N.D.A.

Pete was on what he liked to call an N.D.A. – Nostalgia-Driven Adventure. Every so often, when he had a free day, he would drive to a location that was near and dear to him, often an ordinary place that was a landmark of his childhood; maybe that bench where he had his first kiss, or that small section of woods where shoddy dirt jumps were constructed and small acts of arson were committed. These were now merely locations that only existed as places and times stored away in his memory, like a dusty old photo album in an attic waiting to be reopened. More often than not, these unassuming meccas of youth were in his hometown of Ward, about sixty miles from where he currently lives. Since it was a bit of a drive, Pete would make a day out of it, often looking forward to it for weeks and planning other events around it. When some people seek adventure, they may drive cross-country, perhaps travel abroad. They may return with a series of photographs outlining their experience, eager to spill tales of triumphant arrivals, laughable mishaps, and woeful departures. These options to Pete, however, were an expensive bore – he considered his form of adventure to be small yet significant. He preferred that those close to him remained unaware of his actual intentions during these trips, often citing the aforementioned ‘other’ events for the reason of taking a daytrip – N.D.A. was a concert, N.D.A. was visiting an old friend from college. Before, during, and after an N.D.A., Pete was secretive and studious about his activities.

On this particular N.D.A., he was indeed headed to Ward; to visit his first place of employment – Campbell’s Groceries. He had worked there for just about two years during high school and hadn’t been there in some time (he estimated four to six years). It was on his N.D.A. checklist for far too long, and was excited to be able to draw that big, satisfying line through Campbell’s Groceries on said checklist. He actually wasn’t even sure it would still be there – as he drove down the highway quickly approaching Ward, he thought how crushed he would be to get all the way there just to discover it crushed, maybe still a fresh, cloudy pile of rubble. Or a landfill. Or maybe a new, different, clearly inferior establishment in its place. Quite ironic, seeing as he probably would’ve enjoyed seeing its annihilation as a teenager, but it was now a very significant place to him for many obvious reasons. It was his first experience working with the public, the horrible, horrible public, pushing all those carts around the parking lot during the horrible, horrible winters, and his first promotion – from lot to cashier. Ah, and all those things teenage employees who don’t know any better do – flirting with female co-workers while counting the register totals, and all those short drawers that followed. Giving friends all those discounts on all that horrible, horrible sugar water. Campbell’s was also the bearer of Pete’s first firing – promotion, indeed. Other than leaving him with a deep-seeded paranoia of nosy camera eyes and a slight blemish on his employment records, the firing hadn’t really affected him long term. Shortly after graduating college some seven years later, he had landed a comfortable and financially rewarding position at a flourishing advertising agency. The agency was the type of place where once you got your foot in the door and passed through an unspoken grace period of about six months, getting fired was almost arduous. From age 17 to 32, he had gone from a content and clumsy cashier to a detached and prosperous businessman. Pete loved the idea that places he previously used to dread now filled him with elation, wonder and good old fashioned butterflies – not much affected him like that nowadays; and it emptied him of his faded and jaded cynicism.

After getting off of the exit for Ward, he started to head in the opposite direction from Campbell’s - this was intentional, all part of the plan. Though it was much more roundabout than heading straight there from the exit, he wanted to start the drive from his old house and travel the same route he used to back in the day. If Pete ever considered writing an autobiography, it would be called “Back in the Day”. Tactics like this one were commonplace during N.D.A.’s; predetermined strategies that allowed him to achieve a nearly pure old-school experience. Some examples of previous procedures were borderline obsessive, like the time he visited a baseball field from his childhood. It was there, where during 4th grade, he had his first taste of team sports, which was a great hobby to him until college. For this occasion, he insisted that he would find the same yellow and white uniform he wore that season, branded with the Ward Tigers logo, but in adult size - and wear it on his visit. After months of determined hunting, though it killed him inside to do it, he settled for a logo-less uniform of the same color combo that he found at a thrift store for $3.99. To try and make up for this tragic falsity, he also bought a pair of cleats and shin guards to go with it, and in a last ditch effort for authenticity, scrawled “Ward Tigers” across the shirt in black marker. As he drove that old sacred route, he again pined for exact precision, wishing he had brought his bike along, so he could enthusiastically pedal to Campbell’s like he used to, “the way it was meant to be done.” Eh…, he thought to himself. I’d probably pass out from exhaustion nowadays…I don’t have that kind of SPARK or ENERGY anymore…who stole the soul??... Even for the young and fit, the ride on a bike was quite strenuous – about five miles each way and hilly all over. If only you could buy youthful dexterity at a thrift store. As he coasted down the last incline now, at the bottom of which was his final destination, he opened his window just a little more, letting his left hand fight against the breeze, remembering how good that same breeze used to feel on his face while traveling without this boxy, fascist vessel of adulthood. He wanted to close his eyes and take it all in, but remembered he was driving.

He reached the bottom, and breathed a sigh of relief as he approached Campbell’s, thankfully still standing and seemingly unchanged, except for what looked to be a newly paved parking lot. With his heart racing and his stomach in a knot, he got out of his car and headed towards the store. He passed the same old bike rack where he had locked his bike up all those times, and grazed his hand against the top while walking past, getting a slight chill from the combination of cold metal and a nostalgic twinge. While inside the store, he mechanically walked each aisle. Every now and then, to not appear too robotic, he pretended to browse for items, as he was attempting to remain incognito as just another average shopper – tricky to accomplish with no cart, basket, or list. He carefully observed his surroundings - though he felt that they were still very familiar to him, that he had ‘seen it all before’. One new frame of mind he couldn’t shake was that he couldn’t help but analyze all of the advertisements around him - every item in the store was essentially an ad, no matter how plain or subtle. As he pseudo-browsed, he judged various labels, boxes, and designs, weighing their strengths and weaknesses, picking them apart until there was nothing left. This irked him greatly as he felt work had no right to interfere with an N.D.A. He realized he was losing this moment, stuck in a swirl of slogans, and made it his way out of the aisles and towards the front end, where a number of cashiers were stocking batteries and dusting shelves. Busywork.  He had no interest in hunting down any old co-workers that still might be toiling away their days here, though as he approached the registers he did recognize two people he had worked with all those years ago – still bagboys, fifteen years later, he thought, though in a way he envied them.

He decided to become an actual customer and make a purchase, which consisted of a Snickers bar and a lemonade, his default snack choice while he was employed there. He worried that he may not be able to stomach this sort of food nowadays, as he was currently weaned on protein-injected granola and Caesar salads. After getting through the transaction ‘undiscovered’, he exited the store. He sat on a waist-high ledge right outside the door, his old favorite spot for taking breaks, his official stomping grounds. He opened a fresh pack of smokes, which he had bought specifically for this moment, and lit one up. For the next ten minutes at least, Pete was not a 32-year old ad man with a penchant for the past – he was a 17-year old cashier on break, indifferent towards any time except the present. Though full-on accuracy was not achieved (it never is), this is what he considered the sum of all parts; his journey had culminated – the route, the full store walkthrough, the snacks, the ledge, the cigarette. For Pete, this was as close as it got to time traveling.