JJ, as they often referred to him, squealed once more, louder this time, announcing his displeasure at Wilber’s repose. Pulled towards the mountain of tasks ahead, he trudged forward with a grimace.
He really didn’t need this. There was too much to do. He had to check on the fencing on the eastern edge of their property, install the new part in the control unit for the windmill, and store the shipments of ammo he received yesterday at their delivery box, and go into town to buy some more batteries, waiting at Dingles Hardware. Finally, he wanted to work on the follow up book to his survivalist novel; the one he was pretty sure was never going to get finished. But it was a nice distraction from what was to come.
He could feel something bad was going to happen. He didn’t buy into all the conspiracy theories spread by the prepper communities. He often visited to give and receive tips on making do on your own. Often reading reported incidents, which surely would lead to some cataclysmic event, Wilber would research further to check on its validity. Sometimes, he posted some of the better ones, just to stir the pot. However, some of the conspiracies made sense and seemed believable.
Lately, he had been reading lots of chatter about solar flares and CMEs and it just sounded a little too real. Especially, the reports from scientists like Dr. Reid. He knew they wouldn’t be directly affected by the loss of power, but his greater worry was for his family’s security. The whole town knew of his family and made up stories about the Wrights did this or that or the Wrights have too much money and should share it with others. It wasn’t just the town’s greed that kept him up at night. It was the fact that their food would run out and they would want to take from his family at some point.
Walking up to the gate of the pen, he was assaulted by the smell of sickness. “Petunia doesn’t look too good, does she?” Olivia said while holding their baby.
“Thanks O.” He looked around, searching. “Where’d Buck run off too?”
“He’s out trying to get that damned fox that killed some of the chicks yesterday.”
Another thing he forgot was on his list. “Can you do me a favor and run into town and pick up my batteries at Dingles? Buck can help me work on the fence today to make sure it’s secure, if he ever gets back.”
“Sure. I wanted to stop in to see Emma and see how she is doing.”
“Tell her we’re praying for her.” He pecked her on the lips, turned, and grabbed the shovel propped up against the fence, and entered the pen, now starting his long workday.
9.
Stocking Up
Max took a big bite out of his huevos con queso burrito. Fragile wisps of steam emptied out of the bitten end, slithering by his face, slowed slightly by the brim of his blue Cub’s cap, before emptying through the open air of his Jeep into the soup of the city’s aromas. It was a blended mixture ranging from foul to delightful. A flavorful volcano of fire erupted in his mouth. He put out the agreeable fire with a big swig of the remainders of this morning’s freshly brewed coffee currently residing in his large to go cup. Eyeing his dwindling burrito, as a predator would its prey, he bit through the soft tortilla, taking in another mouthful. Truly, very few things beat the taste of Pablo’s burritos in the morning. He tried focusing on this diversion from what lay ahead for him and his friends. Unfortunately, it was also a reminder of so many simple pleasures which would soon be gone.
Max was sitting in the driver’s seat of his Jeep Willys, left elbow resting on the door, hand holding the foil wrapped delicacy. His right hand firmly held his plastic anti-spill coffee cup, or as Bill called it, his adult Sippy-Cup. He mentally held back the onslaught of sounds and smells surrounding him, focused instead on every morsel of the masterpiece crafted by Pablo’s burrito stand, a few steps away from where he was double-parked.
The typical bustle of locals came by car, truck, foot, or bicycle. It never took longer than a couple of minutes to shout their orders in Spanish while handing Pablo’s wife, Maria, 10 pesos, and then collecting their two foil wrapped burritos from Pablo, leaving the same way they had come. It was the best deal in town for the greatest burritos. For less than $1 US, you would get two of either an egg and cheese, or potato and cheese burrito. The only extra was a small container of salsa, homemade and equally tasty of course. Always the same choices since he could remember hearing about this place over 20 years ago; always available only at 7:00 AM, 6 days a week; and always a steady stream of customers. He learned that Pablo and his wife pre-made them, and rolled them the two blocks from home in their handmade cart. Every day, since their first day, they sold out, never deviating from the successful formula that served their family so well.
Max took another bite and then looked up to watch the steady stream of customers. He started work unwrapping his second burrito.
He counted the traffic and calculated that Pablo and Maria took in about 2500 pesos in 45 minutes, which meant they had to make at least 500 burritos each day. Burrito production took the whole Garcia family, Maria told him, including their four kids, starting the assembly line at 4AM. Other than purchasing the cheese, milk, potatoes, spices, and foil for wrapping, they were self-sufficient for everything else. The eggs came from an uncountable number of chickens in their back yard. The tortillas were made fresh daily by Maria and their eldest daughter the night before. The pushcart was also homemade, a combination of Pablo’s craftsmanship as a carpenter by trade, and Pablo’s father’s design. Pablo Sr. came up with the ingenious scheme of hollowing the chamber surrounding the metal burrito storage area. On the sides and below were sliding steel drawers, each with little grates, which held hot coals from a fire they prepared the night before. The drawers slid into each side and below the chamber, keeping the burritos hot up until the time of purchase.
Max loved stories like this one, but it was a common tale down here. He thought the Mexican people had far more ingenuity than most Americans he knew, which made sense since most had to live on and make do with a tenth of what an American typically did. Most Americans would just buy what they wanted, whereas most Mexicans made do with the used castoffs from Americans who replaced everything with the latest and greatest. Yesterday’s big screen TVs, cell phones, computers, and so many other appliances that were tossed out or sold to thrift shops in Tucson or Phoenix Arizona, and from local vacation homes, ended up in the homes of many of the Mexicans here in Rocky Point.
Their ingenuity and lack of dependence on technology, Max thought, might give some Mexicans an advantage over their American counterparts when trying to survive society’s coming downfall.
Max watched a pickup truck pull up behind him, barely stopping before pulling back out into traffic, leaving a tall, lanky, dark-skinned Mexican man who had hopped out of the bed and was already walking past his Willys to the burrito stand. He barked off his order and handed a 10 peso coin to Maria, his new burgundy colored baseball cap nodding in the affirmative. The man grabbed his burritos and walked towards the passenger side of the Jeep, where he opened the door and hopped in.