Austin, TX (music; sufjan stevens)

I’m fighting the self checkout. Is it the machine’s fault that I forgot the California zip code my company card is based from? No. But did it need to ask me a zip code for an eight dollar purchase of wasabi peas and pomegranate raspberry green tea? No. As a result I am fighting the screen of the self checkout. It’s winning.

I start out calmly enough. I rescan my card, and guess again. I’m thinking back to my math courses in school, wishing I’d known how many possible five digit combinations there could be starting with a nine and including a six. Realistically it doesn’t matter, as I know my own limit is four attempts, but I’m wishing I would have paid more attention in class. There are no other visible customers in the store. I should have gone to a cashier complete with blood flow, but I was in no mood for small talk and it’s too late. There’s no going back. Now I’m scrambling. Transaction Incomplete, please try again. I can feel the older tweed coated jeaned gentleman I’ve designated as shift-manager move my direction to watch the scene. Transaction Incomplete, please try ag… I begin preparing a speech as to why a credit card thief would purchase bagged tea rather than loose leaf as I mash the flat surface.

As if raising my voice to a deaf person, I mash the keys willing them to work, knowing it is no use. My index finger of my right hand jabs the screen, while my left hand is searching rapidly through my list of notes in my cell phone, hoping to stumble upon the zip code. What I find is the following;

-Gulf of Aden… PIRATES! (the real kind, sans eye patches)
-JD Chippery in Dallas has awesome cookies.
-Longfellows for breakfast? Worth it or overrated?
-Stallion Seven Production Show, TX. Find this family, it’ll cheer you up.
-Queen “Don’t stop me now” is an incredible song. A gem. Incredible.

As I finish a new note in my phone (- Start taking useful notes) I can feel a presence lingering to my left.
“Playing Monopoly?," the shadow asks.

I keep my eyes on the screen. I feel as though I’m on the Price is Right, I have three numbers correct, I know it. Screw the trip for two and the lawn dart set, the peas are mine. Transaction Incomplete, please try again. I give up and pull out my personal card, responding to the Self-Checkout overseer who’s questioned me,

“I suppose in a way.” I jam everything from my morning into a four second sentence.

“Myvanhasbeendeadforthreeweeksandnooneeverbothered totellmeaboutitandnowitstoolate. Themechanic theybroughtintofixitwantscashandlooksseventeen. Twodealersbackedoutofdemos whichmeansiflewherefornothing. Andalliwantaresomejazzstandardsandacupoftea and MY CARD WONT RUN. It'sanoutofstatecardandIdon'thavethezipcodehandy,”

I mumble the last part to make up for raising my voice. I snatch my receipt, shove the items under my arm and turn to face her.

She’s dressed exactly as the Monopoly man from the board game. She’s wearing a fake tiny white mustache and vest under her suit coat, topping off the whole ensemble with a top hat. She’s holding a couponed game board reluctantly in my direction. I turn around to see younger Monopoly men stalking canned vegetables, older versions collecting carts and sweeping floors. I realize my mistake, apologize, and leave.

The van is dead and apparently has been for a while. I’m feeling haggled by the shops premium choice of technicians to get it fixed in the parking lot for cash. Four bikes need repair. I have no idea where I’m headed or where I’m staying tonight as last minute schedule changes are leaving me two days to organize two events from scratch with currently no shop support. My company card may or may not be working. And I’m in Texas, feeling utterly alone.

But I am not thirty-four years old dressed as the Monopoly man. Things could always be worse.