Expectation

The phone rang, once, twice, an eternity. I opened my eyes, and the sight of my off green wall came into view. I turned over, looking past the blurred outlines of almost empty beer mugs and a full ashtray, but the phone continued to ring. It refused to stop.

"Gah...phone might as well be in China," I croaked to myself.

I put on my glasses and things started to come into focus. My clock still displayed a jumble of red bars that read Whatever but now there was a certain clarity to it. I looked back over at the phone. It was a little closer than China this time, but still definitely outside of my sphere of influence. I found myself lacking motivation, so I rolled back over, looking for peace and quiet. Everything eluded me...

...Except for the phone which kept fucking ringing. I thought back, searching for the last vestige of a memory from a time when the phone wasn't ringing. It seemed to me that such a time never existed. There was the Big Bang. Then there was the ringing. Mankind was powerless to stop it. So, I got off my lazy ass and shambled over to the table. I saw my mug from the morning before and finished off the dregs.

"This had better be fuckin' worth my time," I said into the receiver.

"Well, top o' the morning to you too, sunshine," replied Jon.

Jon, also known as Tons o'Fun, Fatass, Fat Fuck, and any similar nickname, was a half Irish, half Scottish heavyweight. I'm talking about a solid 300 pounds packed into a 5'8" frame. I had met him sometime in second grade and I never quite got rid of him, much like one never gets rid of VD.

"What." It wasn't a question.

"What are you 'whating' me for? It's 6 at night. Get up you lazy bastitch."

I paused, considering this new information. After much deliberation I repeated my earlier sentiment, "What."

"Woods stuttered out something about Zaino and Tankard telling him there was going to be a good amount of shit thrown out from Circuit City tonight. Up for a dumpster dive?"

"You fucking call me about dumpster diving?"

"Well, that's what I just said, 'Dumpster dive,' isn't it?"

"It had better be good shit."

"Double D at 8?"

"Sure."

I arrived at the Dunkin' Donuts at quarter after eight. Jon and Woods were sitting in a booth over by the front windows. They waved me over; I gave them the finger. There was a girl wearing a Keyport High School jacket in line, ordering some crazy concoction from the guy behind the counter.

"Like, hi. I'd like a medium caramel cappa-mocha-lattee-alpa-chino with skim and two splenda, k?" she squeaked out in an irritatingly high pitched voice.

"That was two splenda?" the clerk asked.

"Uh-yeah, course," the girl responded.

She moved out of the way, sucking down her faux-coffee-inspired beverage. My turn. I stepped up to the counter.

"Gimme a large regular, skippy," I said.

"Regular?" the clerk asked. His eyes had that deer in the headlights look.

I decided to push it and said, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Well, a regular what?"

"For all of my 21 years I've known what regular means."

"Man, it's been a long day, whaddya want."

"Coffee." I said, muttering things about "fucking kids" under my breath.

He walked over behind the stainless steel monstrosity that they warm coffee on. He grabbed a large Styrofoam cup and poured a cup of coffee and brought it over.

"Uh...that'll be 2 dollars," he said.

"You didn't put anything in it," I said, flatly.

"You asked for regular coffee, so I got you regular coffee."

"Again, you're fucking kidding me, right?"

"We've already done this joke."

"Humor me." There was that deer in the headlights look again. "Just put cream and sugar in it."

"But then-"

"Just do it."

The Nameless Clerk took my coffee, mixed in cream and sugar, and received my two dollars and the transaction was finally complete. I walked towards the table, feeling the pull of gravitation. Woods sat there on one side, eating a chocolate stick. Woods is the big guy in our group, standing a few inches over six feet, and half as wide. He's also got a Mike Tyson voice. Unsurprisingly, Jon was eating a bear claw. Or maybe he had glazed his hand and turned cannibal. I digress.

"You'll never fucking believe what the jackass behind the counter did." I didn't wait for them to inquire and instead continued, "He fucking asked me what regular stood for. You'd think that people would understand what regular means, shit," I said, sitting down.

"Huh?" asked Woods.

"The fucking kid behind the counter, he didn't know what a regular coffee was. You guys know what I'm talking about, right?" I asked.

"Cream and sugar," a simultaneous response from Jon and Woods.

"Exactly," I said.

"Well, if you want wax intellectual about the subject, regular changes by region. I mean, sure, here in Jersey it's cream and sugar. But out in Detroit it's milk and sugar, and a wholelot of sugar too," Jon said.

"I couldn't imagine sleeping tonight without that knowledge. Thanks, Jon." I said.

"Um...maybe they should just like, put that sort of stuff on the wall in every store," suggested Woods. Jon and I both ignored him.

"Anyway, what are we looking at?" I asked.

"But guys...what uh...my idea? I mean, if you really think about it, that would um, well, you know, fix these sorts of problems," said Woods.

"Woods?" Jon asked.

"Yeah?" Woods responsed.

"Shaddup about the coffee. What did Zaino and Tanker tell you?" Jon asked.

"Uh...In a few minutes," Woods said. He started fumbling in his pockets.

"What do you mean, 'uh, in a few minutes?' What the hell are we looking at?" I asked.

"Well...maybe I just want to take my time." We glared at Woods. He looked up from his pants pockets and realized we were waiting for him. "Oh, all right. I'm not entirely sure...I think it's some older computers and printers. Zaino isn't really all that specific," saidWoods.

"Old?" I asked, "How old?"

"Uh, well, um they're new enough, I guess. We should be able to strip a, um, few decent hard drives and maybe a few burners out of them. Nothing, uh, else, really," Woods said.

"A few hard drives and burners, that's it? You drag me out here for old shit that I don't need? Un-fucking-believable." I said. "I've got a closet full of old computer shit-a factoid you two schnooks both know. So why'd you call me?"

"Mostly to see your bright and shiny face," said Jon. "And, partially, because you're a good bullshitter."

"Speaking of that, does missing watch work for you two?" I asked. They both checked their wrists for watches and nodded. "Woods, why do you want old computer shit?"

"Uh, well, I don't know...I guess I'd like to build a few older computers...one for like old DOS games and stuff..." he said.

"Shit, Woods, I could've given you plenty of stuff." Jon said.

"Well...no...you would've charged me for uh...plenty of stuff. And you would too Will, you don't give stuff away," said Woods.

"You're a cheap fuck, Woods. Let's get this show on the road." I said.

"Uh, hold on. There's something I want to do first. C'mon." Woods got up and walked outside.

"Knuckles, where the hell are you going?" Jon asked, waddling after Woods.

"Fucking kids calling me over worthless crap, I don't even know why I bother anymore" I mumbled to myself, walking out the door.

Woods walked around to the back of the Dunkin Donuts, into a large municipal parking lot. It was decently well lit and had about 30 cars in it, give or take. Woods stopped in front of the dumpster and turned to face us.

"Uh, I wanna go in here first."

"What?" a simultaneous reply.

"Well, they just um...threw out the donuts from this morning and they're still uh probably pretty good," he said.

"Woods, you're fucking shitting me, right? You're going to dumpster-dive for donuts?" I asked.

"Well, yeah. I mean, you only need to microwave them for a uh few seconds to get them nice and warm," Woods said, lifting himself up over the edge of the dumpster.

"And people wonder why I drink," I said.

"Woods, really, are you a retard? Ricky works in the Dunkin Donuts by Blockbuster. He could've just grabbed them for you. I mean, they're on the way to Circuit City no less; we could've gotten them no problem," Jon said.

"Well, you know, they're free here too and it's the principle---woah, shit," Woods said, sliding head first down into the bottom of the dumpster.

Our laughter was matched by laughter from behind us. Sadly, it sounded like the laughter of a 60-year-old man who has about 45 years worth of smoking under his belt, as well as a badge on his chest. I turned, knowing that a cop was going to be standing there.

He was. And he also lived up the fat cop stereotype-in place of his six-pack abs was a keg, he was balding, and he looked like he'd have a hard time chasing down a slug on valium.

"So, ah, you boys mind telling me what yer doing over there?" he asked.

Jon and I exchanged glances while Woods was asking, "Who's out there?" before popping his head up out of the dumpster. The patron saint of Comic Relief wasn't on our side, as he failed to have a banana peel or the sort on his head.

It was time to baffle with bullshit.

"Well, see officer," I started, "You'd look at us and go, 'What the hell are these kids doing, jumping into the dumpster behind a Dunkin Donuts?' and well, that's a great question. My friend Woods, he's the one in the dumpster, works at this fine establishment and was searching through the trash for his watch."

"His watch?" the officer asked.

"That's right, his watch. Family heirloom, actually. He wears that watch everywhere, ever since his dad passed away two months ago. Anyway, he thinks it somehow got thrown out because, you see, it's not around his wrist," I paused, waiting for Woods to raise his bare wrist above the dumpster's edge. "And the trash inside was already emptied for the night so searching through the trash out here was our only option."

"Oh, well...I'm sorry to hear about yer loss, son. And I can't say that I really thought you'd have a reason for being in there. There's been a lot of theft going on 'round this area lately, kids who just don't know better or don't care." He cleared his throat, coughing up some black-lung in the process. "But look, you can't just go diving into dumpsters out in public like that. Get out of there, son." The officer waited until Woods was out of the dumpster. He spat and started again, "Now, what are you boys doing for the rest of the evening?"

"I'm going straight home, officer," I said.

"All three of you?" he asked.

"Yes!" Jon and Woods both answered.

"That was the right answer. So, go on, go home, I don't want to see you boys out again tonight," said the officer. And with that, he waddled out towards the front of the building, before taking a sharp left turn into the Dunkin Donuts. I'd be willing to bet that when his Justice got served, it was with cream and sugar.

"Well, that went better than I thought it would. Let's regroup in my car," said Jon.

It turns out that meeting in an enclosed space with someone who was just in a food dumpster, even if it was for just a short period of time, isn't a great idea. Woods smelled of a mix between the traditional four-day-old garbage scent and confectioners sugar-something like a decaying Danish that was left out in the sun too long and thus spoiled even more. It didn't help that Jon's car had enough left over food in it to feed an Ethiopian family of four for a fortnight. Which was also surprising-by his appearance I guessed that he ate everything he came into contact with.

"Woods, you stink something awful. Roll down the window," said Jon.

"Ah, well, I uh, this sucks. I didn't get any uh, donuts," said Woods, trying in vain to clean himself off.

"And we're not getting anything else, least, I'm not. This isn't worth our time. And by our time, I mean my time. I'm out." I said.

"What, shit being tossed at Circuit City doesn't entice you?" asked Jon.

"Not half so much as going the fuck home. C'mon, more old computer shit I really don't need? And, now if you'll excuse me," I opened the car door and swung a leg out. "Adios. Call me when there's something worth talking about."