Stories from the Post
Monday June 27, 2005
3:30 - 6:15pm
While postering the stop sign at the corner of Washington and Joseph, a white car pulled up to the intersection. I could make out the passengers through the open windows: bored teenaged girls in tank tops, melting into the black leather seats in the intense heat. The driver leaned across the car and said something to me out the passenger-side window.
"Pardon?"
"Have you lost something?" Just then, she spotted the poster in my hand. A look of recognition came over her face. "Oh-" she said and drove the car down the street.
"Good afternoon! Are these yours?"
"Uh-huh"
"I don't have the…the…"
"The Internet?"
"Yes. My daughter does and I keep forgetting to ask. Can you tell me what I would find if I went there?"
After I explained it all to him, he said, "And how long have you been taking on this project?"
"April 1 was my first day…and today is my last day to put up posters. So three months in total."
"It's such a commitment on your part to do all this. And you're always so careful to take them down."
"Well, I don't want to litter the community."
"How far does your 'territory' go?"
"I start at Joseph Street, then I go around the park, then down all the way to Elm and I do all the little streets in between. I put up about 50 posters a week."
"And how have people responded to what you’re doing?"
"I find that generally people are either depressed by it or they find it inspiring. Some people find it hopeless because of the monotony of her weekly schedule, yet others see it as a call for us to simplify our lives and enjoy the little things. I get the odd complaint about the litter, too. You know, in this stretch of the park, these posters have been ripped to shreds every week. But now that school's out, they’re mostly intact."
He nodded his head knowingly. "Well, I should let you get back to things. Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions."
My birthday and my Grandma's birthday were only three days apart. On my sixth birthday, she gave me her baby ring in a small blue box. I wore the ring on special occasions when I was a child, moving the ring from finger to finger as I grew. Even as an adult, my fingers are so dainty that I can still wear it on my left pinky. As genetics would have it, I inherited her birthstone, but I did not inherit her fingers. My Grandma gave me other rings of hers as I got older, but the only one that even came close to fitting my slender fingers has been that first one in the blue box.
"Hi Gus."
"Hi Julie - how are you holding up in this heat?"
I sighed. It was so hot that my sunglasses kept sliding down my nose, lubricated by sweat. It was too sweaty for them to stay up, but too bright to walk around without sunglasses. I was screwed either way.
"Well, it hasn't killed me yet." Gus picked up his garden hose and watered a few things on his front lawn, while I thought about how cool it would feel to run recklessly through that stream of water.
"So I haven't had a chance to look at your site yet, eh?"
"Really?"
"Yeah, I've just been so busy - I haven't had the time."
"Well, I should tell you that I write about what happens when I'm here putting up posters each week."
"You do?"
"Uh-huh. And since I've run into you so many times, you've come up rather often."
(Pause)"Really?"
"Yep."
(Another pause)""Are you making any money off of this?"
"No"
"But you want to some day."
"Well…I'd like to be able to live off my art, but I doubt I'll ever make any money from this project."
"So what do you want to be known as: a writer or an artist?"
"An artist."
"But you write things to put on your website."
"Yes"
"Huh…do you write about what street I live on and what my house looks like?"
"No…nobody knows where to find you."
(A look of relief)"Good."
"Basically, I just write about what we talk about, no in depth descriptions."
"Hmmm…"
"Are you freaked out?"
"I don't know…"
Back at Driveway Man's house, Driveway Man was standing at his usual spot next to his garage. He was busy yelling a conversation back and forth with a man sitting in his car at the side of the road.
Driveway Man: "Has the heat killed you yet?"
Me: "This has been the longest two hours of my life…"
Man in car (sarcastically):"Oh…someone keeps taking all your posters down, eh?"
Me: "Well…there's not much I can do about that."
Man in car (still sarcastically): "And you have to come and put them all back up…poor you…"