Mango Bob, page 2
If she wants out, there's no reason for me to stick around. Nothing to gain by that.
She's giving me a good deal if I take it now. And she knows I can't resist a good deal. I tell Bobby, “Let's do it. No need to drag this thing out.”
He smiles, “Good call. You'll be glad you did it this way. A clean break with no mess. We can get everything taken care of today.”
“But you'll need a mailing address we can use on the divorce papers. Can't use your current home address. We don't want any of our correspondence or legal documents accidentally mailed to her.”
“Do you have a P.O. box or some other address we can use that she doesn't know about?”
I shake my head, “No, all my mail goes to my home address.”
“OK, you'll need a new address. And you need it today. The easy solution is to go over to the Pack N' Ship store here in the Plaza. Get a private mail box.”
“Go on over there now, get a mail box and then come right back here. Shouldn't take more than ten minutes.”
“When you get back we'll get the forms knocked out and filed before the end of the day.”
I hesitate. Bobby points to the door. “Go do it now. Get a mailing address at Pack n Ship. Then come right back here.”
Bobby is apparently a take charge kind of guy. Telling me what to do and when to get it done. I guess he's used to having to do that with his other clients.
I don't mind. I'm paying for his legal advice. Following his instructions is part of the deal.
As I go out the door, Bobby's already on the phone, presumably letting wifey's attorney's know I'm taking the deal.
On the busted sidewalk outside Bobby's office, I check to see if my truck is still in the parking lot. In this neighborhood, you never know.
It's still there. Windows still intact. A good sign.
I look around to find the Pack 'N Ship. It's four doors down. No crime scene tape blocking the way. My lucky day.
A bell on the door rings as I walk in. An older lady behind the counter looks in my direction. “Yes?”
“I need a mail box.”
“No problem. For forty dollars we set you up with a street address and box number. Twelve dollars a month after that.
“You can check your mail any time during office hours. Eight in the morning till six at night. Closed on Sundays.”
“If you can't come by to check your mail, we can forward your mail to any address you supply. Extra charge for that.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Fill out this form and we'll get you set up.”
I fill out the form and pay the forty dollars. In return I get a computer printout with my new address and a mail box combination.
Time to head back to Bobby's office.
A bell rings as I push open his door. I see Bobby quickly reach under his desk. I'm thinking he has a gun under there. Just in case. Maybe that's the smart thing to do in this neighborhood. Keep a gun close by.
He sees it's me, relaxes his hand.
“You got the new address? Let me see it.”
Bobby takes the Pack N' Ship printout, turns on his copy machine and makes a copy.
His copier looks brand new. I guess he needs a good copier more than he needs nice furniture.
He hands me back the original, “Don't lose this. You'll need it later on.”
He points to a chair in front of his desk. I take this as an invitation to sit down.
“I can file everything this afternoon. While I'm preparing the paperwork, there are a few things you'll want to take care of.”
He doesn't wait for me to respond.
“First, you need to go to your bank and open a new checking account in your name only. Then transfer $43,000 from your wife's joint account into your new account.
“Use your Pack n Ship box number as your home address. Be sure to get some temporary checks for your new account, and get at least $500 cash for spending money.
“While at the bank, apply for new credit cards in your name only. Get those cards mailed to your Pack 'N Ship address, not your home address.
“If you have any existing credit cards shared jointly with your wife, call and cancel those.
“Then go to the Value Self Storage on Third street and rent a storage unit. Big enough for all your things.”
“Be back here before four o'clock this afternoon. Bring a check so you can pay me. I'll tell you the amount when you get here.
“Any questions?”
Bobby waits for my answer.
“I've got it. Bank, credit cards, storage building. Be back here by four.”
“Good. If you run into problems, call me. Otherwise, be back here by four.”
Outside of Bobby's office, I plan the rest of my day. First thing I need to do is to call the plant, let them know I'll be late getting back.
I call and Molly from Human Resources answers.
“Molly, this is Walker. Is there anything in the office I need to take care of this afternoon?”
“No, not that I know of. Things are pretty slow around here.”
“That's good. I've got some personal business I need to attend to. Might not be able to get back until late this afternoon.”
“No problem. Take the rest of the day off if you want.”
“OK. If I don't get back today, I'll see you tomorrow.”
I end the call.
Molly and I both knew no one from the plant really cares where I'll be. The plant is closing in two weeks, and most of those who worked there are already gone.
6
Following Bobby's instructions, the bank is my first stop. Go in and meet with an account manager. Explain what I need to do.
No problem. She's be able to handle it all.
Takes about twenty minutes to open a new account and transfer my share of funds from the old account into it.
With the new account, they issued a book of twenty temporary checks with a promise of real checks mailed to me within a week.
They offer to send me a new credit card in my name only tied to my new checking account. I agree. The new card will be sent to my new P.O. box within seven days.
I ask about canceling my old credit cards, and the bank manager says I need to call the number on the back of each card. I'll do that later.
Before leaving the bank, I use one of the temporary checks to withdraw $1,000 for spending money.
Back in my truck, I call the numbers on the back of each of my credit cards. I tell them I want to cancel. Send the final bill to my new address.
Takes a few minutes to convince them I don't want another card. Just cancel and send me a bill. They finally agree.
With the banking and credit cards taken care of, the next thing on the list is a storage unit.
Value Self Storage is about two miles from the bank. It takes me eight minutes to get there.
Surrounded by an eight foot tall, razor wire topped fence, the place looks like a prison. Except in this case, the prison walls keep the bad guys from breaking in.
There's a small concrete block building outside the gated entry. It's the office.
Inside, a young woman behind the counter is facing eight security monitors which show different views of the storage complex.
She looks up at me, smiles. “How can I help you today?”
I tell her I need a small storage unit.
“Great. We have several sizes available. How big a unit do you need?”
She hands me a chart showing the different size units and prices.
I don't have much to store. Just clothes, a laptop computer, a few boxes of photos and old documents. So I choose the smallest unit. Six foot by eight foot. About the size of a large walk-in closet.
“That'll be thirty six dollars a month. How do you want to pay?”
I reach for my credit card, then remember I've just canceled it. Have to pay in cash.
After I pay, I'm given a map showing the location of my unit and I'm issued a security code to get through the gate. Just enter the number into the keypad, and the gate opens automatically.
Cool.
I've taken care of the bank, the credit cards, and the storage unit. Everything on Bobby's list. It's three o'clock. An hour ahead of schedule.
Maybe Bobby won't mind if I get back early.
There are more cars in the Paradise Plaza parking lot this time – mostly down by the Lion's Den, a 'gentleman's entertainment' club.
I guess the afternoon crowd is starting to show up. Maybe they're there for the food. Which reminds me that I've skipped lunch.
Tempted as I am to try the Lion's Den menu, I head to Bobby's office. As before, when I push open the door, a bell tinkles, and I see Bobby reach under his desk. Yep, I'm betting he has a gun there.
He sees it's me, “Good. You're back. Got everything taken care of?”
“Yes. No problems”
Bobby points to the chair in front of his desk, and I take a seat. “The courier brought over the documents. All you need to do is sign in front of a notary. We can do that at the bail bonds shop next door.
“You ready?”
I nod, “Let's do it.”
Bobby stands and says, “Follow me”.
On the way out, he stops to lock the door behind us. A necessary thing in this neighborhood.
The bail bonds shop is next door. Once inside, I'm impressed. It's clean, no strange smells, no one looks like Dog the Bounty Hunter.
A middle aged black woman behind the counter greets us with a smile, “Bobby, you back again? How much bail you need this time?”
Bobby laughs, “Shirley, you're looking good today. Your husband know you dress like that in public?”
“Bobby, you know he does. What you got for me today?”
“I need you to notarize some documents for Mr. Walker here.”
Shirley looks at me, extends her hand, “Driver's license please.”
I pull out my wallet, extract my license and hand it to her.
“You're Johnny Walker? Like the whiskey?”
I've heard it before. “Yep, that's me. But most people just call me Walker.”
“Okay, Walker. Sign and I'll notarize.”
Bobby has placed yellow sticky arrows on each of the pages where I need to sign. Initial here, sign there.
I go through the stack, sign or initial them as required. Then hand off to Bobby.
He checks each page, then hands the stack to Shirley. She applies her notary stamp on the final pages. “That'll be twenty five dollars, cash.”
I pay with a twenty and a five, and Bobby and I head back next door. He unlocks the door to his office, sticks his head in and looks around. Satisfied, he says, “All clear,” and walks in.
I'm thinking there was a time when it wasn't “all clear” and Bobby has learned to check before he goes in. Maybe that's got something to do with the little surprise under his desk.
Back in his office Bobby puts the papers in a brief case. “I'll file these with the court and in 30 days you'll be a free man.”
He presents me with a bill for $500. Says $350 is his fee, and $150 for court costs. I pay him with a temporary check, and I'm actually surprised he accepts it. I thought for sure he'd want cash.
Maybe he trusts me.
I thank him for his time and head for the door.
Bobby stops me, “We're not done just yet. There's one small detail in the divorce agreement you may have overlooked.
“According to the papers you just signed, you agree to be moved out of your wife's home by eight tonight.
“If you're still there after eight, you'll be trespassing. Anything you leave in the house after eight becomes her property.”
Okay, I didn't expect that. I didn't realize I'd have to pack up and move out tonight. But it figures. It's her daddy's house. She has every right to live there. And I don't.
So it's settled. I'm moving out. Tonight.
No problem. I can go over to the house, load my things into my truck and take it over to the storage unit I just rented. Shouldn't take more than an hour.
But then what? After I move out, I'm technically homeless. And this complicates matters. Where will I stay?
Just about everyone I know worked at the plant. And most of them lost their jobs two weeks ago. Many left town, and the ones who didn't, won't be happy to see me. I'm one of the few who still has a job there – at least for a few more days.
As an office guy, a lot of plant workers feel I'm somehow responsible for the decision to move the plant to Mexico. Even though I had nothing to do with it.
I understand. Factory guys and office guys usually don't hang out together. This means there's no work friends who might have a place for me to sleep for a few days.
My nearest relative lives 1,200 miles away. Which means no family to bunk with. And no ex-girlfriends or ex-wives to take me in either.
So maybe a motel?
I don't think so. Around here, even the cheapest motels go for $70 a night. And you wouldn't want to stay in those kinds of places unless you were well armed.
And I'm not about to pay $120 or more a night for a motel room just to sleep for a few hours. My soon to be ex-wife will tell you I'm kind of cheap that way. I won't spend a few extra bucks to get something nice. And I would really prefer not to spend much money at all.
The way I see it, there's nothing wrong with trying to save money. Especially when your paycheck ends in a few days.
I explain this to Bobby – hoping he'll have a spare place I can stay for a few days.
But no go. Bobby isn't in the business of providing accommodations for his clients. He suggests I pitch a tent in the nearby state park. Stay there until things settle down.
He's serious.
According to Bobby, “It'll be like a vacation. Stay in the campground for twelve dollars a night, enjoy the peace and quiet, watch the sun set over the river.”
The way he tells it, it sounds pretty good.
I've been camping before. The last time was in Afghanistan. That wasn't so much fun. But before Afghanistan, camping was something I enjoyed. Getting away in the woods for a few days. Being 'one' with nature.
The more I think about it, the more it sounds like a reasonable solution.
Instead of paying to live in a cheap motel, I could camp out at the state park for twelve dollars a night. And, I'm quoting Bobby here, “It would be like a vacation!”
Camping out. In a tent. Just me and my truck. In the woods of Arkansas in the fall.
But just until things get settled.
7
And that's how it came to be that I was living in a tent. A big blue one from Walmart.
After leaving Bobby's law office, I drove home and loaded everything I owned into my truck.
Some clothes, a couple pair of shoes, my laptop computer, a few books, a box of old documents and photos.
And my gun. A stainless steel Smith & Wesson 357 magnum revolver. Haven't shot it in years, and hope not to have to shoot it any time soon. But if I do, it gets the job done.
Packing only takes about 30 minutes. Which if you think about it, is pretty depressing. All my worldly possessions take less than a half hour to pack and fit in just a few boxes.
It's almost six in the evening. That means I'll be out of the house before the deadline. That should make Vicki (my soon to be ex-wife) happy.
Next stop, Value Self Storage.
The security code issued when I rented the unit gets me through the gate. Takes only a few minutes to transfer the boxes from my truck into the storage unit. My worldly possessions don't even fill half of the closet sized space.
I still need to keep up appearances at work, so I keep out a small suitcase packed with my office clothes, clean underwear, socks and shaving kit.
Locking the storage unit, I head over to the big Walmart Super Center. There, in the sporting goods department, I choose a Coleman 14' x 9' tent, a sleeping bag, a fluorescent lantern, an air bed, and an ice chest.
Everything I need to start my camping adventure.
In the food section, I pick up a twelve pack of bottled water, a box of crackers and a chicken Caesar salad from the deli. Enough supplies to get me through the night.
