Read Online Bound for Home (Tyler Cunningham Shorts) by Jamie Sheffield - Free Book Online
Authors: Jamie Sheffield
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read by headlamp until the first mosquito found me, as night warmed into day, and then headed back up the trail to my Element, and eventually to the SmartPig Offices … by way of Dunkin Donuts.
Eight donuts, four Cokes, and 273 pages later ( 159 in “Sleeping Dogs”, and 114 of the newest of John Sandford’s Prey books ), I could hear the tromp of work shoes, and slip/slide/shuffle of cardboard boxes coming up the stairs. I let the UPS guy, Pete, in before he could knock. “Hey Tyler, I’ve got a couple of things for you today … nothing to sign.”
“Hi Pete, can I get you a Coke?” Pete had something for me on most days, and had gotten into the habit of occasionally stopping for a few minutes to check out some new piece of camping gear ( he was an avid camper, and seemed to enjoy living vicariously through me gear-wise … he loved hearing reviews of gear he had delivered that I’d just used ).
“Cold one two nights ago, huh? Were you out in that Tyler? Didja try the new stove yet?”
“It was … I was … I did. The stove ( a nice, if heavy Optimus ) worked well enough, but was a bit too noisy for my taste … like a little helicopter under my pot. I just read an article about a DIY alcohol stove that might be just the thing for warm-weather camping.” At this point I ran out of things to say to Pete, and had no idea of how to bridge the gap to my next desired topic of conversation … this is one of the tough things about not having the standard installation of social/emotional software that most humans get. Pete thought for a few seconds, presumably about the potential of alcohol stoves, and then seemed to start getting ready to move on … up and out of my comfy couch, and towards the next delivery on his route.
“PETE!” I almost shouted, more from forcing it out through my social reluctance than any depth of feeling, but Pete looked a bit worried nonetheless. “I’ve got a question that I’m pretty certain that you can help me with … it’s important.”
“Sure Tyler, but if it’s about that spot down near Old Forge, I forgot the map again, so no joy on that front…” he trailed off by the end of that thought, seeing the shake of my head ( I’m good at basic positive/negative gestures, having learned them early in life … it’s the complex social communication that is beyond me ).
“I definitely want more info about that pond up north of Old Forge sometime, but I’ve got a question about UPS.” This was delicate territory for both of us now; I knew that people didn’t always want to talk about some aspects of their jobs, especially with people ( like me ) entirely lacking in cool/calm/stealth.
Pete looked warily at me, and nodded as he spoke, “Yup … what’s on your mind Tyler? What can I tell you about Big Brown?”
“A month ago, when I got that huge shipment of beeswax from Texas ( I had wanted SmartPig to branch out and start making lip balm and candles, and found a guy to ship me 80 pounds of wax from his hives ) … I felt bad about making you carry those heavy boxes up here, and you said something about it not being as bad as the ORM-D shipments. I looked it up after you left, and lots of ORM-D shipments are ammo, and UPS is the only shipper in most cases. Is that right?”
“Yes.” Pete said nothing else, perhaps sensing where I was headed ( which was a good thing, as I could feel that I might have trouble getting there ).
"What I’m going to ask you to do for me is almost certainly against UPS policies, but it is also completely moral, and entirely the right thing to do.” He looked at me nervously, but nodded, and took a sip of the Coke I’d given him. I’d laid the foundation for his cooperation, and thought that I had a final touch that would close the deal … I wasn’t sure, as I’ve said before, I’m not any kind of judge of character among humans.
“Who do you deliver the most ammunition to, not counting the Blue Line ( Saranac Lake’s sporting
Eight donuts, four Cokes, and 273 pages later ( 159 in “Sleeping Dogs”, and 114 of the newest of John Sandford’s Prey books ), I could hear the tromp of work shoes, and slip/slide/shuffle of cardboard boxes coming up the stairs. I let the UPS guy, Pete, in before he could knock. “Hey Tyler, I’ve got a couple of things for you today … nothing to sign.”
“Hi Pete, can I get you a Coke?” Pete had something for me on most days, and had gotten into the habit of occasionally stopping for a few minutes to check out some new piece of camping gear ( he was an avid camper, and seemed to enjoy living vicariously through me gear-wise … he loved hearing reviews of gear he had delivered that I’d just used ).
“Cold one two nights ago, huh? Were you out in that Tyler? Didja try the new stove yet?”
“It was … I was … I did. The stove ( a nice, if heavy Optimus ) worked well enough, but was a bit too noisy for my taste … like a little helicopter under my pot. I just read an article about a DIY alcohol stove that might be just the thing for warm-weather camping.” At this point I ran out of things to say to Pete, and had no idea of how to bridge the gap to my next desired topic of conversation … this is one of the tough things about not having the standard installation of social/emotional software that most humans get. Pete thought for a few seconds, presumably about the potential of alcohol stoves, and then seemed to start getting ready to move on … up and out of my comfy couch, and towards the next delivery on his route.
“PETE!” I almost shouted, more from forcing it out through my social reluctance than any depth of feeling, but Pete looked a bit worried nonetheless. “I’ve got a question that I’m pretty certain that you can help me with … it’s important.”
“Sure Tyler, but if it’s about that spot down near Old Forge, I forgot the map again, so no joy on that front…” he trailed off by the end of that thought, seeing the shake of my head ( I’m good at basic positive/negative gestures, having learned them early in life … it’s the complex social communication that is beyond me ).
“I definitely want more info about that pond up north of Old Forge sometime, but I’ve got a question about UPS.” This was delicate territory for both of us now; I knew that people didn’t always want to talk about some aspects of their jobs, especially with people ( like me ) entirely lacking in cool/calm/stealth.
Pete looked warily at me, and nodded as he spoke, “Yup … what’s on your mind Tyler? What can I tell you about Big Brown?”
“A month ago, when I got that huge shipment of beeswax from Texas ( I had wanted SmartPig to branch out and start making lip balm and candles, and found a guy to ship me 80 pounds of wax from his hives ) … I felt bad about making you carry those heavy boxes up here, and you said something about it not being as bad as the ORM-D shipments. I looked it up after you left, and lots of ORM-D shipments are ammo, and UPS is the only shipper in most cases. Is that right?”
“Yes.” Pete said nothing else, perhaps sensing where I was headed ( which was a good thing, as I could feel that I might have trouble getting there ).
"What I’m going to ask you to do for me is almost certainly against UPS policies, but it is also completely moral, and entirely the right thing to do.” He looked at me nervously, but nodded, and took a sip of the Coke I’d given him. I’d laid the foundation for his cooperation, and thought that I had a final touch that would close the deal … I wasn’t sure, as I’ve said before, I’m not any kind of judge of character among humans.
“Who do you deliver the most ammunition to, not counting the Blue Line ( Saranac Lake’s sporting
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