I was having a really bad day on Mother's Day this year. I had been stopped by a cop because the car I was driving resembled one they were searching for. My boss Riff had been extra-specially abusive to me on the phone that morning. I was about to deliver to a rude customer, who sounded as if they were going to be a challenge at minimum. I needed to hear a friendly voice, but had called Karen and Lisa and could not reach either one of them. Also called some other friends, but no luck.
The root of my feeling down probably had to do with the loss of my Mom. She and my brother died ten years ago while driving when a very drunk driver slammed into them. I still think that I'm not over it, and don't know if I ever will be.
I decided to cheer myself up by finding a place to eat here in Topeka, KS. There was a chicken place that looked similar to Boston Market, so I drove in and parked. I walked in and saw some people lingering a little bit away from the counter. It was an older man and two kids, and they seemed to be in no hurry. I slowly stepped around them and walked up to the counter.
Halfway through giving my order, I heard, "Hey. Hey you!" I turned to see it was the man with two kids, and he looked really pissed.
I smiled and nodded. "I'll be done in about five seconds, then its your turn."
"It's my turn right now, and you're taking it."
"I am?"
"You are, and you know you are you mofo."
"Did I cut in line in front of you? I sure didn't mean to."
"Shoulda, woulda, coulda... you are a line jumper, and you need to be punished."
I felt badly. "Why don't you go ahead and order for your family, and I'll finish up after you're done."
He looked at the kids. "Who says this is my family?"
"Well I... forgive me, I assumed."
"Yeah, you assumed, and you keep right on offending me, you mother."
I held up my hands. "This is a misunderstanding. Go ahead and order, please. I certainly didn't mean any harm."
"But harm you caused. The damage is done, letting me cut in front of you won't fix it. Besides, I ain't a line jumper like you."
"I am truly, genuinely, sincerely sorry, and I hope you can accept my apology. In the spirit of Mother's Day and goodwill?"
"Oh damn, just like you mentioning Mother's Day when my children lost their Mother. How do you feel about that?"
I looked at him gravely. "I lost my Mom, too."
"You think I care about that you motherducker?"
I scratched my head. "Did you just say motherducker?"
"You know I did. And you know what I meant by it. Just trying to protect the virgin ears of my children."
There was nothing more I could say. Continued attempts at conversation were only making things worse. So I cut my losses and went to the car, guessing I'd find another place to eat just down the road a piece. I was feeling low, and didn't need this man and his attitude to bring me down further. But I did say a little prayer for him as I drove away.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
RUSTY SCREW LOOSE
As I drove into Memphis last week, I was talking on my cell phone to my boss Riff. "Glad to hear you're alive and well."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he barked at me.
"My fellow driver Andy told me you were dead and buried."
"Bullshit."
"No, really."
"You must have a screw loose, Andy would never say something like that. He's much too respectable to lie."
"It was his idea of an April Fool's joke."
Riff chuckled. "Oh, that little scamp. He's just up to some boyish mischief."
"If you say so."
"Well I do say so, dammit! Now when are you going to do your job and deliver that Chevy Malibu to Memphis?"
"I should be there in 20 minutes."
"Move your fat, stupid ass. And one more thing-- " I hung up on him, because I knew from experience that the one more thing would be hateful and negative.
When I drove into the driveway of the customer, she came out of the garage looking forlorn and shook her head. "No! No way! Oh dear God, no!"
"Hello Mrs. Carmichael, this is your new company car."
"This is terrible, I don't want this car."
"You don't?" I asked. "Why not?"
"Isn't it obvious? There are scratches all over it. Here. And here. And over here." I watched as she pointed to the car, and if you looked real closely you could see some very minor tiny scratches. Extremely hard to notice unless you were looking. "I do not want this car, and you can't make me take it."
"What do you want?"
"My old car, which I love."
"I'm supposed to swap you and take your old company car."
"Yes I know, you bastard. That's been your plan all along." She was getting very emotional.
"My plan?"
"You know how to hurt me, don't you? Taking a car I've been perfectly happy with and substituting it with a far inferior model."
"It's newer and has less miles on it."
"Just shut up! Hush your mouth and mind your manners. I'm going to get my things out of my older, better car." She walked away in a huff, and began to pull things out of the other car. I began to write up a condition report on her old car, and noticed that she pulled out the registration and insurance cards.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Carmichael, but I'm going to need to keep those with the car."
She looked grief stricken. "No, please, I beg of you. Let me keep some small memento."
I shook my head. "I'm afraid I must insist."
She turned ugly. "Oh shut up, you don't have to insist on anything, you're just enjoying my predicament. You are a sadist!" She really looked like she was about to cry, and ran over to the new car I had brought her. "Oh my God! Please get over here right now!"
I ambled over. "What's the problem?"
She pointed to the license plate. "How am I supposed to live with this?"
"With what?"
"Look at this license plate, then look at the one on my old car. Tell me what the difference is."
I looked at both of them. "The numbers and letters are different. The expiration dates are different."
She hauled off and slapped me across the face. "I've had just about enough of your impudence and smart assery! How dare you mock me."
I rubbed my face, which felt hot and was no doubt reddened. "What did I do?"
"The difference is the screws holding the plate. The ones on the car you brought me are rusted! How am I supposed to drive this car in this condition." At that point, the woman burst into tears and looked like she was going to collapse. "No, no, no! I can't take it. You must remove the screws from my old car and put them on the plates of this car."
I nodded. "Sure thing, if that will make you happy."
"Nothing will make me happy at this point, you just shut up and do as you're told."
As I was switching screws, I noticed that her husband came out of the house with a cocktail in his hand. "How's it going?" he asked me.
"Don't talk to the hired help, Herbert. He brought me a horrible, inferior car."
"It looks OK to me."
"That's because you know nothing."
"Honey, it's just a company car."
Her eyes burned with rage, and she shouted "You shut your mouth and get back in the house right now!" Herbert held up his hands in surrender and went back inside.
As I was putting the plates back, I noticed the woman changing the plates. "Pardon me ma'am, but the plates have to stick with the car they belong to."
"But, no, I want to keep my old plate."
"I'm afraid that won't work."
"Please? I'm begging you. Just a little memento, a souvenier of better times?"
"Sorry."
I finished the job and got her to sign the paper work, which she was very slow to do. I got into the old car I was supposed to take, and hit the eject button the CD player as I always do. Some people forget their CDs.
I said, "Have a nice day, enjoy your new car."
"Go to hell," she spat at me.
My friend Lisa called, and I started to tell her what had just happened. Lisa tends to be very protective of me, and she was furious. "You should have called the cops. That woman assaulted you."
"She was emotional about her old car."
"She had a few screws loose, but that's no excuse. I wish I had been there." While we were talking, I kept getting a call waiting intrusion. The number was Mrs. Carmichael. I ignored it at first and kept on talking to Lisa, but after the fifth time I told Lisa I would call back.
"Hello," I answered.
"You filthy piece of trash, why didn't you answer the phone?"
"I was on another call."
"When I call you, you hang up on the other person. I am your priority."
"How can I help you, Mrs. Carmichael?"
"By getting back here and returning the CDs you stole from me. And I mean right now."
"CDs?" I asked, as I pushed the eject button on the stereo again. "The CD player is empty."
"Now you know very well that the two CDs I'm looking for are under the driver's seat. Don't try to play innocent with me, you disgusting pig."
"Tell you what, I will mail them back to you."
"No, what you will do is turn the car around and get back here right now before I call the police and report you for grand larceny!"
"I'll mail them to you today." And I hung up. Then I wondered how long I should keep my eyes on the rear view mirror in case the police came after me.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he barked at me.
"My fellow driver Andy told me you were dead and buried."
"Bullshit."
"No, really."
"You must have a screw loose, Andy would never say something like that. He's much too respectable to lie."
"It was his idea of an April Fool's joke."
Riff chuckled. "Oh, that little scamp. He's just up to some boyish mischief."
"If you say so."
"Well I do say so, dammit! Now when are you going to do your job and deliver that Chevy Malibu to Memphis?"
"I should be there in 20 minutes."
"Move your fat, stupid ass. And one more thing-- " I hung up on him, because I knew from experience that the one more thing would be hateful and negative.
When I drove into the driveway of the customer, she came out of the garage looking forlorn and shook her head. "No! No way! Oh dear God, no!"
"Hello Mrs. Carmichael, this is your new company car."
"This is terrible, I don't want this car."
"You don't?" I asked. "Why not?"
"Isn't it obvious? There are scratches all over it. Here. And here. And over here." I watched as she pointed to the car, and if you looked real closely you could see some very minor tiny scratches. Extremely hard to notice unless you were looking. "I do not want this car, and you can't make me take it."
"What do you want?"
"My old car, which I love."
"I'm supposed to swap you and take your old company car."
"Yes I know, you bastard. That's been your plan all along." She was getting very emotional.
"My plan?"
"You know how to hurt me, don't you? Taking a car I've been perfectly happy with and substituting it with a far inferior model."
"It's newer and has less miles on it."
"Just shut up! Hush your mouth and mind your manners. I'm going to get my things out of my older, better car." She walked away in a huff, and began to pull things out of the other car. I began to write up a condition report on her old car, and noticed that she pulled out the registration and insurance cards.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Carmichael, but I'm going to need to keep those with the car."
She looked grief stricken. "No, please, I beg of you. Let me keep some small memento."
I shook my head. "I'm afraid I must insist."
She turned ugly. "Oh shut up, you don't have to insist on anything, you're just enjoying my predicament. You are a sadist!" She really looked like she was about to cry, and ran over to the new car I had brought her. "Oh my God! Please get over here right now!"
I ambled over. "What's the problem?"
She pointed to the license plate. "How am I supposed to live with this?"
"With what?"
"Look at this license plate, then look at the one on my old car. Tell me what the difference is."
I looked at both of them. "The numbers and letters are different. The expiration dates are different."
She hauled off and slapped me across the face. "I've had just about enough of your impudence and smart assery! How dare you mock me."
I rubbed my face, which felt hot and was no doubt reddened. "What did I do?"
"The difference is the screws holding the plate. The ones on the car you brought me are rusted! How am I supposed to drive this car in this condition." At that point, the woman burst into tears and looked like she was going to collapse. "No, no, no! I can't take it. You must remove the screws from my old car and put them on the plates of this car."
I nodded. "Sure thing, if that will make you happy."
"Nothing will make me happy at this point, you just shut up and do as you're told."
As I was switching screws, I noticed that her husband came out of the house with a cocktail in his hand. "How's it going?" he asked me.
"Don't talk to the hired help, Herbert. He brought me a horrible, inferior car."
"It looks OK to me."
"That's because you know nothing."
"Honey, it's just a company car."
Her eyes burned with rage, and she shouted "You shut your mouth and get back in the house right now!" Herbert held up his hands in surrender and went back inside.
As I was putting the plates back, I noticed the woman changing the plates. "Pardon me ma'am, but the plates have to stick with the car they belong to."
"But, no, I want to keep my old plate."
"I'm afraid that won't work."
"Please? I'm begging you. Just a little memento, a souvenier of better times?"
"Sorry."
I finished the job and got her to sign the paper work, which she was very slow to do. I got into the old car I was supposed to take, and hit the eject button the CD player as I always do. Some people forget their CDs.
I said, "Have a nice day, enjoy your new car."
"Go to hell," she spat at me.
My friend Lisa called, and I started to tell her what had just happened. Lisa tends to be very protective of me, and she was furious. "You should have called the cops. That woman assaulted you."
"She was emotional about her old car."
"She had a few screws loose, but that's no excuse. I wish I had been there." While we were talking, I kept getting a call waiting intrusion. The number was Mrs. Carmichael. I ignored it at first and kept on talking to Lisa, but after the fifth time I told Lisa I would call back.
"Hello," I answered.
"You filthy piece of trash, why didn't you answer the phone?"
"I was on another call."
"When I call you, you hang up on the other person. I am your priority."
"How can I help you, Mrs. Carmichael?"
"By getting back here and returning the CDs you stole from me. And I mean right now."
"CDs?" I asked, as I pushed the eject button on the stereo again. "The CD player is empty."
"Now you know very well that the two CDs I'm looking for are under the driver's seat. Don't try to play innocent with me, you disgusting pig."
"Tell you what, I will mail them back to you."
"No, what you will do is turn the car around and get back here right now before I call the police and report you for grand larceny!"
"I'll mail them to you today." And I hung up. Then I wondered how long I should keep my eyes on the rear view mirror in case the police came after me.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
APRIL FOOLISH
March was a memory, and April had just begun as I was driving through busy traffic on the outskirts of Houston, Texas. My cell phone rang, and I didn't recognize the number. But you never know, so I answered. "This is Bill."
"Hello, you dirty mofo." It was Andy, the crazy driver who worked for my company. I saved his life about six months ago, and had not seen him since.
"Hello, Andy. What can I do for you?"
"I called you with some news. Riff is dead."
"What?"
"Riff, our boss, he had cancer and it killed him."
"Cancer..." I was flummoxed. "I didn't even know he was sick."
"That's because he didn't tell you. He's been sick for a very long time."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. So I guess that means the company will shut down and you'll be out of a job. Chew on that a while and tell me how it tastes."
I shook my head. A Porsche swerved into my lane in front of me and slammed on the brakes. "Crap!" I yelled.
"Is that all you can say?" asked Andy. "A man has died."
"No, I was... Never mind. When did this happen?"
"Is that all you care about? Get your priorities straight. You are about to be without a job. Cold and hungry and out in the streets with no car to hide away in."
"What are you talking about?"
"Listen to me, fat boy-- I am still in rehab from the car accident. The Doctor told me that you probably saved my life. So you probably think I owe you some kind of life debt."
"No, not really."
"Let me tell you something, I don't believe you saved me. If anything, you caused my accident."
A Mercedes came up behind me very fast, then began riding on my bumper. It flashed its lights at me so I'd move out of its way, but traffic was so thick on either side of me that there was no place to move. "How do you figure I caused your car to wreck."
"I think you know."
"I do not know."
"Oh, you know."
"Andy, I have no idea what you're talking about. You were driving that truck pulling a trailer like a madman. You had been drinking and were smoking a joint at the time when you flipped over. I think that you have to --"
Andy quickly interrupted me. "April Fools! Ha, I got you! Boy don't you feel stupid."
"What?"
"Riff isn't dead you stupid ass. I just wanted to yank your chain. Consider yourself yanked. You been punked."
I sighed. "That doesn't seem like something to joke about."
"That's because you got no sense of humor."
"So Riff dying, the company closing, me being out of a job, and me being responsible for your wreck were all just a prank?"
"All except for that last thing. I do hold you liable for my nearly dying, and I will get my revenge. You will never see me coming. April Fools to you, you dumb idiot." Andy hung up.
Traffic got worse as I continued to drive. I pondered allowing Andy to get one over on me. Guess there's no fool like a driving fool... except for an April Driving Fool!
"Hello, you dirty mofo." It was Andy, the crazy driver who worked for my company. I saved his life about six months ago, and had not seen him since.
"Hello, Andy. What can I do for you?"
"I called you with some news. Riff is dead."
"What?"
"Riff, our boss, he had cancer and it killed him."
"Cancer..." I was flummoxed. "I didn't even know he was sick."
"That's because he didn't tell you. He's been sick for a very long time."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. So I guess that means the company will shut down and you'll be out of a job. Chew on that a while and tell me how it tastes."
I shook my head. A Porsche swerved into my lane in front of me and slammed on the brakes. "Crap!" I yelled.
"Is that all you can say?" asked Andy. "A man has died."
"No, I was... Never mind. When did this happen?"
"Is that all you care about? Get your priorities straight. You are about to be without a job. Cold and hungry and out in the streets with no car to hide away in."
"What are you talking about?"
"Listen to me, fat boy-- I am still in rehab from the car accident. The Doctor told me that you probably saved my life. So you probably think I owe you some kind of life debt."
"No, not really."
"Let me tell you something, I don't believe you saved me. If anything, you caused my accident."
A Mercedes came up behind me very fast, then began riding on my bumper. It flashed its lights at me so I'd move out of its way, but traffic was so thick on either side of me that there was no place to move. "How do you figure I caused your car to wreck."
"I think you know."
"I do not know."
"Oh, you know."
"Andy, I have no idea what you're talking about. You were driving that truck pulling a trailer like a madman. You had been drinking and were smoking a joint at the time when you flipped over. I think that you have to --"
Andy quickly interrupted me. "April Fools! Ha, I got you! Boy don't you feel stupid."
"What?"
"Riff isn't dead you stupid ass. I just wanted to yank your chain. Consider yourself yanked. You been punked."
I sighed. "That doesn't seem like something to joke about."
"That's because you got no sense of humor."
"So Riff dying, the company closing, me being out of a job, and me being responsible for your wreck were all just a prank?"
"All except for that last thing. I do hold you liable for my nearly dying, and I will get my revenge. You will never see me coming. April Fools to you, you dumb idiot." Andy hung up.
Traffic got worse as I continued to drive. I pondered allowing Andy to get one over on me. Guess there's no fool like a driving fool... except for an April Driving Fool!
Sunday, March 31, 2013
THE EASTER (WHEN) BUNNY DIED
Easter morning 2013. I was driving across North Carolina when my cell phone rang. It was my buddy Ed up in New Jersey, who I had not seen for over a year. Last time I was there he said I could not stay at his house anymore... at least for the time being. I had been too often, his wife was tired of me, I snore too loudly, etc., etc.
"Ed," I answered cheerfully. "Happy Easter to you. Is Peter Cottontail hopping down your bunny trail."
I heard deep, sorrowful moaning and then crying on the other end of the phone. "How could you say something like that to me? Oh my God! What am I going to do?"
"Ed, is everything OK?"
"No, definitely not OK. The Artful Dodger is dead."
"No surprise considering how long ago Oliver Twist was written."
"Bill, I'm talking about our pet bunny rabbit. You know, the Artful Dodger!"
"Oh, was that the name of your rabbit? He was always hiding when I came over."
"He was the house rabbit. The house bunny. And we loved him so." Ed was slurring his words.
"Ed, have you been drinking?"
"Indeedy I have, and all night long. The Artful Dodger is dead! You hear what I'm telling you? Deceased. Pushing up daisies. Breathing dirt. Stiff as a board. You get it?"
"Yes, a dead bunny."
"Dead as a freakin' doornail. Gone, goodbye, rest in peace." Ed let out a long, loud whistle. "Right up to bunny heaven. I'm drunk, or rather, I am drinking because I don't want to think about what Diane will say."
"She doesn't know yet?" I asked.
"She and the kids are in Oregon visiting her folks. She is gonna kill me when she finds out I let him die."
"What exactly happened?"
"Someone gave him a poisoned carrot."
"Seriously?"
There was a long pause. Then Ed said, "I really have no idea, I was just jumping at the most irrational explanation possible. You follow?"
"Not really."
"Bill, what the hell am I going to do? The Artful Dodger died!"
I tried to take a motivational tone. "You move on with your life. You pull yourself up by your bootstraps and you go forward. You splash some cold water on your face and look in the mirror and say Yes I Can!"
Ed whimpered on the other end of the line. "But my bunny rabbit is dead. The Artful Dodger is gone forever."
"You really do miss him, don't you?"
"Yes, but the real crap is that Diane is going to call me a murderer. A bunny killer! She'll never forgive me in a million years. The Artful Dodger died on my watch!"
I kept on talking to Ed til my cell phone battery ran out. By the end of our conversation, he was starting to get sleepy anyhow.
So my take is that one bunny rabbit died last night in New Jersey. And another rabbit rose early this morning to deliver Easter eggs to children worldwide. You can't keep a good bunny down.
"Ed," I answered cheerfully. "Happy Easter to you. Is Peter Cottontail hopping down your bunny trail."
I heard deep, sorrowful moaning and then crying on the other end of the phone. "How could you say something like that to me? Oh my God! What am I going to do?"
"Ed, is everything OK?"
"No, definitely not OK. The Artful Dodger is dead."
"No surprise considering how long ago Oliver Twist was written."
"Bill, I'm talking about our pet bunny rabbit. You know, the Artful Dodger!"
"Oh, was that the name of your rabbit? He was always hiding when I came over."
"He was the house rabbit. The house bunny. And we loved him so." Ed was slurring his words.
"Ed, have you been drinking?"
"Indeedy I have, and all night long. The Artful Dodger is dead! You hear what I'm telling you? Deceased. Pushing up daisies. Breathing dirt. Stiff as a board. You get it?"
"Yes, a dead bunny."
"Dead as a freakin' doornail. Gone, goodbye, rest in peace." Ed let out a long, loud whistle. "Right up to bunny heaven. I'm drunk, or rather, I am drinking because I don't want to think about what Diane will say."
"She doesn't know yet?" I asked.
"She and the kids are in Oregon visiting her folks. She is gonna kill me when she finds out I let him die."
"What exactly happened?"
"Someone gave him a poisoned carrot."
"Seriously?"
There was a long pause. Then Ed said, "I really have no idea, I was just jumping at the most irrational explanation possible. You follow?"
"Not really."
"Bill, what the hell am I going to do? The Artful Dodger died!"
I tried to take a motivational tone. "You move on with your life. You pull yourself up by your bootstraps and you go forward. You splash some cold water on your face and look in the mirror and say Yes I Can!"
Ed whimpered on the other end of the line. "But my bunny rabbit is dead. The Artful Dodger is gone forever."
"You really do miss him, don't you?"
"Yes, but the real crap is that Diane is going to call me a murderer. A bunny killer! She'll never forgive me in a million years. The Artful Dodger died on my watch!"
I kept on talking to Ed til my cell phone battery ran out. By the end of our conversation, he was starting to get sleepy anyhow.
So my take is that one bunny rabbit died last night in New Jersey. And another rabbit rose early this morning to deliver Easter eggs to children worldwide. You can't keep a good bunny down.
Monday, March 25, 2013
DEADLY STORM AND SANDWICHES
"Mrs. Sherman, I really can't talk to you right now," I said urgently into my cell phone.
"Was it something I said?" she asked, her voice sounding hurt through the phone. She is my favorite driving customer, but she calls me frequently and this was very bad timing.
"No ma'am, always happy to talk to you, glad when you call me. But I'm driving in some pretty hazardous conditions, so I need both hands on the wheel."
"Oh Bill, you should never call me on your cell phone, especially not when driving in poor road conditions."
I paused. She had called me, as usual. "Talk to you soon, Mrs. Sherman." I hung up and dropped my phone in my lap. I was driving through Massachusetts on my way to New Hampshire to deliver a car. It was a tiny car, the first SMART car I had ever driven. But this one had two scooters attached to the back of it, the kind of motorized carts that elderly people ride around on. The scooters were rather precariously attached by a trailer hitch that was little more than an aluminum tray, and they wobbled like crazy.
The worst thing was the weather I was dealing with. Here it is near the end of March, and I thought all the bad winter weather was over with. But the storm I was driving through now was by far the most terrible weather I had ever had the displeasure to drive through in my life. It made the drive I made in Ohio back in January seem like a day in the park, a comparatively simple task. There was at least four feet of snow on the ground, the roads were iced over, the snow was coming down like a blizzard, and the winds were blowing 70 mph. Each time a good gust hit the car, it would begin to slip and slide on the ice. And the two heavy scooters on back made the tiny vehicle I was driving extremely unstable.
My cell phone rang again, and I looked down to identify the number calling. It was the lady I was going to see, Mrs. O'Halloran. She had been calling me once an hour ever since I left New Orleans, asking where I was and when I'd get there. I was less than an hour from her house, and I was not going to pick up the phone again for anything.
It was just over an hour later when I pulled into her driveway. She came out of the garage, pointing her finger at me and speaking in a scolding voice. She had a lot of spunk for an old woman. "Where have you been? Why didn't you answer my phone call?"
"Hello, Mrs. O'Halloran. I was driving in some seriously bad weather, and felt it would be unsafe to talk on the phone. But I'm here, and your car is here, all safe and sound."
"Well." She let out a sigh. "Well, OK, you're right. The car is here, that's the important thing. But where is the tarp I had covering the scooters?"
"I don't think you had it tied down very well. It blew off about 100 miles ago."
"Oh, that's a shame. Well, come on in the house for a cup of coffee."
"No thanks, I just need you to sign the paperwork here."
She stared at me long and hard. "I asked you to come into my kitchen for a cup of coffee."
"I really do appreciate the offer, but I have to get moving to catch my bus to the airport."
She put her hands on her hips, looking disgusted. "Listen to me, if you want me to sign your paperwork then you will come in and be gracious enough to accept a cup of coffee. Otherwise, I'm not signing anything."
I had no choice at this point but to follow her inside. No customer signature, no paycheck for me. The fact is that coffee can sometimes play fast and loose with my stomach, so I was trying to think of a way out of it. "Mrs. O'Halloran, I wonder if I might just have a glass of water. I've had so much coffee today that I'm feeling a bit wired."
"Sure, sure, I can get you water. And help yourself to a finger sandwich." She dropped three large freezer bags on the kitchen table in front of me, then went about getting me a glass of water. I looked at the three bags, each one packed full of small sandwiches cut into rectangles. She stepped back over to me and handed me the glass of water, then pointed to each bag. "This one is roast beef, these are seafood salad, and the last one is... well, let me see... oh yes, watercress and cucumber."
"That's a lot of sandwiches."
"I got them at the funeral today."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear."
"Hear what?" she asked.
"About your loss. Was it a friend or family member?"
She smiled. "None of the above. There are a lot of old folks around here and they die pretty regularly, at least one per week I'd say. I go to all of their funerals and load up on food. Just take some storage bags in my purse and fill them up, then I don't have to cook all week."
I nodded. "I'd say that's pretty frugal."
"Eat, eat."
I reached into the bag with roast beef sandwiches and took one. It was very dry. "Delicious."
"Yes, isn't it? Now I want you to know, I have no intention of driving you to the bus station."
"No problem, I ordered a taxi."
"I'm putting my foot down here, I will not take you. Is that understood?" I heard a honk outside and jumped up.
"Not necessary. If you could just sign here?"
She signed the paperwork, and I gave her a copy. "So you're just going to eat and run?"
"Afraid so. Have a great day, and thanks for the sandwich."
"I can't spare any food for you to take to go."
"Not a problem. Have a good day." I walked back out to the snow and to the waiting taxi. I hoped the driver of the taxi, and then the bus driver, and then the plane pilot, would all be more secure driving in this mess than I had been. Guess I'm just a driving fool not built for bad weather driving.
"Was it something I said?" she asked, her voice sounding hurt through the phone. She is my favorite driving customer, but she calls me frequently and this was very bad timing.
"No ma'am, always happy to talk to you, glad when you call me. But I'm driving in some pretty hazardous conditions, so I need both hands on the wheel."
"Oh Bill, you should never call me on your cell phone, especially not when driving in poor road conditions."
I paused. She had called me, as usual. "Talk to you soon, Mrs. Sherman." I hung up and dropped my phone in my lap. I was driving through Massachusetts on my way to New Hampshire to deliver a car. It was a tiny car, the first SMART car I had ever driven. But this one had two scooters attached to the back of it, the kind of motorized carts that elderly people ride around on. The scooters were rather precariously attached by a trailer hitch that was little more than an aluminum tray, and they wobbled like crazy.
The worst thing was the weather I was dealing with. Here it is near the end of March, and I thought all the bad winter weather was over with. But the storm I was driving through now was by far the most terrible weather I had ever had the displeasure to drive through in my life. It made the drive I made in Ohio back in January seem like a day in the park, a comparatively simple task. There was at least four feet of snow on the ground, the roads were iced over, the snow was coming down like a blizzard, and the winds were blowing 70 mph. Each time a good gust hit the car, it would begin to slip and slide on the ice. And the two heavy scooters on back made the tiny vehicle I was driving extremely unstable.
My cell phone rang again, and I looked down to identify the number calling. It was the lady I was going to see, Mrs. O'Halloran. She had been calling me once an hour ever since I left New Orleans, asking where I was and when I'd get there. I was less than an hour from her house, and I was not going to pick up the phone again for anything.
It was just over an hour later when I pulled into her driveway. She came out of the garage, pointing her finger at me and speaking in a scolding voice. She had a lot of spunk for an old woman. "Where have you been? Why didn't you answer my phone call?"
"Hello, Mrs. O'Halloran. I was driving in some seriously bad weather, and felt it would be unsafe to talk on the phone. But I'm here, and your car is here, all safe and sound."
"Well." She let out a sigh. "Well, OK, you're right. The car is here, that's the important thing. But where is the tarp I had covering the scooters?"
"I don't think you had it tied down very well. It blew off about 100 miles ago."
"Oh, that's a shame. Well, come on in the house for a cup of coffee."
"No thanks, I just need you to sign the paperwork here."
She stared at me long and hard. "I asked you to come into my kitchen for a cup of coffee."
"I really do appreciate the offer, but I have to get moving to catch my bus to the airport."
She put her hands on her hips, looking disgusted. "Listen to me, if you want me to sign your paperwork then you will come in and be gracious enough to accept a cup of coffee. Otherwise, I'm not signing anything."
I had no choice at this point but to follow her inside. No customer signature, no paycheck for me. The fact is that coffee can sometimes play fast and loose with my stomach, so I was trying to think of a way out of it. "Mrs. O'Halloran, I wonder if I might just have a glass of water. I've had so much coffee today that I'm feeling a bit wired."
"Sure, sure, I can get you water. And help yourself to a finger sandwich." She dropped three large freezer bags on the kitchen table in front of me, then went about getting me a glass of water. I looked at the three bags, each one packed full of small sandwiches cut into rectangles. She stepped back over to me and handed me the glass of water, then pointed to each bag. "This one is roast beef, these are seafood salad, and the last one is... well, let me see... oh yes, watercress and cucumber."
"That's a lot of sandwiches."
"I got them at the funeral today."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear."
"Hear what?" she asked.
"About your loss. Was it a friend or family member?"
She smiled. "None of the above. There are a lot of old folks around here and they die pretty regularly, at least one per week I'd say. I go to all of their funerals and load up on food. Just take some storage bags in my purse and fill them up, then I don't have to cook all week."
I nodded. "I'd say that's pretty frugal."
"Eat, eat."
I reached into the bag with roast beef sandwiches and took one. It was very dry. "Delicious."
"Yes, isn't it? Now I want you to know, I have no intention of driving you to the bus station."
"No problem, I ordered a taxi."
"I'm putting my foot down here, I will not take you. Is that understood?" I heard a honk outside and jumped up.
"Not necessary. If you could just sign here?"
She signed the paperwork, and I gave her a copy. "So you're just going to eat and run?"
"Afraid so. Have a great day, and thanks for the sandwich."
"I can't spare any food for you to take to go."
"Not a problem. Have a good day." I walked back out to the snow and to the waiting taxi. I hoped the driver of the taxi, and then the bus driver, and then the plane pilot, would all be more secure driving in this mess than I had been. Guess I'm just a driving fool not built for bad weather driving.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
HOW TO PLEASE A WOMAN
I learned a lesson about meeting Facebook fans of my blogs over a year ago. I was invited to stay with a woman and her family, in a trailer infested in dog droppings, rat droppings, and insects everywhere. The woman didn't understand my trepidation, she just kept telling me "You get used to it."
Well, a close friend of mine named Melissa introduced me to her friend Trixie in Lubbock, Texas on a long distance phone call. Trixie and I stayed in touch via Facebook, and things began to heat up between us. Next thing you know, she is asking me to come and stay with her, and before you know it, I did just that.
To say that Trixie was the best hostess in the world would be severe understatement. She had asked me in advance what my favorite foods were, and she prepared them all for me while I was there. Trixie was extremely affectionate and constantly complimentary. I enjoyed her company immensely and tried to flatter her as much as possible, but she seemed intent only on praising me. I felt like I was getting buttered up, but I have to admit that I enjoyed every second of it.
The second night I was there, after a delicious prime rib dinner and a lot of wine, we went out onto her porch and held hands. We were on the porch swing, enjoying the night breeze there in the Texas panhandle. And then Trixie leaned over and kissed me rather aggressively. I was taken a bit by surprise, only because I have never been with a woman who was so comfortable with being so forward. Well heck, it was sure a happy surprise, and I just rolled with it.
One thing led to another, and before you know it I was not sleeping in her guest room any longer. In fact, that same night on the porch led to all kinds of other things. A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, but I can say that Trixie was absolutely insatiable with her passions. It was like she could not get enough canoodling, and I found myself feeling like the king of the world.
The third day I was there, Trixie told me that she had fallen deeply in love with me. And she wondered if I would think it too forward of her to ask me to marry her. I was dumbfounded, primarily because I had spent two days with her and felt I barely knew her. Please don't misunderstand, I liked what I DID know about her, but I've never been proposed to before. And Trixie had a lot of plans that seriously overwhelmed me. For instance, she wanted me to quit my driving job right away and move in with her. She said she would support me, and then she'd get me a job working for her company. She even offered to get me a new car, something economical. Did I mention that Trixie is a woman of means?
I waited a day to respond, but had to say I thought it was too soon to move forward with such a serious commitment. She began to cry and ran out of the room, and I felt very guilty. I do not like to make a woman cry, and certainly didn't intend to. She had treated me great, cooking for me, waiting on me, teaching me some new tricks, all kinds of fun stuff. The last thing I wanted to do was let her down. Correction, the last thing I want to do is marry a woman that I am just getting acquainted with. And I'm still kind of hung up on my old girlfriend Karen (who loves women).
Before I left the next day, Trixie came up to me and gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. She said that she was wrong to push me into something before I was ready. Then Trixie apologized to me, and asked if we could please still see each other if she promised to slow down. I said Sure, why not?
I guess maybe the title of this blog isn't entirely accurate. I call it HOW TO PLEASE A WOMAN, when this is a tale of how a woman went so far out of her way to please me in every way. And yet Trixie seemed to derive true joy and pure pleasure from satisfying me, and so I guess I did please her. The huge smile on her face as I pulled out of her driveway spoke volumes.
Well, a close friend of mine named Melissa introduced me to her friend Trixie in Lubbock, Texas on a long distance phone call. Trixie and I stayed in touch via Facebook, and things began to heat up between us. Next thing you know, she is asking me to come and stay with her, and before you know it, I did just that.
To say that Trixie was the best hostess in the world would be severe understatement. She had asked me in advance what my favorite foods were, and she prepared them all for me while I was there. Trixie was extremely affectionate and constantly complimentary. I enjoyed her company immensely and tried to flatter her as much as possible, but she seemed intent only on praising me. I felt like I was getting buttered up, but I have to admit that I enjoyed every second of it.
The second night I was there, after a delicious prime rib dinner and a lot of wine, we went out onto her porch and held hands. We were on the porch swing, enjoying the night breeze there in the Texas panhandle. And then Trixie leaned over and kissed me rather aggressively. I was taken a bit by surprise, only because I have never been with a woman who was so comfortable with being so forward. Well heck, it was sure a happy surprise, and I just rolled with it.
One thing led to another, and before you know it I was not sleeping in her guest room any longer. In fact, that same night on the porch led to all kinds of other things. A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, but I can say that Trixie was absolutely insatiable with her passions. It was like she could not get enough canoodling, and I found myself feeling like the king of the world.
The third day I was there, Trixie told me that she had fallen deeply in love with me. And she wondered if I would think it too forward of her to ask me to marry her. I was dumbfounded, primarily because I had spent two days with her and felt I barely knew her. Please don't misunderstand, I liked what I DID know about her, but I've never been proposed to before. And Trixie had a lot of plans that seriously overwhelmed me. For instance, she wanted me to quit my driving job right away and move in with her. She said she would support me, and then she'd get me a job working for her company. She even offered to get me a new car, something economical. Did I mention that Trixie is a woman of means?
I waited a day to respond, but had to say I thought it was too soon to move forward with such a serious commitment. She began to cry and ran out of the room, and I felt very guilty. I do not like to make a woman cry, and certainly didn't intend to. She had treated me great, cooking for me, waiting on me, teaching me some new tricks, all kinds of fun stuff. The last thing I wanted to do was let her down. Correction, the last thing I want to do is marry a woman that I am just getting acquainted with. And I'm still kind of hung up on my old girlfriend Karen (who loves women).
Before I left the next day, Trixie came up to me and gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. She said that she was wrong to push me into something before I was ready. Then Trixie apologized to me, and asked if we could please still see each other if she promised to slow down. I said Sure, why not?
I guess maybe the title of this blog isn't entirely accurate. I call it HOW TO PLEASE A WOMAN, when this is a tale of how a woman went so far out of her way to please me in every way. And yet Trixie seemed to derive true joy and pure pleasure from satisfying me, and so I guess I did please her. The huge smile on her face as I pulled out of her driveway spoke volumes.
Monday, February 18, 2013
RE-FI YOUR HOUSE 0% INTEREST
As I was driving through Flagstaff, Arizona over the weekend, this is what was going through my mind:
My boss Riff sure is an ass. He treats me rudely, and owes me a lot of back pay that I don't know when I'll see.
I've got to get off the road.
When will I go to Richmond again and see my old flame Karen. We have some unfinished business.
Should I go visit that crazy driver Andy in rehab? The Doctor did say I saved his life.
Why are so many customers so frakin' impolite and inconsiderate when I try hard to be nice?
Did I insult my good friend Frank in Birmingham by not loving his very first short story that he trusted me to read recently?
I've got to get off the road.
I was on my way to Montana, and was deciding how much further to drive for the day when my cell phone rang. "This is Bill," I answered.
"Hello Beverly," said a woman with a nasal voice. Sounded like she was from the Bronx.
"No, this is Bill."
"Bill? Where is Beverly?"
"I have no idea."
"Can you find out please, it is important. We have business."
"I don't know Beverly."
"What are you talking? This is Beverly's phone, and if you answered it then you must know Beverly. Unless there's some kind of monkey business going on here."
"No ma'am, no monkey business."
"Then what? Explain yourself."
I hesitated. "Well, I am Bill Thomas, and this is my cell phone."
"And where is Beverly?" she asked in a much more demanding tone.
"I don't know. Not here."
"Are you sure? Can you please look around for me? This is important business."
"I just looked around and I assure you she is not here."
"Bill, don't kid a kidder, I know you didn't just have time to look around the entire house. I wasn't born yesterday."
"I'm in a car."
"You're driving? Oh for goodness sake. Is it Beverly's car?"
"I don't know Beverly."
She cleared her throat, and then spoke in a measured manner. "Then I can only conclude that you've stolen her phone and her automobile."
I could see this was going nowhere, except in an endless circle. "What's your name, Miss?"
"That's none of your business, and I think its pretty presumptuous of you to ask."
"OK, my cell phone number is 205-888-8999. Is that Beverly's number?"
"Yes, it is the number I dialed. 205-888-9999."
"I see the problem right there. Beverly is 9999 and I'm 8999."
There was a long silence. "Then this isn't Beverly's number?"
"No ma'am."
"And what is your name?"
"Bill Thomas."
Suddenly her voice was full of sunshine. "Bill how are you, this is Maddie Frye from special realty financing. How would you like to re-finance your house for 0% interest, no kidding and no strings attached?"
"Uh, well, I don't own a house."
"No? Well, what about your parents, I'm sure that they own one. They won't want to pass on a re-fi on their house for 0% interest."
"Both of my parents are deceased."
She grunted. "Well if that's the case, then this whole conversation has been an utter waste of my time." Maddie hung up on me. I put a Jimmy Buffett CD into the car stereo and slipped off into a Margaritaville state of mind.
My boss Riff sure is an ass. He treats me rudely, and owes me a lot of back pay that I don't know when I'll see.
I've got to get off the road.
When will I go to Richmond again and see my old flame Karen. We have some unfinished business.
Should I go visit that crazy driver Andy in rehab? The Doctor did say I saved his life.
Why are so many customers so frakin' impolite and inconsiderate when I try hard to be nice?
Did I insult my good friend Frank in Birmingham by not loving his very first short story that he trusted me to read recently?
I've got to get off the road.
I was on my way to Montana, and was deciding how much further to drive for the day when my cell phone rang. "This is Bill," I answered.
"Hello Beverly," said a woman with a nasal voice. Sounded like she was from the Bronx.
"No, this is Bill."
"Bill? Where is Beverly?"
"I have no idea."
"Can you find out please, it is important. We have business."
"I don't know Beverly."
"What are you talking? This is Beverly's phone, and if you answered it then you must know Beverly. Unless there's some kind of monkey business going on here."
"No ma'am, no monkey business."
"Then what? Explain yourself."
I hesitated. "Well, I am Bill Thomas, and this is my cell phone."
"And where is Beverly?" she asked in a much more demanding tone.
"I don't know. Not here."
"Are you sure? Can you please look around for me? This is important business."
"I just looked around and I assure you she is not here."
"Bill, don't kid a kidder, I know you didn't just have time to look around the entire house. I wasn't born yesterday."
"I'm in a car."
"You're driving? Oh for goodness sake. Is it Beverly's car?"
"I don't know Beverly."
She cleared her throat, and then spoke in a measured manner. "Then I can only conclude that you've stolen her phone and her automobile."
I could see this was going nowhere, except in an endless circle. "What's your name, Miss?"
"That's none of your business, and I think its pretty presumptuous of you to ask."
"OK, my cell phone number is 205-888-8999. Is that Beverly's number?"
"Yes, it is the number I dialed. 205-888-9999."
"I see the problem right there. Beverly is 9999 and I'm 8999."
There was a long silence. "Then this isn't Beverly's number?"
"No ma'am."
"And what is your name?"
"Bill Thomas."
Suddenly her voice was full of sunshine. "Bill how are you, this is Maddie Frye from special realty financing. How would you like to re-finance your house for 0% interest, no kidding and no strings attached?"
"Uh, well, I don't own a house."
"No? Well, what about your parents, I'm sure that they own one. They won't want to pass on a re-fi on their house for 0% interest."
"Both of my parents are deceased."
She grunted. "Well if that's the case, then this whole conversation has been an utter waste of my time." Maddie hung up on me. I put a Jimmy Buffett CD into the car stereo and slipped off into a Margaritaville state of mind.
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