Chapter 3: The Gang

Leonard works at Puget Sound Energy. Leonard is an electric and gas meter reader. The home office is located in the extended commercial sprawl behind the Tacoma Mall. The building that PSE operates its south Puget Sound branch from is located along 38th Avenue which is lined with a smattering of contemporary American chain businesses. Leonard knows them by heart, Big 5 sporting goods, Taco Bell, Goodwill, Guitar Center, Costco, Jared’s Galleria of Jewelry, Starbucks, AMPM, a Chevron Station, Guitar Center, the Great Wall of China Casino, the Tacoma Police Department, US Healthworks, and Marlene’s Health Food Co-Op line the street like barnacles sifting the commercial tides for debris and business.

He pulls into the back parking lot of the large windowless industrial monolith building at 7:30 am every day. This gives him precisely fifteen minutes to put a dip of Grizzly chew in, add his empty orange soda cup to the piling mosaic of fast food refuse in the back seat, grab his backpack, steal a newspaper from a workroom table, and take massive dump in the second to the end men’s locker room bathroom while he reads the comics. After leaving the locker room area in a cloud of nuclear stench, Leonard walks down the isles of grey chest high cubicles to the back where his Meter Reading group area meets at 7:50 am every morning. Leonard likes to be the first meter reader there.

Today Roni beat him to the punch. She is a fifty three year old married mother of two. She is short and portly but carries her weight well. She’s got a sarcastic look to her and an unmistakable cackle when she laughs. Roni is probably Leonard’s best friend. A box of pastries is laying open on the large circular table in the center of the cubicles and Leonard B lines straight toward it.

“Good morning Roni, good morning Evelyn, I see were starting the day off on a sweet note er uh huh,” Leonard announces as he approaches the table.
“Mornin’ Lenny my boy, save me a apple fritter this time will ya?” Roni says slyly and retorts into a cackle. She laughs like a smoker but never has.
“Your welcome Leonard, I got you a maple bar,” an elderly voice pops over a cubicle wall.”
“That’s why you’re my angel from above Eleanor,” Leonard replies lovingly.

Eleanor is the meter assessment department secretary. Leonard and Roni often joke that they do not know exactly what her job is. But she writes the checks, buys the donuts, makes birthday cakes and gets everyone to sign cards for anniversaries, birthdays, retirements and sick employees and is generally well loved by everyone. Eleanor is also losing what is left of her died burgundy hair.

Leonard pulls a one-liter Coca Cola bottle out of his backpack and sits down to his maple bar with the paper. He’s awake enough now for the front-page. Mornings are pretty quiet except for the sound of the coffee maker perking away, Leonard’s mumblings about current affairs and Roni’s complaints about her husband. Mike usually shows up next. He is a sixty-four year old father nearing retirement. He is the veteran meter reader of the department and is the go to guy for advice on locating fabled meters and the best tactics for defending oneself against a Doberman pincer attack. Roni has been reading for eight years herself and trained Leonard when he joined the company six years earlier.

Mike is an aloof sort of guy. He rarely says anything. For a salty veteran of the utilities industry he still maintains a soft and gentle demeanor. Mike is one of those men that say “Ahh” and “Oh, okay” a lot and Leonard often wonders what he’s thinking about.

Jesse and Brandon show up simultaneously most days. Jesse is a three hundred pound thirty one year old woman with a smiling pleasant face. She is not over weight, rather, looks like a giant Viking warrior. Fittingly, in her free time she likes to partake in medieval sword fights. That is, she is part of a renaissance group that reenacts knightly battles on the weekends. He weapon of choice is the long sword and she is proud of her hobby.
“Hi y’all, ooh donuts,” she greets everyone in a fading Georgia drawl. The group returns with various mumbles and remarks.

Brandon slumps down in one of the chairs and puts his head down on the table. From out of his black hooded sweatshirt a muffled “I’m so freaking hung over right now,” dribbles out. He follows this semi usual greeting with a groan and then buries his head further in his arm sleeve. Brandon is the baby of the group. He is also the green horn and has only been reading for two months. He’s fresh out of high school and the L.A. Looks Spike Gel level 5 is still wet and shiny on his short hairdo.

“Burning the midnight oil there Marlon Brandon?” Leonard teases Brandon with his version of a clever nick name.
“I’m never drinking Jagermeister again,” he whines as he lifts his head. Brandon hates his nickname but tolerates it because he feels sorry for Leonard most of the time.