Getting a taste
More of my stumbling journey through the print industry.
Getting a taste
I finish up at the physical therapists. It was murder, but my back feels looser, and I have less pain in my legs. I hop on my scooter and ride down Kingsway to Metrotown Mall. I find a spot right in front of Chapters.
As I’m putting my helmet away, a car stops, “Are you leaving?” “I just got here. I got a great spot! I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!” He moves on, disgruntled. I walk into Chapters and go to the checkout. I wait five minutes while the lady ahead of me pays. The checkout girl is a young woman; blonde. “Can I help you?” She’s perfunctory. “Do you have a magazine here for Jesse?”
She goes to an area under the counter and flips through some journals and finds it and brings it back. It’s a quarterly literary magazine called Subterrain. She’s ringing me up, but I get this point’s card, a free point’s card and what’s my email address? I’m spelling out my name, the last name first, I’m repeating myself and a light bulb goes on in my head: I point to the cover. “Just copy my name from there.”
She pauses and looks and her face lights up, she’s excited. “That’s you?!” “That’s my first credit.” “That’s great, congratulations…!” She’s gushing. I’m feeling bashful and proud. I downplay it, “They butchered my stories.” But she isn’t even listening.
I pay and get out of there, walk over to Superstore to get some groceries. I could feel the energy and hunger in my torso; in my head, in my mind. I’m scaring myself sometimes. A tiny taste may be all there is for me. But if I get it then I’ll have to negotiate something besides disappointment and bitterness. I offered my girlfriend a job, and I gave her a standing offer; help keep me real; gently.