DUCK THE PUCK

 Driving assignments had become more scarce as the Covid virus dragged on.  People didn't want a complete stranger driving their car halfway across the USA.  And even the best hygiene practices would not ensure that a contagious person wouldn't spread something.  Plus, most of the other drivers I had met in my company were far from clean and tidy.

I was given a vehicle no one else wanted to drive, from the southern tip of Texas to a small town just north of Minneapolis.  It was a doolie truck, four wheels on back, and had a flatbed with rails all round the sides.  It must have been used to transport some type of animal, because it reeked of manure.   I did everything I could to spruce up the smell, including 8 of the Hanging tree deodorizers.  In the end, nothing helped more than keep the windows down, in spite of the blazing heat outdoors in August.

I had not spoken directly to the customer, just got texts from him twice a day.  I had the delivery address on my paperwork, but at the last minute he asked me to go to another address.  Entering the new information into my GPS, I could see that the location was actually 30 minutes closer than the previous address.  When I arrived, it appeared to be some type of arena.  The parking lot was empty, save for one parked car and the smelly truck I had just pulled to a stop.

After taking a walk around the truck to be sure there weren't any new dents or scuffs, I went to the main entrance and found the door unlocked.  Entering slowly, I shouted to see if whoever was there was in earshot.  I listened, and all I could hear was a loud, mechanical-sounding hum.  I looked for a way into the arena area and soon found myself at seat level looking down at a hockey rink.  The sound I had been hearing was a Zamboni which was circling around resurfacing the ice.  The man riding the Zamboni was a big bear of a man, with a kegger-sized beer gut.  His head was somewhat misshapened, round and jowly at the bottom then narrowing to almost a sharp top.  When he saw me, he shouted out "Duck!"

Reflexively, I fell to my knees and ducked my head.  One moment later, I was feeling awfully silly for that extreme reaction and got up to walk down and speak to the man without shouting.  He was turning off the machine and laughing heartily.  "Oh boy, you shoulda seen yourself.  I yell duck, and you dropped like a sinner dropping to pray on his knees."  He laughed some more.

I tried to keep a good humor.  "Are you Mr. Matthews?"

"Nope, I am be Carl."

"Why did you shout duck?"

"You got something against ducks?"

"No."

"Cuz ducks have a lot to do with hockey.  For instance I yell duck cuz the most important rule in hockey is duck the puck."

"And score some points."

"Scoring is immaterial next to the puck.  Always keep your eye on the puck.  Or you might just get a puck in the eye."

"My name is Bill Thomas, and I--"

"Did you hear what I said?  Get a puck in the eye?"

"Yes I heard, but I'm here --"

"Ducks are also integral to the game of hockey."

"I'm not here for hockey."

Carl scoffed and shook his head.  "Everyone comes here for hockey.  That's what they do here.  It's the nation's passtime.  The number one most attended sport in America."

"I have a truck --"

 "I don't give a puck."

"What?"

"You're out of luck."

"But I'm --"

"Now, back to a duck.  In reference to hockey.  I supposed you've never heard of the Killer Ducks?"

"I think you mean the Mighty Ducks."

"I think you mean the Anaheim Ducks."  Carl nodded, satisfied.  "Yep, no team ever like the Killer Ducks hockey team.  Except maybe for the Charlestown Chiefs, who for one season dominated with violence and mayhem.  Boy, those Hanson triplets were absolute chaos on ice."

"That was a movie called SLAP SHOT."

"There's no reason to bring in an attitude, pal.  I know how to make a slap shot, and would be very happy to show you right now."

"Bill Thomas!" came another voice loudly shouting from elsewhere in the arena.

"Over here, Mr. Matthews!" Carl called out.

"Carl!"  Mr. Matthews hurried over to us. "What are you doing here?"

"Just smoothing out the ice, earning my paycheck."

"You don't work here anymore, Carl."

Carl seemed perplexed.  "Since when?"

"Since a year ago.  But you keep on coming back again and again."

"Hockey is my life.  I need to be a part of it."

"Then come to the games.  But you can't keep breaking in here and running the Zamboni."

"And who do you know who can run the Zamboni better than good old Carl?"

"That's irrelevant."

Carl looked wounded.  "To who?"

Mr. Matthews turned his attention to me.  "You're Bill Thomas?"

I nodded.  "Yes sir, I brought you a truck from Texas."

"Yes, a nasty, smelly truck."

"That's how I picked it up, and was told to deliver as is."

"OK, let's go check it out.  Goodbye Carl.  Now Carl."

Carl hung his head and stomped as he walked towards the exit door.  Then he turned to me and pointed, saying "Don't forget to duck the puck."

I smiled.  "I never will."

WHO WAS THAT UNMASKED MAN?

I was very nervous to be taking a car to Atlanta, because although the coronavirus seems to be lessening, I am in fear of another wave.  Most every friend I've told that to say I'm crazy, but I remain cautious. 

When I arrived just outside of Atlanta, I stopped at a Subway for a sub to go.  I've been carrying a mask to put on when I go out in public, but not everyone does.  I really can't tell other people what to do, I don't feel I have the right.  But I do feel a bit leery when I see people stand close to me wearing no masks.

On the way into Subway, everyone I passed in the parking lot and shops had masks on.  I felt a little more secure when I went inside and all workers and customers had them on.  After five minutes waiting in line, a very large beefy man came in.  He was not wearing a mask but had a massive unkempt beard.  There were bits of food and tissue strewn about in the beard.  He joined the end of the line.

It took less than a minute for the woman standing in front of him to turn and say, "Shame on you, why aren't you wearing a mask?"

"Oh, they're so uncomfortable and difficult with my beard."

"Maybe it's time to trim the beard a little so you can put a mask on."

"Lady, why are you so determined that I wear a mask?"

"We've been living through a pandemic, or hadn't you heard?"

"Yes, I hear all that fake news and its bull crap.  The virus is nothing more than the flue, or a kind of flu,
or something like that."

"You need to wear a mask to protect others."

"What others?" he asked.

"Everyone else.  Your friends, your neighbors."

"Well you are neither one, so why are we having this conversation?"

She was get very hot under the collar.  "Sir, we all need to work together."

"Why?" he shot back.

"It's the only way to stop it, and get our economy up on its feet again."

"That's your opinion.  And you're telling me because of your opinion I have to do what you say and put on one of those stupid masks?"

The woman took in a deep breath.  "I am not telling you what to do.  I am asking you, pleading, begging if necessary."

He held his hand up.  "Let me save you some time.  No one is going to tell me how to live or what to do.  I am a free American man and I can do as I please because my Constitution says so.  I do not go by other people's rules, I am the master of my own kingdom.  I keep a fine gun collection and will feel free to shoot someone if they do me wrong.  And I'm pretty tired of all you got to say and I feel like cracking you across the jaw--"

I quickly stepped back towards the man before he could act on his threat.  But I was too slow, for the manager vaulted over the counter and rushed by me so fast and was on the bearded man in a flash.  He effortlessly twisted the angry man's arm up behind his back and pushed him out the door.  "Stay out of here, you're not welcome back."   He came back inside and spoke to the line. "Very sorry folks, he's gone.  I'd like to buy all of you a sandwich."

The six of us in line were all very grateful, and I admired him very much.  One minute he's a Subway manager, the next he's Batman.  It made for a memorable afternoon.

CORONAVIRUS HEROES

The second week of March, just before the worldwide pandemic got really bad in the U.S., I was still driving and delivering cars.  I had picked up a car in Tulsa that was going to my hometown of Birmingham, where I had not been for nearly a year.  Just driving to and fro back and forth across this great country.

My malevolent boss Riff had called just before I reached Birmingham to tell me that all deliveries were postponed indefinitely.  He told me to stay in Birmingham and sit on the car until further notice.  As I drove into town, my stomach started growling loudly so I knew it was time to fuel up my body.  I pulled into a Panera Bread near my apartment in Vestavia Hills and went inside thinking about tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich to go.

I went inside and there was a surprisingly long line.  I waited patiently for 15 minutes, then noticed an elderly gent standing behind me wearing a white coat.  He had a nametag telling me he was Dr. Jones.  "Excuse me sir, please go ahead of me," I said to him.

Dr. Jones looked surprised.  "I don't mind waiting."

"Please, I insist.  I want you to be able to get back to work as soon as possible.  Plus I want to express my thanks for all of the good work all of you are doing."

I stepped behind the doctor, and he smiled at me and nodded.  "Well, if you insist.  This is very kind of you."

"Believe me, it's my pleasure."

"I'm Bud Jones."

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Jones.  I'm Bill Thomas."

"Please, call me Buddy.  You'll pardon me if I don't shake your hand."

"I completely understand, I've been hearing on the warnings on the radio."

"It's going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better," he said.

"What's your specialty?"

"I joined the Air Force when I was 21 and served as a military surgeon for 40 years.  When I got out of the Air Force, I went into private practice.  I was a GP for 20 years, up until my wife died.  I was very discouraged and decided to retire.  Two years later, he comes this virus from China and the hospitals need all hands on deck.  But they are woefully understaffed and there aren't nearly enough medical supplies.  So I decided I needed to serve my country one more time."

"Wow.  That is incredibly inspiring."

"What else could I do?"

"Any idea how long this will last?" I wondered.

"No one can say.  Several months at the very least.  But my concern is that when things start to improve, people will try to go back to business as usual.  Which could cause a second wave of the virus that might be even worse."

"I just worry about how we as a nation will recover from this."

Buddy scratched his chin. "All depends on how you look at it.  My feeling is that this is a real chance for us to turn over a new leaf.  With any luck, people will realize to appreciate things and other people more and take nothing for granted.  That love thy neighbor and the golden rule will mean something again.  The world has become too jaded and cynical, kind people expressing warmth are routinely made fun of.  We have devolved to the point that the majority of people are selfish and most interested in what benefits them.  It's just the way of things in 2020."

"Somehow things have changed a lot since I was a kid," I told him.  "It felt like a simpler time, and people were generally kinder to each other."

"This just may be our opportunity to turn things around and make it a better world.  We can do it, Bill."\

"Buddy, you make me believe we can."

The Panera counter girl called Buddy up to order.  Once he got his food, he wished me a fond farewell.

I got a lump in my throat.  "Thank you so much for all you are doing.  Thanks for your service, both in the Air Force and now during your retirement.  You and all the medical personnel and first responders are all very brave and much appreciated.  God bless you, Buddy."

Buddy paused and stared at me for a moment.  "That really means a lot to me.  Thank you, Bill."  He walked towards the door, then turned back.  "And hey, don't forget to help out your neighbor.  Everyone needs to help everyone else right now, that's the only sure way to get through this."

As he left, I felt lucky to have met him.  What a great attitude, and the sacrifices he was making to help out others.  We can all use some inspiration right now, and Buddy was mine.

FUN VOTER REGISTRATION!

The rain was pounding down in Arkansas as I drove into the small town of Hot Springs.  I had heard about all the spas and springs, baths and massages and wanted to try them all.  But first I had to deliver this Ford minivan to Mr. Spenser at some campaign headquarters office..

As I drove down the streets of Hot Springs, the rain quickly went from pouring to a light sprinkle.  I found the address, and as soon as I pulled up to the curb and parallel parked, Mr. Spenser came running out.  "Bill!  Bill, this is the place."  I supposed he recognized the vehicle, and I was arriving precisely on time as agreed.

I parked and got out.  "This is your new van, Mr. Spenser."

"Tom, please call me Tom."

I reached my hand out and we shook.  "Bill Thomas, pleasure to meet you."

"Bill, may I ask you a personal check?"

"A personal check?"

Tom laughed.  "I'm sorry, I meant a personal question.  It's become a reflex habit to ask for money. But I'd really like to know."  He stared at me in anticipation for a long pause.

"What's the question?"

"Isn't it obvious, Bill?  Are you a registered voter?"

"Yes, of course."

"Why do you say of course?"

"Because it's my civic duty, and because I want to have a say in who becomes President."

Tom beamed.  "Good answer!  I can see we're cut from the same cloth.  You are a patriot, sir."

I held up the clipboard with his paperwork on it.  "If you can just sign here, the van is all yours."

"Just like that?" he asked.

"Just like that."

"It's my new campaign van.  I'm running a Presidential campaign."

"That's cool, who is your candidate?"

"Why it's me, Tom Spenser.  I want to give the people what they want."

"What do they, or we, want?"

He nodded knowingly.  "Exactly."

"Exactly what?"

"Bill, look at the choices.  We have crazy old Uncle Joe Biden, gay mayor Pete, and an old fart who preaches socialism.  And then there's Trump, from the Beelzebub party."

"So you're an independent?"

Tom laughed.  "Heck no, I'm a Quaker.  Just think of all the free advertising and publicity I'll get every time someone buys a box of Quaker oatmeal.  That's what's going to put me over the top!"

There was another long pause.  I cleared my throat.  "So just sign here and I'll be on my way."  The cold drizzle was getting uncomfortable.

"Gladly Bill, I will sign just as soon as I get your pledge to vote for me."

I was perplexed.  "I never tell anyone who I'm going to vote for."

"Because you consider it a private matter?"

"Yes, it is a private matter."

"But I bet you've never actually had a one on one conversation with a candidate who's a serious contender."

I held up the clipboard.  "Just put your John Hancock right here."

"Well Bill, you just proved my point.  John Hancock signed the Declaration of Independence and look at all the wonderful things that begat.  The founding fathers would want you to vote for me.  Don't let them down, Bill."

I thought long and hard.  "Tell you what Tom, if you sign this I will consider voting for you."

Tom looked at me sideways.  "Do you mean just consider, or do you mean seriously consider?"

I inadvertently belched before saying "Yes".

Tom grabbed my clipboard.  "That's good enough for me, I can take that to the bank.  And hey, now I can drive my new van to the bank.  I have $5000 in my war chest, I'm unstoppable."

"That's right," I nodded as I took the clipboard and grabbed my backpack out of the minivan.

Tom gave me a sly glance.  "So are you leaning towards voting for me now?"

I wagged my finger playfully.  "Secret ballot, Tom.  But you will find out come election day."

He startled me, grabbing me by both shoulders tightly.  "Bill, with you in my corner, I just know I will be the next President."  Tom began humming Hail To The Chief and I made a quick exit.  Despite his zeal, I doubted Tom would become President of the United States.  But I doubted the same thing about Trump.  This may be the most important election in history, so vote for who you want.
BUT VOTE!

DIRTY DIAPERS

I rolled into Pittsburgh driving a Ford Edge that I had picked up in Laredo, Texas.  This would be my first official delivery in 2020, and I already had a plane ticket to get me to my next pick up down in Ft. Lauderdale.

I had a bit of trouble getting by the security guard in his shack at the entrance to the subdivision.  When he looked at my ID and asked me what my favorite color was, I felt confused.  But once in the neighborhood, I had no trouble finding the house.  I rang the doorbell and waited.

Two minutes later, a woman opened the door carrying a crying baby.  "It's about time you got here."

"Hi, I"m Bill Thomas, here to deliver a car to Mrs. Howard."

"Yes, yes, this is the place.  Come in, come in."

I followed her inside, though I wasn't sure why we needed to go into the house.  "I just need you to sign this paperwork, and--"

She spun around and handed me the baby.  I only grabbed the kid because if I didn't it seemed like she was going to drop him.  Or her, whichever.

"It's a boy," she said as if reading my thoughts.  "Just in case you were wondering.  Little moron cries all the time."

I was overcome by the strong smell of baby poop.  "If you can just look at the car, then--"

She made a stinky face.  "Uh-oh, someone is ripe.  Be a dear and change his diaper for me."

This request stunned me.  "I can't do that."

"Oh sure you can.  That little brat is a boy, not a girl, so you won't see any equipment you're not used to.  Or frightened of."

"I'm not frightened, but--"

"Then what's the problem?" she asked.  "Remove the dirty diaper, toss it, clean his butt with a wipe, then attach fresh diaper.  Abra cadabra."

"I'm not authorized to do this on my job."

"I call BS on that, I'm sure there's nothing in your company handbook forbidding you from changing a diaper on the little bastard.  His diarrhea is completely out of hand, and I'm tired of changing him."

"Are you mad at the boy?"

"None of your business.  But since you ask, no I don't much care for his company.  He eats and sleeps and craps his diapers.  Mostly that last one.  I'd sell this kid cheap."

It was horrible to hear this woman talking about her child this way, it brought up bad memories from my past.  But who am I to judge?  "Would you like to come outside and look at your new car?"

"I'm still waiting for you to change that diaper."

I shook my head.  "I cannot change this boy's diaper."

"Why, what's your deal?  Are you a prude?  Afraid to see a baby boy's ding a ling?"

"It's not appropriate.  I don't know him."

She put her hands on her hips.  "Well allow me to introduce you.  Mr. Driver, this is the little asshole."

My cell phone rang, and I recognized the number.  I picked up and said,  "Hi, this is Bill Thomas."

"Bill, this is Mrs. Howard.  I'm sorry I didn't get in touch sooner to tell you I wouldn't be home.  Annie my new nanny should be able to sign for it, right?"

I spoke to the nanny.  "Are you Annie?"

She nodded.  "I'm the nanny."  I walked out on the front porch for privacy.

"Bill, are you still there?" asked Mrs. Howard.

"Yes, I was just stepping outside.  Annie has been trying to get me to change your baby boy's diaper."

There was a silent pause.  "She did what?"

"She told me the kid has the runs and she's tired of changing him.  I also might mention that she's calling him some very bad names.  He probably doesn't understand her, but still."

"Listen, I am on my way out the door and can be there in 20 minutes.  Will you please wait on me?"

I checked the time, concerned about making my plane.  "I saw a Starbucks down the road, I'll go get some coffee and meet you back here."

By the time I got my coffee and got back to the house, I found Mrs. Howard in the front yard shouting at Annie about the baby.  I slowly sidled up to her and asked Mrs. Howard to sign the paperwork.

"Are you sure, Mrs. Howard?  No second chances?  I've never done child care, I'm more a telemarketer."

"No Annie, not after the way you treated my baby."

Annie pointed at me.  "What did this SOB tell you, he's nothing but a big fat liar."  I pulled out my phone and summoned an Uber, and mercifully it was one minute away from my location.

Mrs. Howard was trying very hard to stay composed, but it was clear she was boiling over inside.  "Did you ask this man to change a diaper?"

"Duh, yeah, I've been doing it all day and frankly I get tired of it."

"Then maybe you're in the wrong line of work."

"And maybe you're a bad mother, Mrs. Howard."

I saw my Uber coming as Mrs. Howard shouted for Annie to get off her property and never to return.  I was climbing in my Uber when the driver asked  "Are there two of you going?"  I looked and saw Annie standing behind me waiting to climb in.

"I need you to give me a ride.  It's the least you can do after getting me fired."

I smiled.  "Goodbye and good luck, Annie."  And I rolled on to new adventures, as Annie the nanny saluted me with both of her middle fingers.