THE PIN

A Tale of the Hatchback Woman by Dan Jire

Thomas groaned. He told himself to be happy. His last hour of work was about to get halved. But he’d gotten comfortable sitting in his chair, staring out the window and listening to the same playlist the radio had blared ten times already that day. But then a little red hatchback rounded the corner and pulled up to the garage.

Work was work any way it was sliced, and Thomas would rather it be 7 o’clock so he could head home, grab a shower and see what Friday night had in store for him—even though his next shift started at 6 AM.

He trudged over to the red hatchback. His pants dragged beneath his heals. His shirt untucked.

Still, he turned on the correct level of politeness he’d been instructed to use when a customer pulled up.

“Good Evening, what can I do for you today?”

“I have a flat tire,” the middle-aged woman said. She slung open her door, almost hitting Thomas. He stumbled back while grabbing the door. “It’s the back one.” She pointed.

It looked more than flat. It looked more like an old bowling ball bag than a tire.

“Ouch.”

“You can fix it, can’t you?”

“Sure,” Thomas said. “Have you been here before?”

“No.”

“Well, follow me and I’ll get you situated in our waiting room.” Thomas led her inside, he pointed out the water fountain, and the coffee maker—out of habit, not because she looked like he needed any. “The soda machine is broken though. But we do have the TV on, if you want me to change the channel I can, and there’s plenty of magazines. It should only be a few minutes.”

Thomas held out his hand. He needed the woman’s keys, but she hadn’t given them to him yet. She’d dropped them in her purse. She stared at him oblivious to the faux pas.

He cleared his throat. “I just need your keys so I can get started.”

“Oh, right.” She spilled her purse trying to fish them back out. Then in a hurry she tried to gather up everything that fell out on the sales counter.

Thomas didn’t feel comfortable helping. Other people’s things always felt slightly dirty to him. And while he was constantly unclean because of his work, he still felt other people were dirtier.

“I’ll get started,” he said after she put the last little trinket and tissue back into her purse.

Thomas knew flat tires. And he knew it wasn’t a good flat. Not only would she need a new tire, but she might need some police protection.

Someone had stuck a knife in it.

His imagination lit up. Her backseat and even the passenger seat were filled with possessions. Junk that wouldn’t normally find its way into a car, unless the person was moving or a hoarder. The knife wound of the tire made Thomas lean towards her being on the move. Normally, he’d remove the tire, take it in and show her what happened. Then he’d work to upsell her. But Thomas felt guilty. His imagination expected the worst scenario for the woman—and it was almost closing time. His manager wasn’t there to notice—he’d gone home to his family at 4 o’clock as he usually did. So, Thomas put a new tire on before he returned to the waiting room.

“You’re all set,” he said. “Let me get you to sign a few things, and will you be paying by cash or credit card?”

The woman’s purse became a storm cloud again. All the tissues, gum wrappers and feminine products fell out on the counter as she searched for her wallet. Finding it produced a hail of credit cards. Something told him that none of the names on the cards would’ve matched.

Thomas averted his eyes, swiped the card, printed the receipt and had her sign it.

She cleaned up her mess, and then left with a smile and a ‘thank you.’

Thomas sighed, posted on the counter. His greasy hands almost gave out. It had been a long, uneventful day. He knew there were still too many minutes left on the clock. He dared not jinx another customer by washing his hands and cleaning up. He listened to the news on in the background. Some thugs attacked police outside of a police station. There was plenty of outrage in the newscaster’s exchange. Thomas hated the news. He grabbed the remote, then turned it off.

That’s when he saw it.

It had to be the woman’s. He knew the waiting room had been spotless before she came, and now there was a single push pin, with a green end on it, just sitting on the off-white tile floors. His manager would spot that first thing Saturday morning and probably make a huge deal about it and then might remove Thomas’ privilege of closing alone.

Supposedly that was a privilege—and it did beat being bossed around for the last 3 hours of his shift.

Thomas dragged his feet around the sales counter. He picked up the pin and swore he’d quit his job next week and finally enroll back in college, take it seriously and finally graduate.

The phone rang.

His manager quickly rattled off everything and checked in on how busy the evening had been. Thomas pocketed the pin as he nodded silently in agreement, eyes rolling.

Thomas locked up, satisfied that his manager wouldn’t find anything wrong with how he left the garage.

His car felt different. It was cleaner.

But it wasn’t empty. Thomas twisted around and spotted a stack of law books on his backseat. He almost stepped out of the car and checked the license plate, but dangling from the mirror was his lucky rabbit’s foot.

The law books couldn’t be his. Though he had dreamed of being a lawyer when he was in high school, he never liked studying and was terrible at memorizing details. He was better with engines and grease.

His cellphone vibrated.

It was a text from his girlfriend Diane: Pulling a late night again?

He typed back: Just heading back to the apartment. Then he stabbed his key into the ignition, happy to be heading home.

Diane texted back: Can’t wait to celebrate.

Thomas scrunched his face. Celebrate what? It was a Friday, sure, but Thomas still had to go to work on Saturday, and Sunday, and Monday and Tuesday. He worried what Diane might want to celebrate. He hoped she wasn’t pregnant.

His drive home became the souring of dreams. He’d never be anyone if he couldn’t go back to school and get his degree. He’d raise some white trash kid to be another grease monkey, working minimum wage for the man. He’d be eighty years old when he would retire—die the next day of a heart attack. Sometimes he didn’t know why he bothered living the same grind.

Something about driving his car into the guardrail made him smile.

Diane had music playing when he arrived at their apartment. She never had music playing. He hoped there would be no guests. Everybody in the world seemed to be off on Saturday mornings except Thomas. He always had to the party pooper and go to bed early.

Diane bounced out of their bedroom at the sound of Thomas closing the apartment door. She grabbed him with her arms and snuck a kiss that landed on his unsuspecting chin.

“You look really tired. Did they already take you out for drinks?”

“What? Huh?’ Thomas asked. “I just got off work and I’ve got to work tomorrow.”

“You don’t really have to work on a Sunday. You don’t even have any cases yet.”

“Cases? I have three or four appointments and ten people always try to get there before we open just to try and beat the morning rush. Saturdays are the worst.”

Diane furrowed her brow, pouted her lips and examined her boyfriend. “I thought we were going to celebrate becoming a real lawyer.”

“Uh. I’ve got to quit my job first,” he said.

“What…”

“I’ve got to quit my job at the garage. I need to go back to school and graduate, I don’t have a degree.”

“Are you not feeling well? Because you did. You do have a degree. I paid for it to be professionally framed at Michael’s. You helped me hang it on the wall.” She looked concerned as she pointed at the wall behind their tiny two-chair dining table. There was a diploma in a dark ornate frame. “Wait, why are you wearing your old uniform?”

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None of it really felt real, even as Diane babied him, wondering if he had a fever and trying to convince him that he’d gone to school and she’d helped pay their rent while he did. She swore it all started when one day he just randomly quit his job at the garage and never looked back.

When Saturday morning came, she refused to let him go to work. But Thomas’s phone never rang. His manager never called to ask why he hadn’t shown up.

On Sunday, he went to church instead of heading into the garage again. It felt like a dream. He swore he was making some terrible mistake and he was going to lose his job. When he couldn’t pay the rent Diane would dump him, finally realizing all her friends were right. Thomas was a deadbeat.

Thomas didn’t hear a word of the preacher’s sermon. His mind rambled with dread. But then a somewhat familiar face broke away from a conversation and made a beeline for Diane and Thomas.

“Hello, Dian, and Thomas. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at church before.” The middle aged, fancy suited man said.

“Oh, Mr. Walsh, that’s because he was always studying. Since he passed the bar, I told him that he deserved a break,” Diane said.

Thomas tried to stop her. He knew that wasn’t true. It just couldn’t be.

Mr. Walsh laughed. “Well, don’t let your success go to your head. There’s plenty of work for you on Monday. You’re going to get your first case.”

“Oh.”

“That’s excellent, he won’t let you down,” Diane said.

“Benner and I don’t expect him to. You’re a sharp young man, Thomas.”

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Everything checked out. The Benner-Walsh Firm had hired Thomas straight out of college. They’d set him up with night classes to prepare for the bar exam… which Thomas had just passed. That’s what Diane had wanted to celebrate. That and the fact that they were hinting at making Thomas a partner—already.

Most importantly, he had his own desk filled with his own things, with his own little window. It felt like waking up in a hotel room after a night of great sleep.

“You’ll be taking on Benner’s role in the firm,” Mr. Walsh said. “He’s been distracted by other interests and I believe he will be selling his shares this winter. But we’ll put a pin in that conversation for later. As for now, I’m excited to see what a young fresh mind has cooked up on your first case.”

“Okay,” Thomas said. He pocketed his hand—it shook with glee.

“I left your first case on your desk. Shouldn’t be too rough for you. His name is Ronald Cooper some police officials unofficially held him for a week. Figure you can get him a million easy. Juries hate cops that go above and beyond.”

“Yeah,” Thomas said.

He glided on through the day, he felt like he knew things he shouldn’t, couldn’t, and hadn’t ever really known before. As right as it felt, it also felt wrong.

After a full day of looking into Ronald Cooper’s case he drove to the garage.

His manager spotted his car immediately and stalked out into the parking lot. He stopped Thomas from opening his car door. So, Thomas rolled down his window.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I still work here?”

“What? You no-showing-son of a . . . Fired your ass long ago. Now get out of here!”

Thomas shook his head. “No. I’m pretty sure I quit.”

“You—”

Thomas hit the accelerator. His tires squealed and drowned out his former manager’s obscenities.

Something made him think of the green pin. Something about it had been special. It was then that he swore he’d quit his job, go back to school and graduate. And somehow all that had happened—even before he quit his job. Quitting his job just made it all feel more real. He could remember the long hours studying, the pride of his girlfriend Diane as she supported the two of them.

He was going to marry her. He should’ve married her long ago. He couldn’t wait to find that green pin. He was sure it was in his old work pants. As silly as if all sounded, he couldn’t help but want to try again, to add to the dream he now found himself living in. This time he’d wish for something for Diane. Whatever she wanted, he’d give her.

Thomas couldn’t find them when he got back home. Thomas’ pants were gone.

“We took all that old stuff to the thrift store years ago. It’s long gone.”

The green pin was gone, too.

But Diane wasn’t gone, and neither was his job at the firm.

He could live with that.

THE END.