Ian shook his head. Using more ointment had to be about the last thing he needed. Sticking the jars into a plastic bag, he grabbed his wallet and keys and headed into the building's parking lot. Driving would save time.
Walking up to his car, Ian found himself growing nervous. What if someone saw him? He wasn't old enough to drive...
Shaking his head he corrected the thought: He didn't LOOK old enough to drive! He was more than thirty years older than he appeared!
Opening the door, he got in and tossed the bag with the jars onto the passenger seat and reached for the seat belt. He noticed how far away the steering wheel and dashboard were.
With difficulty he moved the seat forward-- he'd had the car God knew how many years now, and had only adjusted the seat shortly after buying the vehicle. He then fumbled the key into the ignition (somehow the process didn't seem to come naturally to him) and then started the car. Or, rather, tried to. The key didn't seem to turn. Huh?
He stared at the key a moment, then tried again. It still wouldn't turn. What was wrong?
"C'mon! I know you work!" he yelled at the (unresponsive) steering wheel. Finally he happened to grab the wheel, turning it part way, while twisting the key. The car started.
'What the ----?' he wondered. Did cars work like that? You turned the wheel and twisted the key? Or did they only sometimes work like that? Or what?
He had the car running, what next? Ian hesitated. Tentatively, he reached for the gear shift and, with difficulty, set the car to reverse. It lurched backward and, panicked, he twisted around to try to see behind him. He saw the pickup truck on the other side of the lot coming up fast, and slammed on the brake, the car rocking as it stopped. Wow!
'What the heck's wrong with me?' Ian wondered, slowly turning around to face the dash. Everything in front of him seemed unfamiliar. And intimidating. As if he'd never actually operated a car before.... Ian felt overwhelmed.
"SHIT!" he swore, with dawning realization. He didn't know how to drive! Not anymore. He knew how to drive yesterday, but not now. Had he forgotten anything else? It didn't feel like it... Then again, he'd thought he still knew how to drive.
Slowly, very slowly, he eased the automobile back into Drive and gradually moved it back into the parking stall, where he carefully put it into Park and shut off the engine. His face felt hot, and Ian felt scared.
Okay, there was more than one way to get back to the shop.
Returning to his apartment Ian went up to his bicycle. It looked too big for him. Experimentally, he tried to get onto it, and found that he couldn't reach the peddles from the seat.
'I've got to be under five feet tall!' Ian realized. 'This sucks!'
Well, there always was the bus.
It seemed as if he stood at the stop forever. Ian wasn't even certain if this bus would get him to the street the Ointment Shop was on, or if he'd have to transfer, or what.
"Shouldn't you be in school?" the bus driver asked, interrupting Ian's thoughts.
"I got the day off," Ian answered, trying to sound confident, but sounding nervous instead. After all, the driver was an adult and... Ian swiped his card instead of completing the thought.
"That's a university employee pass!" the bus driver growled. "Give me that! There's no way you are a university employee!"
The driver snatched the pass out of Ian's hand. Ian stared in shock.
"Also, you can't ride the bus without shoes," continued the driver. "Go back home and get some shoes, and some cash."
Ian opened his mouth to protest, but the driver looked away from him and Ian realized he didn't know what to say. Humiliated, he got back off the bus and walked dejectedly back to his apartment.
Shit. He'd either have to walk or adjust his bicycle.
Digging up a wrench, Ian tried to loosen the seat. The bolt wouldn't budge.
"Turn, damn it!" he growled through clenched teeth. "I just adjusted you the other week!"
It felt as if the bolt were welded in place. Panting, Ian stared at the bolt. He HAD to get it to turn!
Ian got out a hammer and tried hitting the end of the wrench with it, succeeding in messing up the finish on the wrench, and the bolt barely moving. Frustrated, Ian tossed the hammer across the room, denting the wall just before the hammer disappeared behind his futon/sofa.
"----!" he tried to swear, with his voice cracking and going scratchy before he could get a sound out.
Looking around, Ian spied a spare seat post he'd found (with seat attached) by one of the bike racks at work. The post was the wrong size for his bike, but the saddle, in better shape than his old one, had fit on his current seat post. Ian had swapped the seat, then never got around to throwing out the seat post. An idea occurred to him.
Slipping one end of the seat post over the end of the wrench, he put all of his (well under 100 pound) weight on the other. Slowly, very slowly the bolt turned.
"YES!" Ian shouted as the bolt suddenly came loose. With a few more turns, the saddle dropped all the way down. Ian tightened the bolt as best he could at the current, lowest, setting. Now he could, barely, peddle the bike while on the seat, even if it was with his toes when the peddle was at its lowest point.
Somewhere, Ian heard his watch beep. It'd fallen off his wrist without his even noticing.
Entering his bedroom, Ian found the watch amongst his bedding. If he tightened the Velcro all the way, the band barely stayed on his wrist. Looking at the watch he saw it was 8:00AM. He was a half hour late for work. Then he noticed that the day was Thursday.
THURSDAY?! He'd stopped at the shop Monday afternoon! He'd slept for TWO DAYS?!
Ian sat down on the floor, back to his bed, trying to get his mind around the idea. How many days did you have to miss work without calling in before they fired you? No wondered he'd been so hungry.
Somehow it seemed less urgent to get back to the shop. Still important, just less urgent. After all, he was probably already unemployed.
His (last?) paycheck had been automatically deposited, so he could get some clothes which fit. That way he'd look less goofy went he confronted the old shopkeeper...
Ian tried to sort out his priorities.