It was a good release for my anger, the screaming and flooring it and getting shit on all over by Mother Nature herself.
And I was pissed.
Not just about the coffee, which smelled otherworldly as soon as I opened my car door to the parking area. Not about the truck or my clothes.
Or even this town.
A ten dollar entry fee? What is wrong with these people? They printed hundreds of posters about this thing and then barely charge for entry? Have they increased their fees for anything since 1990? Unlikely.
And again, there were free samples. Harper wouldn’t allow me to have any of hers, of course, but I watched. Before the race, I observed the line of vendor booths from the crowd.
She worked herself to the bone at her table, serving freeloader after freeloader who kept coming back for more mud bites. Or I should say they came back forfree samplesof the mud bites. Which are some layered chocolatey square thing that looked incredible.
When the grill next to her ran out of napkins, she went to help. Maxine’s iPad was acting up, she went and fixed it. Tyrone’s speakers shut off, there she was again.
And when she did have a good bit of business, I never heard her say a word. Her assistant manager, I’ve gathered, greeted each guest and took every order while the baker herself poured, sliced, mixed and served. She needs more staff. She needs to charge more. She needs…
“Where the bloody hell is Stuart?” I said out loud before the race started, exasperated.
“Never where he’s supposed to be,” Steven chuckled next to me as he handed me the truck keys. “Why, did you see him around?”
“No, I haven’t seen him,” I huffed.
Steven shrugged, “Eh, he’s probably in the mud somewhere. Having the time of his life.”
I glanced around then as if I’d be able to spot him. So the boyfriend was in the race? Just off having fun with his mates while Harper silently slaved away to save her whole bloody town?
By the time I marched over to her and shook her hand I was furious. Irate. Whatever’s angrier than that, that’s what I was.
But I do feel a bit better now.
And I can finally go get myself a damned cup of coffee.
I wave to the crowd and accept a clean t-shirt someone handed to Renaldo, for free, then make my way around the outskirts of the mud field, to her booth near the starting line. Bad spot fora booth. Her linens are splashed on, which makes me think there might be mud bits in the coffee.
I’ll drink it anyway.
“Hey! You did it!” The assistant manager smiles at me as I approach the table inside the little canopy. Then she offers me a cup of black coffee and a napkin with two samples. She adds a flourish of her hand. “Boss said you are officially unbanned!”
“Lovely. And where is she?”
“Someone called, Stu got stuck in the mud,” she chuckles, “Harper went to get him out.”
The hell?
It’s not enough she’s the town’s Cinderella, now she’s going to what, tow a mud rig out with her car? It’s a beater of a thing. This is ridiculous.
“Where?” I ask, my pulse rising again.
She shakes her head, “Don’t know. She’ll find him.”
I look out in the direction of the race. All the trucks are long gone now. And the track spans for miles and is full of pits, by design. That’s part of the fun, I’m told.
“Uh, do you mind?”
“Oh,” I mumble. I step out of the way of a customer and huff out a breath. I’m losing it. I can’t go track down this random woman or her deadbeat boyfriend. As much as I want to.
And, honestly, why in the world do I want to so damn badly?
