The smell of you/ that's the lowdown

I am working at my 2nd job today, delivering holiday gift baskets for my aunt. It seems to combine the two things I don’t mind doing, driving and listening to music, and so it’s OK. Mostly, though, it makes me feel like the biggest loser. I take a turn and the baskets in the backseat topple over and onto the ground, the contents spilling out all over the mud-encrusted floor. I pick them up off the ground and compile what is to me, in my unversed understanding of the art of basket crafting, a basket which looks acutely like I ran it over with the car. Showing up to some random office, I produce the most hackneyed-looking arrangement even conceivable. “Oh, thanks,” the woman tell me trailing off, as I hustle for the door. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” I tell her.

I like these things, though, these kitsch arrangements, featuring coffee cups and sundry dollar store items. I like to imagine the people they are going to, and today, wondering about the kinds of relationships they’re having. The largest basket I deliver today goes to a walleyed-looking housewife who stoically answers the door, not returning any of my well wishes. “Bye,” she says, unimpressed. Whatever. Sometimes you look inside the cellophane wrap and see some pretty magnificent stuff, which could just be to compensate for the lack of splendor in the relationship. Although, maybe all those crossword puzzle books and coffee mugs with inane phrases only go to underscore the amazing-ness contained within that relationship. Who could say what those things signify? It feels nice, though, to make someone’s day. Even if I only am vicariously experiencing the moment, producing a basket that looks like it got run over by a train.