Jaspar’s Writing Gig

Selling stories on the freeway on-ramp

Jaspar’s life changed when he changed his gig. His original gig was selling oranges on the freeway on-ramp during rush hour. The vehicles entering the freeway at that time were always backed up. When drivers saw that box of bright orange oranges on its side and a man with an orange in each hand and a sign around his neck that read, Oranges $1, it was just too easy to stick a dollar bill out the car window and buy an orange.

On a good day Jaspar could make between twenty and thirty dollars in profits. That may not sound like much but it is more than what most writers make. Sure, he had to haul a heavy case of oranges to work each day but he only worked two to three hours each day. If it was a good day he went home with an empty case and around thirty bucks of profit in his pocket. That’s close to ten bucks an hour; more than what most fast-food workers make.

Jaspar lived in a shed over by the railroad tracks. He paid no rent. The owner of the shed let him live there in exchange for a couple of oranges each week and the promise that Jaspar would not reveal the living arrangement to the authorities.

Atop the shed Jaspar placed one lone solar panel which was wired to a battery inside the shed. While he was out selling oranges during the day the battery was filling up with electricity. In the evenings he would come home, light his kerosene lantern, and plug in his laptop. He would then write stories until the electricity ran out.

His dream was to some day get a small refrigerator and a camp stove. For the time being the laptop was more important. Although he was tired of having to go to the local YMCA to take showers, overall Jaspar was quite happy with his life.

But then disaster struck.

One day when Jaspar walked to the local produce distributor to pick up a case of oranges he was told that they were out of oranges and they were not expecting any more in for at least a couple of weeks. The clerk said something about a supply chain problem.

Jaspar fell into panic; into doom and gloom. He suddenly had no income.

Luckily, his good friend Ibrahim showed up at the shed that evening with a small bottle of tequila. The two men walked to a nearby park bench where they sat drinking tequila and smoking cigars. Jaspar poured his heart out to his friend, telling him how he had lost his income and how he would soon have no money for food or cigars.

Ibrahim was about to take the last swig of tequila from the bottle when he stopped himself and handed the bottle to Jaspar, “Here, you finish it. Listen dude, I’m really sorry about your dilemma but ya gotta stay positive. And there’s no need to fall into an abyss of depression. And you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because your good friend Ibrahim has a possible solution for ya. You’ve let me read some of your stories and I happen to think they’re pretty good. If printed out on standard 8.5 by 11 office paper most of them are what? Three, four, maybe five pages?”

“Yeah. Some of them are a little longer.”

“Well Jaspar, as you know I work in that office building over yonder. And I work in the copy room. All day long people from offices throughout the building are bringing me shit to make copies of. That’s all I do.”

Ibrahim reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object which he gave to Jaspar.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a memory stick. You can plug it into your laptop and download your stories onto it. Then you can bring the memory stick to me at work and, when no one is looking, I can make tons of copies of your stories. Then at home you can staple them together. You got a stapler, don’t ya?”

“Of course I have a stapler. I’m not a peasant.”

“Good. I can make a hundred copies of every story. You staple them together then go out to the on-ramp and sell your stories instead of oranges.”

“Seriously?”

“Hell yes, seriously. If people will pay a buck for an orange surely they will pay a buck for a story.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t. But how will you find out if it works or not if you don’t try? You can make two signs; one that reads, Stories $1, and one that reads, ‘New Story Every Day.’ That way people who buy a story and like it know they won’t be getting the same story the next day. Hell, you’ve got tons of stories on that laptop, don’t ya?”

“Yeah, I do. I just don’t know if it will work. Who the hell buys written stories when they are stuck in traffic? No one does that.”

Ibrahim slapped Jaspar on the shoulder, “Be the first! Be a pioneer. Push the envelope, dude. Don’t be a negative nellie. Dare to be different. Go where no writer has gone before. Believe in yourself, dude.”

The next day while Ibrahim was making copies Jaspar made the two signs. When he was done, Jaspar turned the ‘Stories $1’ sign over and wrote, ‘Stories $2’ on the other side just in case this cockamamie idea proved to be lucrative.

His first day selling stories on the freeway on-ramp he only sold four stories. He was not too upset, though, because he was convinced that he would not sell any. But he sold more with each passing day. He noticed that there were soon a lot of repeat drivers (customers).

After about six weeks he was selling a lot of stories. Soon he was averaging around fifty bucks a day — way, way, way, way, way more than what 90% of all writers make. Eventually he was able to buy another solar panel for his shed as well as a small dormitory-sized refrigerator. All he had to do was keep writing stories.

With his new gig Jaspar’s life was starting to look pretty good.

Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction.

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