Nostalgia Man

If you should find yourself sitting in a bathroom that smells of horse trailer painted with ranch dressing, on break from a day of work that would be improved -- not worsened -- by your getting fired, trying to drown out the sound of your cell-mate to the right dispose of what must have been five or six leftover burritos, all while hoping beyond hope that this industrial-thin toilet-cover you're sitting on is in fact successfully repelling all the germs of the day, I hope you will at least find your mood brightened by a trip down memory lane, the likes of which nostalgia brought me in these very conditions but five minutes past.

Prompted by who-knows-what, I had a flashback. My mind, I suppose as a manner of avoiding reality, retreated to happier times. I saw the After School Club. I saw funny kids. Dunkable basketball hoops. Recess. Chocolate milk. Beautiful co-workers. No taxes. No burrito disposers. A walk home through the trees of the cemetery with Mister Nate, trailing the sun on 10th north as God bowled it down the valley.

Three-hour work days. Scatterball. Kickball. Alex B and Alex M.  A work uniform made of shorts and Nikes. More chocolate milk. The running of the Huskies. Heather Martinos, the one boss who took me business golfing.  Halloween parades. Zero mornings worked. Summers free.

The average paycheck netted what, $250 bucks?

I would take that.

You never know what wistful thinking will do to a person, but this time it left me with a smile, my mood lifted.  Unlike most trips down nostalgia lane this one incurred no backlash, or for that matter backsplash, which is something my cell-mate to the right only wishes he could say.