Vaxdemic Chapter 7
Chapter 7
This last week has reminded me why I hated school. At first, I was really happy to have found these text books. I even found a few work books. My excitement waned after the first few days and it soon became drudgery. My problem is that I started doing this work on the kitchen table. Ruth saw and now constantly hounds me about how my studies are going. She even takes the dogs while I’m studying to make sure I’m not interrupted. I’m not sure if she’s proud or if she’s mocking me.
I have actually learned some things, but I’m a little worried about practicing. I found a small generator at a hardware store. It could run the fridge and lights if we had enough fuel, but that would mean spending all my time syphoning fuel from vehicles. We don’t really need the fridge since most of what we eat is canned and if we want something cold, we just put it outside for a while. It is December after all.
Ruth only gives me lists about three times a week, but the lists are getting harder to fill. I think she’s wanting to start a garden because most of what she sends me out for is gardening stuff. Last Thursday she sent me to the hardware store to get dirt. That’s right bags of dirt. I had seen the pallets at the big box stores and I was astounded at the different types. There is dirt for flowers, vegetables, general use, fill. She told me to focus on one brand if I could, then gave me a list for when that one is gone.
At first, I thought the bags said fifty pounds. I didn’t know bag of dirt were measured in cubic feet. They may as well be fifty pounds; they were heavy as hell. It took all morning and most of the afternoon to load the truck once. It wasn’t enough so the next day she sent me back. She also made me bring some pallets to stack them on. That’s when I made a discovery.
On Friday while I was stacking the last bags of dirt on a cart, I noticed the pallet was broken. I really didn’t want Ruth to fuss at me for bringing a broken pallet back. I also really didn’t want to empty another pallet of dirt. I already hurt more than I had in my life. While I walked down the aisle, I caught a glimpse of stacks and stacks of pallets behind the store near the loading docks. I was strangely happy I wouldn’t have to empty another pallet and rushed through the store to the back. It’s kind of weird seeing empty shelves in a store knowing you’re the one who emptied them.
To this point I had never gone to the back of a big store. It’s kind of eye opening, there’s not as much stuff as you would think. As I made my way to the back door, I noticed the fork lift. It had a canister on the back with a familiar logo. It was the same logo that was on all the propane tanks I had taken from the front of the store and from under people’s grills. After reading it carefully It was in fact propane. I had been growing concerned, we had been using our reserves pretty heavily for cooking and lighting. I had found some heaters but we decided not to use them to preserve what we had. It wasn’t just that gas that excited me. The label had an address for a local supplier. I didn’t know where it was but I knew the store I was in did deliveries, which meant they had to have a map. Sure, enough there was an old map on the wall of the office in the back.
I’ve never had to read a map that didn’t have Google in front of it before. I’ve never missed how it would instantly zoom in on where you wanted more than now. It took about 30 minutes to find the street listed on the label. I marked it with a pen and carefully took the map off the wall. Ruth was excited when I told her what I had found and we agreed I should go the next day.
I don’t mean to brag but over the past few weeks I have developed quite the tool box. Most of it is used for getting into places that are locked. Since I discovered the generator, I’ve even been able to use some electric tools. My new favorite is my reciprocating saw. It cuts through locks so easily and I’m not going to lie, sometimes I pretend its one of those crazy chainsaw swords when I’m cutting through a fence. I mention this because I needed almost everything to get into the SpeedyGas, the fuel supplier on the label. The fence was ten feet high and topped with barbed wire. The chain on the front gate was too hard for my saw to cut through, and the lock was too thick for my bolt cutters. After three hours of cussing and breaking blades I was almost ready to give up.
I had a funny thought. I remember watching some video long ago with a guy trying to get into a safe. He couldn’t pick or drill the lock, and the front of the safe resisted everything he threw a it. He said something along the lines of, “You can see were all the money went on this design, but there is one fatal flaw.” The man then proceeded to cut the entire front off the safe with a big powered saw. Apparently, the sides were not made of the same material as the front. Maybe the same was true here.
I got a fresh metal cutting blade for my saw and went to the hinges of the gate. They looked to me made of the same material as the rest of the fence and not the lock or chain. After a quick cutting, the hinges were broken and I was able to drag the gate out of the way. It’s really strange the things that give us pride. There were huge tanks everywhere. I hoped that most were propane.
I made my way into the main building. The lobby was covered in pamphlets. One that particularly caught my eye was for propane powered generators. I snagged it and a few others. I didn’t see any here, but I was possible I may find some in my travels that I would be able to take. Unlike the gas station there is no massive security door to keep me from the instruction manuals and records.
I take the books outside where I can read without my flashlight. I quickly identify which tanks have propane. Tanks isn’t all they have here. There are two multi story spheres holding the bulk of the gas. I felt a bit like a man who spent his life in the desert suddenly being thrown into the ocean to drown. I was suddenly aware that I was in the presence of enough explosive gas to level everything around me. Fighting the sudden urge to run away screaming I turn my attention to the smaller tanks. Most are large units mounted to the ground. Each is hooked to a meter with a nozzle on the front. I check the instructions which have nice, glossy, and detailed directions on how to fill a tank. Excitement mixes with my intimidation.
I brought a few tanks with me, but it would help if I could find more. I search around the compound for several more minutes. I find a kind of garage with large trucks parked inside a few have some of the large canisters used for the fork truck I saw, and some even larger ones that are almost as tall as me. They are all chained in place, but are easy enough to detach. Most are full, or so I guessed from their weight. After dragging the first to my truck, I decide it may be better to bring my truck to them. For the first time I’m disappointed at how much my truck with hold. I barely got a third of the canisters off the big truck into my own, but the disappointment lasts only a few seconds as I realize that we will be able to run the heaters I found. It’s strange how such a small comfort as a warm house can bring so much joy.
We stashed the tanks in the neighbor’s house. I’m now a little more paranoid about keeping so much flammable, explosive stuff in my own. Ruth was over joyed and made me a cake to celebrate. I felt a little patronized but it had been quite a while since I’ve had a fresh dessert so I didn’t complain. I spent a few more hours trying to make some sense of the text books I got. I’m on a section about AC and DC power and the difference between the two. I’m trying to answer the review questions at the end without checking the answers in the teacher’s section. The math both is and isn’t difficult. It doesn’t have any operations I don’t understand, but I keep forgetting little things and ending up with the wrong answers.
When Ruth came in to check on me, she noticed my journal on top of the notebook I use for chemistry. She asked about how long I had been keeping it and if she could read it. I decided right then and there to hide my journal. I told her I had been keeping it since the power shut off, and that I would prefer if she didn’t. She laughed at me, but it didn’t feel as mean as it could. She asked if she could have some of the blank notebooks for her own use. I couldn’t think of a reason to say no. She ended up taking six. It’s not a big deal, I have about a hundred, but I can’t help wondering what she’s going to write about.
I decided I needed some practical experience with electricity. After another trip to the hardware store, I got one of every electrical tool I could find, or at least what I think are electrical tools. I got one of every kind of volt meter the store had, and one of every tool surrounding it. God only knows what they’re all for. I took apart an old wireless keyboard I never got around to throwing away when the S key stopped working and tried taking readings. I think I hit the wrong spot because it sparked and now, I can’t get a reading anywhere on the board. It’s a little frustrating but we have piles of small electronics and toys from salvaging the houses around us. I get the feeling I’m going to have to break a few eggs to make this particular omelet.
Bob Stackey
December 8, 2021