Chapter 4: Crushing Badly

Dolores

Sipping on my to-go coffee, I scanned the street. It was almost 9 a.m. and some of the small shops were preparing to open. No sign of life yet in "Yesteryear's Fancy". It was a bit chilly to stand around, especially in my less than perfect outfit. Clearwater does not boast a lot of clothing shops, and I was only able to buy a few basics while there. I had done some more shopping on Saturday, but I was unsure of what I needed for work. Ruth had seemed a nice woman before Christmas, but so had Mr. Dresdner before he did his "Mike Hammer" number on Friday. I guess he had needed that to feel in charge.

There was an old Volkswagen bus coming down the street, complete with painted flowers on the side and curtains on the side windows. It stopped at the curb and Ruth Dresdner stepped out.

"Oh, you're already here. Let me open up, and then we can unload."

She opened the old fashioned shop door and put a wedge under it to keep it from closing. Then she came back and opened the sliding door of the bus. The entire back of the bus was crammed with small furniture and various knick-knacks.

"All this has to go into the back for sorting," Ruth smiled and I realized that shop helper with her was physical labor.

I put down my coffee, and for the next hour we smurfed the contents of the bus into a storage behind the shop. My coffee was cold when we were finished, but Ms. Dresdner ("Call me Ruth, for God's sake!") brewed fresh mugs and we rested for a few minutes sipping a kick-ass black coffee. Let me tell you, after what passed for coffee at MCI-W in Jessup, I was not accustomed to such a potent brew.

When we'd had our coffee, she sat me down in front of her office computer, a flat, white object with no buttons or other discernible controls and showed me how to access her eBay account. Then she showed me a list of articles that had been paid for and how to find the shipping addresses. I had done some stuff on eBay before I left the circulation, thank God, and I understood that Ruth did 80 percent of her business via her eBay shop. My task was to get the paid-for items wrapped and ready for pick up by ... Umh, let's say "IPS" (you know, where Doug Heffernan works).

The white thing turned out to be the latest "iMac", and it took me two or three hours to learn my way with a new operating system. I'd had a nice, cool IBM Thinkpad before I became a guest of the State of Maryland, but now I learned that even that brand did not exist anymore (it's Lenovo now, a Chinese company for freak's sake). Anyway, I had not seen a computer in three years, and whatever I knew then was obsolete. Yet, when it was lunch time, I had fifteen parcels ready for pick up.

Ruth closed shop for an hour and ordered subs from a nearby deli. She joined me in her office, and we finished the remaining ten parcels before the "IPS" guy came by at 1:30.

"Ever used a digital camera?" Ruth asked me next.

"Well, not really. Mostly, I've been on the other side of the lenses," I explained.

"No big deal. Let me show you," was Ruth's answer.

In between looking after customers in the front, she gave me a 30 minutes crash course on the handling of a neat Nikon Coolpix camera that was mounted on a tripod in front of a rotating table under a set of lamps. Here on that table, I was to take pictures of items while Ruth sat with a laptop typing in the text for the next set of eBay auctions. The woman was organized and she kept me hopping for the rest of the afternoon.

When we called it a day at 6 p.m., she grinned at me while sitting over a small accountant ledger.

"Not bad for your first day, eh? By my account, I kept you working from nine to six, that's sixty-four plus twelve bucks for today, seventy-six total. Monday is always the worst because I buy up stuff over the weekend and there is three days' worth of payments. It'll be easier tomorrow."

"I'm here to work," I answered feeling tired but good. "I didn't get seventy-six bucks in a month while working in the pen."

"Welcome to the free market," Ruth smiled. "Should I drop you off somewhere? Where do you live?"

"Fleming Avenue, that's down Lone Oak Drive and to the left."

"Oh, that's neat. I live on Cheshire. If you want, just come by at eight forty-five and ride with me. Saves you the bus."

"Really? I mean, should I?"

"Why not?"

"Mr. Dresdner may think that I try to..."

"Take advantage of me? Never worry. Joe is a cool guy. I'll explain it to him."

"But, I'm a felon."

"Not to me. You're my store helper, period. Now, let's split."

And just like that, Ruth Dresdner took me under her wings. Before the first month was over, I felt more at home in Ruth's shop that at any place I'd ever been or worked. Once a week I'd drop by at Mr. Dresdner's office, but that was a formality as he saw me often enough when he visited his sister. The problem of associating with Beverly proved to be moot when Bev's mother decided to take her daughter and have a fresh start for both of them in Hagerstown.

That also meant I needed a new place to stay. Ruth helped me to find a couple who rented out their basement as unfurnished apartment. They were really old, mid-seventies, and they gave me a good deal on the rent in return for help with the Sunday shopping and some garden work, mostly mowing their lawn.

It was close to Ruth's place, on Kingswood Road, which was helpful because I was doing a lot of work at Ruth's house on Cheshire Drive where she had converted her two door garage into a carpenter's shop. They had taught me well in the pen and Ruth more than once complimented my skills when I glued legs back on antique chairs or repaired unsightly scratches. De-worming was an important technique I had to learn from Ruth. She used a large smoke oven for that, keeping the piece of furniture in beech wood smoke for a half day.

When Ruth went on acquisition trips outside of Maryland I had to stay back, but if she stayed within the state lines I could join her. We visited the estate furniture dealers and skimmed what we needed from their stores. I received a first class education into the art of haggling when Ruth would dicker with the dealers for what seemed hours.

Ruth also checked with her brother and I was allowed to apply for a driver's license and after that, I sometimes did deliveries with her crappy old Volkswagen bus. Before I knew it, Ruth closed the shop for summer break. I was dreading the enforced idle time for more than one reason, the chief one being money. Four weeks without pay would eat up what little savings I had managed, and I was reluctant to touch any of my inherited money.

Again, Ruth surprised me. With her brother's grumbling approval, I was "lent" to an upholstery shop in Shady Grove. The guy who ran the shop was in his early seventies and ready to retire. He had done all the upholstery for Ruth and he promised to teach me all he could in the short time available. He was an old coot, without even a single clue about PC treatment of female employees, but he was harmless enough. An old dog without teeth who still barked for show.

In the four weeks with him I learnt how to upholster chairs and even some simple work on sofas, especially granny sofas. I also learned from him that Ruth would buy his heavy duty sewing machine and some other tools once he retired.

It really seemed like Ruth was grooming me into a long-term employee.

I was considering the idea. While a big part of me enjoyed the work and also the whole concept of restoring beautiful old furniture, another part of me was asking what I would or could do with my life. However, I was under no illusion that as a convicted violent felon I would never be able to enter any real profession. Human resources departments were used to weed out people like me, even from menial jobs within a corporate structure. Crafts were different. As an independent craftswoman I could be self employed and still have a satisfying way to earn my livelihood. On those Metrobus trips back home during the summer I pondered the question and by the end of the month, I had decided to try Ruth's way.