NEWSPAPER BOY
A long time ago, many realities removed from the present day, I became a newspaper boy. We had just moved back to Iceland, from living in Montgomery County, Maryland, USA, where my father worked as a scientist. This is in January of 1984 and I am almost 12 years old. Coming back to the Icelandic winter from the US, was a frostbitten slap in my young face. A face that had to follow his parents around the world, and be away from his friends. After coming home I took a newspaper route for an afternoon newspaper. The paper always sent me 4-5 extra issues, if something happened to the papers on route to me, or if defects where in printing. Sometimes the issues were damaged by something, but most times everything was fine. This meant that I had 4-5 extra issues of the paper to sell off, on every weekday, plus Saturdays. I was a boy and I wanted some candy and some of this and that, so selling extra papers was great. This meant however that while my friends were indoors playing video games or goofing off somewhere, I went on my own down to the local gas station. A gas station that has long been torn down. There I would wait until people came by to buy gas for their cars, and then offer them the newspaper to buy. I did this every day for 3 years, in every kind of weather you can imagine. The winters were the worst of course, the afternoons were a total darkness and the winter weather here, is unrelenting in it’s cruelty. And the winter weather of 1984 was one of the worst winters, with storms coming in, waive and waive, resulting in school being closed for weeks. It was not safe for the kids to walk to school. For Iceland, that is really saying something. As for the gas station itself, I got to know the men working there pretty well. In the beginning they were kind of pissed off by me being there, and getting in their way of servicing the customers. I gradually learned how not to be in their way, and spoke to them on the regular. The chief was a family man with 4 kids, the guy on the register had a girlfriend and baby on the way and the guy helping outside was an older man, kind of a loner personality. One time midwinter in 1984, when the weather was particularly horrible, I went indoors at the gas station and waited for a customer to arrive. The chief came up to me and said “This is for you” and pointed to a plastic chair, not far from the counter. They had somehow found a chair for me and for me alone. I almost teared up at this gesture from the men, a gesture of friendship, friendship to a kid that they had no relation to. I sat in that chair for close to 3 years, while I worked for the newspaper. Eventually I quit the job and said goodbye to the guys, promising to visit them. I did come by on occasion, but soon the guys were replaced by other people, and our joint vibe drifted into history. I suddenly remembered this gas station again, and I hope the guys had good lives. I however, have a memory of a good friendship.
A.G. Munson
