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mark me... a bonus I found looking through emails. Enjoy. edited.  

dadigan 60M  
319 posts
12/28/2021 3:24 pm
mark me... a bonus I found looking through emails. Enjoy. edited.


I work third shift as a driver for a bagel/bakery in the Denver Metro area. It's a good job, aside from the hours. The owners, and people I work with, are fantastic and like family. This story happened pre-Covid and since I have some time on my hands now, I thought I'd share it. At least I'm not waking up at midnight five days week now. Delivering bagels and pastries sounds like an easy gig, and it's better than being a Sysco or Fedex/UPS driver, but 50+ stops a day is a workout when you include loading the van as well. When it snows it really sucks. Even though waking up when I did was tough, once I hit the road it's great because the only people up, and out, at that hour are either cool, crazy, homeless, or fringe. I rarely had a problem with any of them. There several driver's and routes. We all knew each other's routes so that was a shitload of stops to remember but mostly we had the same route.

Mine was the western 'burbs heading heading around Boulder and north to Fort Collins. It was basically everything north of I-70 and west along the I-25 corridor. I busted my ass and I rarely got finished by 8:00am, which was fine because overtime was my friend.
I had keys for all of my stops because I delivered to most places so early that no one was there. 99% of my stops had no issue with it because the drivers are cool, and would never abuse that trust. I ran into a lot of other drivers and they were all the same. Sure, sometimes you'd run across an obnoxious asshole but they never lasted long. It takes a certain type of person to work those hours. We are the 'fringe.' I liked it because of that, but also because it was QUIET and all of the 'muggles' were asleep. It was fantastic until about 5-6am when the normal folk start coming out.... that is when the stress started to build. It was palpable and was understood by every driver out there at night. Even the cops were pretty laid back and cool, and left us alone when we'd make illegal turns because all the streets were one way. They knew us, at least by sight just like we did, and they knew we were just trying to our jobs. We were the only ones around. It was definitely a good gig.

I had done this job for over six years and it was pretty much routine. I rarely saw anyone at my stops until I was heading toward Ft. Collins. I'd see a few a people in Longmont, but by the time I hit FC all the places were getting ready to open, and they were busy.... nice, but busy. It was the few place between Denver and Boulder that were open 24 hours that were great because those folks were bored out of their mind because the only people coming into the store really couldn't communicate well for a variety of reasons.

I always took my breaks at these places. I never took a lunch... or breakfast. We ate free at work so I grabbed stuff and ate while I drove so I didn't feel guilty hanging out and chatting with these folks.

They were pretty much all laid back, and very cool, and I'd shoot the shit with them. I'd bring a half dozen bagels from time to time, and they'd give me coffee, a juice, whatever. They were just thankful for the company. However, those stops got severely curtailed about a 18 months ago. A new person took over the late shift at a store in Golden. She abruptly shifted my life along with my route. Her name was Beka.

This was my last stop before I went to Boulder and then headed North. It was out of the way and the guy doing the the mirror image of my route to the south didn't want the stop so they asked me to take it. I said sure because I didn't care, I liked driving at that hour, and overtime was my friend. I am SO glad I agreed.

Golden is a cool town that sits at the foothills of the Rockies and is the home of Coors. I always liked Golden but I LOVED Golden once Beka took over the midnight to eight shift at a funky little bodega in the part of town that you wouldn't want to leave your van running in. I'd always leave my van if I could see it. If I couldn't see then I would turn it off. It was 2am in the morning and I never locked it. In six years of doing this job I got ripped off twice, and both times were on the "Hill" in Boulder, CO at the University. I doubly made sure the van was locked whenever I stopped in Golden.

For those of you familiar with Denver Metro you may know Lolita's at the west end of Pearl St in Boulder. It's an institution, and has been in the same location... since I think the late 19th century, feels like it anyway. I came to Boulder in '88 and it was there, and it's still there. I am planning to have them cater the Irish wake I have when I die because they will still be there. The place in Golden is very similar but smaller, and not as busy. I can't tell you the name but it is definitely Lolita's little sister.

The guy that had the late shift before Beka showed up in my life was Charlie.... super nice guy. He liked music (which was usually awesome), fly fishing, and 'weed,' but not in that order. I'm guessing that was why Beka was there one Monday morning.

Let me give a sense of the place. When you walked in the register and checkout counter was to the left of the door. The far wall by the end of the counter were the cooler. There were several aisles leading to the back a small cooler on the far right wall and just beyond that, at
the back wall was a small place they sandwiches, etc. This was where I would drop off the bagels and pastry's.

When I'd walked in Charlie would always be in the small office/stock room to the right of the door. I'd always say "Hey Charlie!" as I passed and headed to the back of the to drop off my stuff. I usually had at least 15-20 minutes to kill, but I could have stretched it to 30. I usually chatted for about 10 minutes and I was never sure if he thought I was real.

It was winter, and cold... -5 degrees cold. I walked in, and as usual, I said "Hey Charlie," as I headed to the back. I headed to the opposite side, by the coolers, and then back to the front to get some coffee.... they used great beans. I poured it and grabbed a cookie, which I opened and said, loudly, "Hey, how did the fishing go?"

I had just stuffed half a chocolate chip cookie in my mouth when I heard a woman's voice say "Who the fuck is Charlie?" I looked up, looking like a chipmunk with cookie stuffed in my cheeks ( I always try to make a good first impression. I rarely do, but I try), and standing in the office doorway was woman that I am at loss to describe.... and I like words!

She was about 5'5", but that was probably being generous. She had deep auburn hair, almost mahogany, and the bluest eyes I have ever seen. She had the kind of eyes that, when you looked at them you knew without a doubt the aliens had already landed and were living among us.

She was stunning but in that unique way. She was quite pretty but there was something else.... some ineffable quality that can't be explained. I was glad I had stuffed half a cookie in my mouth so I could buy a little a time to compose myself.

I held up my index finger, and then motioned to my cookie stuffed mouth, as to indicate 'give me a minute.' I chewed as fast as I could; and swallowed sooner than I should have, then took a swig of coffee to melt any residual cookie stuck in my larynx. Now I am nice guy... always have been, and always will. I was raised in CA and I'm pretty laid back so the words that came out of my mouth surprised the hell out of me.

I put my coffee down on the counter and said "who the fuck are you, and what the fuck did you with Charlie?" I wasn't expecting it but I had to ride that now. I picked up coffee and took another swig.

She had her arms crossed before I said that but she slowly let them drop to her side and walked toward the cash register as she looked me up and down.... just like I was doing. I couldn't tell if she liked what she saw, but I certainly did. She went behind the counter and I moved forward.... it seemed like some strange mating dance that birds do.

I walked up and she said she was Beka and had no idea who Charlie was and smiled. I knew it was my turn to speak and luckily my body is smarter than I am because it had take a large sip of coffee. I breathed, swallowed, and said, "Charlie use to work here. I just saw
him Friday. I'm Daniel and I deliver your bagels and pastry's." She smiled again and said, "OK, that's why you went behind the counter in the back. I thought you were a crazy person." I was in trouble, but in a good, I hoped.

I explained that I delivered Monday-Friday, usually around the same time, and Charlie and I would chat. I asked if she liked bagels and cream cheese and she said, "FUCK YEAH! Who doesn't like bagels and cream cheese?" Her favorite was cinnamon raisin and plain cream cheese. I made a mental note.

As we were talking, I was noticing her 'ink,' and complimented her on it.... what I could see anyway. She had what looked like two full 'sleeves' but it was cold and she had a sweater on but it was pushed up on her arms, and she had tat's coming up and around both sides of her neck. She was amazing.

I asked if she'd mine if I looked more closely at her arm. She looked at me for probably 20 seconds, just staring in my eyes, before she took her sweater off. I tried to act cool because I was looking at, and speaking with, a Goddess of ink.

She didn't understand the concept of layering, which I was totally fine with. I'm not sure what it's called but women were it in lieu of a bra, thank the dear lords! It's like a tank top but way sexier, and cool, and it gave a pretty good sense of what her breasts looked like, especially the nipples.

I did my best to be cool, which I failed miserably at. She was smiling the entire time. The 'sleeves' were complete, and moved into her shoulders, and chest.... and I suspected belly. She hadn't turned around but I suspected her back was complete as well, or would be. I held out my right hand, palm up, and asked if I could take a closer look and said...

"Are you Yakuza? I was serious because it looked like she had a full body suit. She smiled and said no, but she held my gaze. This was an interesting woman.

As she was moving her arm toward me she looked down at my out stretched palm and froze, staring at it. She grabbed my wrist, and MEAN grabbed my wrist and pulled it toward her. Being a guy, I was hoping she was going to place it on a breast because it was a perfect
fit. She didn't do that. Instead, she raised it up to look at it more closely.

"Where did you get this done, "she asked?"

She was looking at a tattoo I got a couple of months earlier. I took a long weekend and went to Austin, TX and was set to go back in January for the other palm.

"In Austin, I said... and she stopped me mid word."

"I know exactly who you went to but can't recall his name, but he learned this at an Eskimo village in either Alaska, or Canada (sorry, but I won't name him, or the village he learned the tribal art)."

"Sounds like the same guy, "I said, as she ran her thumb over the ink on my palm." I see him at the end of January, before he heads back north, so he can do the other palm and finish the pair. I am also hoping I can get in, before he leaves for the summer, so he can start on another one I have in mind for my left foot."

She had been rubbing her thumb on my palm the entire time without even realizing. When I mentioned my other palm, she reflexively reached for my other hand and started looking at it, doing the same thing.... rubbing my palm with her thumb.

"What are getting here, she asked" I had a 'tribal-esque' version of a bee on my right palm. It fit perfectly. The bee filled most of my palm, and the stinger moved down my wrist a bit. The wings stretched to the sides and came around just enough to see there was ink.

"A dragonfly in the same tribal design. It's tail will go into my wrist but the wings will stretch further onto the top of my hand. The bee was yellow but the dragonfly will be turquoise," I said. "I am able to look at them daily, but I can also hold my palm up and show others, which I wanted to be able to do for some reason." She let out a sigh as she let palm go.

"What design do want on your foot," she asked?

"We're still working on it but I want roots coming from the side, and back, of my foot and from in between..... like they were coming out of the ground. I'd eventually like, if I can afford it, to have it go past my knee. I can see it going up my left leg to my balls and dick, going around spreading up my torso to my neck." She was stunned.

"That's a lot of ink, and A LOT of money, and I still have to come up with a design. The dragonfly is fine for now but I do like the thought of the roots," I said.

I wasn't sure what had happened but her eyes had changed... not in a bad way... and she said, "Do not move...." and went into the office. she came back with a large sketch book that she placed on the counter.

"This is why I took this job. I am able to draw, for hours , mostly uninterrupted." She opened it and moved through it until she found the page she was looking for. She looked at me and smiled as she put the sketch book down so I could see it. She came out from behind the counter and stood next to me and took my right hand as I looked at her drawing. In primitive, or aboriginal, cultures i think we would have been married.

First of all, I was speechless because she was an amazing artist, truly amazing. I got lost in the detail, as i can. Once she took my hand, I lost all sense of space and time, looked at her, looked back and I was looking at my tattoo..... EXACTLY, hers moved up the left side of the neck with tendrils branching onto the cheek, and around to the back. I didn't move. I couldn't move except to squeeze her hand...hard, which she matched.

She asked how often I delivered, and which days, and when I was going to Austin. I told her and she squeezed my hand again as she stood on her toes and pulled me down to her (I'm 6'3") and kissed me as passionately as I have ever been kissed. I couldn't compare because my brain turned to mush. If I think about it, I can still feel her tongue in my mouth and heading down my throat, and the depth of the energy we were embraced in.

She looked in my eyes, squeezed my hand, hard, and said she see me tomorrow. I nodded, because I'm an idiot, and walked out in a total zen experience. I left the other half of my cookie, my cold coffee, but more importantly... Beka. I'd have start getting to work earlier!

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