CYCLES CHAPTER 5: Seattle Super Cycles
I don’t remember much about Seattle Super Cycles. Matt did most of the talking there because it was his bicycle. In fact, he did all the talking. I walked around the small, cramped corner store pretending to look at bicycles. After giving them the once over there wasn’t that much more for me to do to keep myself busy. So I gave them a twice over.
The twice over attracted the attention of a floor associate who asked, “Anything I can help you with?”
The floor associate wore a name tag that read “Rob.” I thought about Tim from Sam’s Cycles, he didn’t wear a name tag. This thought led to a dread of ever wearing a name tag again, and how we’ve become a name tag nation, and how degrading it is to wear a name tag. At least, I thought this to be the case. If you want someone to know your name, you tell them or answer them when they ask. Why must employees be subjected to pinning it to their chest like they’re special needs children at a yearly charity event. The name tag created more anonymity and disconnection than… than… whatever they were going for, availability of names, reducing customer embarrassment for forgetting a name. I say, if you can’t remember a name of the guy selling you something, you don’t deserve to buy a can opener or Ford Aerostar from him. I mean, Geez! What’s wrong with the world!
I thought all of these thoughts in the less than one second that it took me to decide to say, “No. Thanks, I’m just looking while I wait for my buddy.” I kept the rest to myself.
“Cool. Let me know if you have any questions.” Said Rob.
The truth was that I had many questions but none of them concerned his job duties, so I didn’t want to burden him beyond degrading himself to the level of wearing a tag that identified him as, “Rob: Sales Associate.” Rob was much more than a sales associate, just as I was much more than an unemployed, confused, college graduate with no self-confidence and ever increasing social anxiety. That wouldn’t fit well on a name tag though. My tag would say, “Chris: Dis-associate.” The tag would be a different color to indicate I was in my probationary training phase of adulthood. I found myself becoming outraged at all the businesses that required name tags. Doctors wore an identification badge in the hospital, but that was far different from a name tag. ID badges get you in places that people with name tags can’t go, like operating rooms and doctor’s lounges. Here’s the difference between ID Badge for a doctor and a name tag; the bottom of a doctor’s ID badge will never have a sticker declaring him “Surgeon of the month.”.
Matt filled me in on our status when he finished talking to the bike mechanic.
“It’s gonna take at least a week. Three to five days to get the hub delivered, then one to two days to build the wheel.” Matt said as he walked over to me from the mechanics counter. He had a smirk on his face, as though he was looking forward to my reaction.
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Humph.”
“Yep.”
“How much is it gonna cost?” I asked. It was Matt’s bike, but we were on a trip, sharing the bike, so I didn’t know if I’d be chipping in. Was I willing to contribute? Yes. Did I want to? ….Uhm. Do I have to answer that?
Matt checked out the bicycle in front of us as he spoke. “The dude said, with labor, I’m looking at a hundred to a hundred-thirty.” Matt folded the customer ticket and stuck it in his pocket.
“Damn.” I said.
“Don’t worry, Marflake. It’s my bike. I’m paying.”
“Yeah, I know. I mean, I’d-“
“Don’t worry about it.” Matt said dismissively. “It’s my bike. Relax, you don’t have to pay.”
I nodded. “Alright.” I said, conceding. I was a cheap S.O.B. I had no money, but neither did Matt, but like he said, it wasn’t my bike.
“So you want to go see the space needle?” Matt said.
“Sure.” I said, glad to move on from the subject of the bike.
I don’t remember how we figured out the bus route. It must not have been hard because it wasn’t memorable. I remember being impressed with Seattle’s public transportation. They were also having some kind of promotion the week we were there which allowed you to ride the bus all day for fifty cents. It seemed like a great week to be stranded in Seattle.
We went to the Space Needle but didn’t go up to the top. It was too rich for our blood.
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This is very raw, but I wanted to get something posted to keep going. It's close to stream of consciousness. It'll be interesting to see what it turns into. I want to get the characters back on the road.