41 years of working for the United States Postal Service had finally come to an end.
"We appreciate you Ben. We love you, and you can never, ever be duplicated," said from Sherry, as my team joined me at my retirement party.
For 41 years, a chunk of my life revolved around mail, as I started out as an aloof temp worker at 22, sorting envelopes and packages to feed my weed high. I wasn't too sure what to do with my life then, but I came on time each morning and left late most days, getting paid $3.35 an hour, working hard when the manager of office at the time liked what he saw, and offered me a gig. I dropped my habit and became an official government employee, and the rest was history which led to me being badgered via text from Tim on my first day as a retiree.
"Get your ass out of bed, or run the risk of missing the trip," Tim stated.
For the first time in over four decades I would wake up on a weekday not to go to work.
"Get your hands off your cock, take a shower, and get across the street with us," he added, as he was pressuring me.
This day would be the beginning of a new chapter, the part where I could finally relax, kick my feet up and deal with what I wanted to. I was no longer obligated to serving in the capacity of which I did and for that, I was happy, though I cried like my granddaughter the night before for I knew this time had come.
"Get your ass out of bed, and then act retired," Tim messaged minutes later.
I was dragging ass as I rose out of bed, and looked through my blinds across the street, seeing Tim and our buddy Kurt, packing items into Tim's RV for our fishing trip. I'd jump into the shower, and an hour later walked across the street to Tim's, to be greeted with high fives and hugs by the duo before I finished help load the goods.
"All bait and tackle? Check."
"Snacks? Check."
"Cold beer, and cigars? Check."
Kurt and I were doing inventory while Tim was in the house getting some things in order before rolling.
"Guys, help me get the chairs and the tent? You know, just in case, we stay overnight," Tim yelled from in the house.
We grabbed the items from his garage, and he'd lock up his house before we all filed into the burnt orange and white Pace Arrow to trek. Tim cranked the diesel engine, and it made the bus-like vehicle shudder slightly before giving out a large purr. The large vehicle had enough space up front for Kurt and I to sit as passengers, with me in the middle, and Kurt to the right, while Tim shifted gears to put it in drive. We left out of Tim's driveway literally above everyone else, the three of us cruising down the quiet street like top notch celebrities. Tim programmed the stereo to have Toby Keith was blaring across the speakers, and Kurt pulled out three cigars, passing me one to give to Tim, and for myself before he passed around a lighter.
"Welcome to the other side, Bennnnnnn," he yelled as we puffed during the ride.
I made it. All my hard work paid off to where I could hang with the fellas, that energy he exhibited resonating with me as a tear rolled down my eye with us coincidentally rolling past my old postal office.
"33 years at that place," I yelled over the music.
They both tapped my knee as "support" as we'd hit the interstate en route to Lake Austin, where we would cast our reels. An hour later Tim would maneuver to what would be a secret fishing hole on the lake, backed by woods. Tim twisted and turned that steering wheel with ease, and shifted accordingly as he showed his skills from being a former trucker, and taking us through the countryside to park where we set up shop at a shoreline bordered by big rocks.
"We're here gentlemen," he said as he cut off the engine.
The three of us high fived each other, then headed to the middle of the vehicle to exit, and unpack our items. It was the perfect day for this being it was around 60 degrees Fahrenheit at 9 a.m. with a slight wind, plenty of sun and blue clouds blanketing the atmosphere. We unloaded the hold of our things, and propped the chairs on the nearby rocks, then faked out the bait and tackle in the same area before I grabbed one six pack, and some jerky for us. Minutes later we got comfortable in our chairs, and cast our reels for the sake of nabbing catfish.
"Didn't see you load your line," I said to Kurt. You using the squid, or the chicken filets?"
He gave me a look and smiled as if I asked the wrong question, then turned his head, and continued puffing his cigar while concentrating on the water. I kept quiet after, and so would Tim as the three of us were competing to see who'd catch the first one.
"Wheeeewwwwwwwwww baby, dang nab it, here we go," yelled Kurt.
He reeled in a nice fatty to unhook, then added another bait, and cast the reel again. The numbers would increase for our trio as Lake Austin on this day was good to us. Three hours later the temperatures rose, and the sun beamed a little harder when we decided to take a break, and tally what we caught.
"33," said Tim after counting twice.
We were lucky enough to keep all of what we caught, with the plan to filet, divide, and freeze all of the haul. I was happy as a lark since my first day retired seemed to get better, especially with hanging with two of my best buds.
"Think we should take a little break," said Tim as the spring sun turned even brighter and the heat was more rampant.
We'd enter the RV for a bit to perhaps cool off, I thought.
