I drive because the pipes bend down in front of the windshield.  Driving home, I turn wide like a semi-truck.  Any pedestrians will have time to get out of the way. 

            The boys yell, “Whoa” when the pipes start dancing around from crossing the railroad tracks.  I open the sunroof and tell Gabriel to stand on the middle console and hold on to the pipes strapped to the roof.  Sam wants to help but he is jailed behind the 15 footers.  I see a police cruiser in my side mirror-the only one that I can use right now-but he turns toward the intersection I just passed.  I make another slow turn one block early to get out of the cop’s view.

            A phone is thrust in front of my face.  “Here’s the new pocket knife I’m going to get, Dad!”  Sam wants to see the picture and Oliver kicks his seat yelling, “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”

            I move the phone so I can see where I’m going and instruct Gabriel to hold on to the pipes with “TWO HANDS.”  I’m about to yell at them again but see a neighbor staring at our car.  I turn my frown into a gentle “everything-is-under-control” grin. His mouth remains open as we go by; his hand comes off his rake to wave.

                                   

                                   

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Link to The Big Brick Review and another story they published entitled SPRING
http://www.bigbrickreview.com/-