Story-A-Day #27: Cold Call

COLD CALL

An exhalation of warm breath burst from his chest, stinging his nose and clinging to the stubble around his mouth as it condensed into a frozen mist. It was not just a bitterly cold day; it was a nasty one. Even with the warm mittens ensconcing his hands, he could still feel the chill working his way up his fingers and into his hands.

The air was so cold it was almost solid against his exposed fleshy bits. The puffy part of his upper cheek and lower earlobes stung with the impact of air on flesh. He could feel particles of ice forming an abrasive layer on his flesh and burning his skin with their frosty adherence.

He could feel all of this killer cold and yet he had only taken ten steps from his truck to the stupid parking machine. He fumbled with the cold coins in the palm of his hand and let the m slide down to the ends of his fingers, then quickly pulled his mitten off and dropped the coins into the slot. One of the tarnished Loonies poked out from the return slot below. Cursing, he pinched it between his rapidly numbing fingers and crammed it back into the slot.

It popped out in the return slot again. Digging into his pockets, he pulled out a different coin and tried it instead. It seemed to take. He took a quick look at the digital read out: 2:14. That should give him plenty of time.

He pounded the green button and grabbed the dud Loonie from the slot, bouncing anxiously up and down as he waited for the parking receipt to print. H could feel prickly heat bouncing around his clenched fist like synapses firing in a brain, a brain encased within a fuzzy wool skull.

The slip finally slid out of the machine with a grinding whir of gears. He grabbed it and dashed back to his truck, a hulking metal bulk that was almost completely obscured in a cloud of swirling exhaust. He fumbled briefly with the door before throwing himself into the slightly warmer interior.

He sat in the driver’s seat for a moment, blowing into his mittens and waiting for the fog on his glasses to disappear. The truck engine sounded like it was wheezing, cycling through an awkward series of high and low revolutions even though it was still in park. He almost smiled in acknowledgement. Neither man nor machine were fit for this kind of weather.

He pulled into a parking spot in front of the building and took a deep breath. Today was not his day. He would be meeting a man named Ted somewhere in that building and he would be trying to secure a contract. For ice machines. He was good at his job, but when a quick glance out his office window would remind Ted that the entire world was frozen solid, it was definitely an uphill battle. Sometimes a cold call was just not meant to happen.