MILITARY MAYHEM

It was early morning as I headed for my next vehicle pick up just outside Salina, Kansas and I had hitched a ride with a kind farmer I met in the little cafe where I went for breakfast.  He told me I'd have to sit in the bed of the truck with his five dogs, but I happen to love dogs a lot so it was my pleasure.  My boss Riff had told me that I was getting a 4 wheeler Chevy truck and taking it to Boston.  He said the gentleman I was getting it from, Mr. Pyrtle, sounded gentle and accommodating.  That would be a nice change of pace.

 At 8am, the truck dropped me off at the entrance to the Pyrtle compound.  It looked a whole lot to me like a military compound.  As I neared the fortified gate, two snarling Dobermans came running down to me barking and biting the air, seeming to wish it was me they were biting.  I heard a man shout, and the dogs immediately went running back to the house and disappeared inside.  The man who shouted walked to face me through the gate. "Mr. Pyrtle?" I asked.

"I prefer to be called Sarge."  He unlocked four different locks and then opened the gate.  "Follow me, and watch where you step.  You never know when you're gonna come across a booby trap, soldier.  When you are in a war, you must expect the unexpected.  There could be land mines."

"Land mines?" I said with real concern.

"Oh there's none on my property, but I can't speak for outside the perimeter.  Understood?" he bellowed.

"Yes sir!"

"Now I expect you to take very good care of this truck.  I expect it to arrive there in mint condition.  Not a dent, not a ding, not a scratch. Are we clear?"

"Yes sir!"

"I have inserted a military grade advanced GPS system in the truck and will be tracking you all the way to Texas.  If you deviate even slightly from the prescribed path, I will call the police and report my truck stolen."

"OK, but I thought that it was going to Boston."

His face turned red.  "What did you say?"

"Boston, up in Massa --"

"I know where Boston is, I served with many fine men who loved the Red Sox, God help them..  Just what are you up to, boy, what are you scheming?"

I shook my head.  "I have no scheme, I'm just here to drive your truck."

"To Texas!  Not to Boston!  But you intended to take it to Boston in spite of my wishes."

"No."

"No what?"

"No sir, Sarge."

His eyes became slits of suspicion.  "I think you'd better break out some ID, soldier."  I fumbled to get my Alabama driver's license out and handed it to him.  As he looked it over, he pulled a 9mm Glock that had been tucked in his belt from behind his back.  "We are gonna get to the bottom of this real fast."

Quickly, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket.  "If I could just call my boss real quick --"  He knocked my cell phone out of my hands and it fell to the ground.  "I am not your enemy, Sarge."

"That remains to be seen, Private."  The Sarge closed his eyes and began humming.  Then he began walking around in small circles while mumbling to himself.  "This is how its gonna go.  I will go into the house and call your boss and find out what kind of FUBAR is going on.  And you, you will stay put or I will release my dogs and they will rip you apart.  Do you believe me?"

"Yes sir, Sarge."

"It's important that you believe that they can do it.  Stay right here."  The Sarge marched purposefully up to the house.  I stood my ground.  Ten minutes later, a haggard looking woman came out of the house and walked cautiously towards me.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Bill Thomas, I'm the driver."

"No, I mean who are you really.  Sarge says you're the underworld element.  But whoever you are, I ain't lost all my manners.  Welcome, I'm Lulu Pyrtle and the Sarge is my husband.  He don't mean nothing, you know."

"War can be tough on a man, I'm sure."

She stared at me incredulously.  "You think the Sarge fought in a war?  No, no, he wanted to but got refused on the medical part because of mental unbalance or some such.  Sarge is the most mentally smart man  I know, and he will be ready when the commies come knocking at our door."

"I see," I said.

"The compound is secure, and we are ready to send those commies rushing back to Russia.  You say 'I See' but do you really?  Not everyone understands the Sarge. Goodness me, where are my manners, can I get you something to drink?"

"No, but thank you very much."

"Are you sure?  It's really no problem."  Right then, the Sarge came marching back at a quicker clip than before, and now he was carrying a rifle.  I felt a cold chill run up my spine.

"Your story checks out, Private.  Hey Lulu, are you offering aid to a potential enemy?  Get back in the house now and check on that thing."

She smiled.  "Oh, you mean the --"

He quickly interrupted her with a harsh "Shhhh!  Go, now!"  She hung her head, defeated, and walked as fast as she could back to the house.  The Sarge eyed me closely.  "Did she tell you anything?"

"About what?" I asked.

"Anything about anything?"

"No Sarge, she just offered me a drink."

He looked down and shook his head sadly.  "God bless her, that woman is too kind for her own good.  Someday when the enemies storm our gates, they will take advantage of her weaknesses.  Now before I send you off with my truck, I'm going over it with a fine tooth comb.  Let's get a move on, Private!"

For the next hour, we examined the truck more thoroughly than I ever have with any vehicle.  While we looked, the Sarge asked my views on some very politically charged questions.  This felt like the minefield he had warned me about, and I kept my answers brief and very dumb so as not to set him off.  As I climbed into the truck to leave, the Sarge snapped to attention and saluted me.  "You are a brave soldier, I would love to ride your ass in basic training and see what kind of officer you'd make in the U.S. military.  Godspeed to you, Private.  Are we clear?"

"Yes sir, very clear."  I left and drove much faster than usual, wanting to put as much distance as I could between us.  My cell phone rang, and I heard my boss Riff giggling on the line.  

"How was the pickup from Mr. Pyrtle?"

"Terrible Riff, the man was wacko.  And it didn't help when I told him I was driving his truck to Boston.  Did you know it was going to Texas?"

Riff's laughter grew heartier.  "Of course I knew, I was having a little fun with you.  He sounded like an oddball on the phone, so I gave you misinformation to see how he'd react."

"I'll tell you how, he reacted by pulling a gun on me!"

Riff responded with a chortle.  "Oh I would have loved to have seen that.  Priceless."

"I'm doing a job here, do not play with me or put my life in danger!"  I hung up my cell phone and replayed what had just happened at the compound.  One thing is for sure, I pity the commies who decide to make an assault on Sarge's home base.

.

 

WICKED THE MUSICAL CONFUSION

 Driving and delivering cars all over this great country affords me possibilities to do some fun and adventuresome things.  The problem is always being able to plan ahead, which is mission impossible on this job.

Ever since I got to see my first Broadway show THE PRODUCERS in 2004, I craved more musical theatre.  And the show that sparked my deepest interest was called WICKED, all about what happened before Dorothy came to OZ.  Unfortunately, it has been well over a decade since I have delivered a car to Manhattan, and I knew the show wouldn't go on forever.  As of 2022, it is still going strong on Broadway, but my chances of getting to New York didn't seem to be improving.

Two months ago, I got a car to take from Phoenix to Tampa, Fl.  The catch was that I'd have to stay in Tampa over the weekend, so I could pick up another car Monday and drive it to Chicago.  I looked on the internet for events in Tampa, and to my surprise WICKED was playing there on tour.  Four more days and it would be gone.

I called the box office as I drove east towards Florida, trying to get a hold of someone but just leaving voicemail messages pleading for a seat if one was available.  I said I was determined to see this play before I die.  The very next day, I got a call from a lovely girl named Erin in the venue's administration offices.  She said she was moved by my call, as were several other people in her office, and if I could afford $100, she would get me a seat for the Sunday matinee.  I jumped at the chance, I was over the moon!

Once I had delivered the car in Tampa on Saturday morning, I got a motel room and basically was killing time until the big show on Sunday..  I had picked a motel not too far from the theatre so that I could make it an affordable Uber ride.

I got to the theatre, and was amazed by what I saw in the lobby.  Lots of people dressed in Emerald green.  Munchkins.  Denizens of the city of OZ.  I have always been a fan of THE WIZARD OF OZ, and anything related to it.  The idea of this play seemed to focus on the true friendship of Glinda the Good Witch and Elphaba the Wicked Witch.  

My ticket had been waiting at the Will Call table, and I found my seat was dead center in the back row of orchestra.  Which means I had a great view of the entire stage.  Ten minutes before the show was to begin, a man scooted quickly down my row and said, "Are you Bill?"

I smiled.  "Yes, I'm Bill."

"Hi, I'm Rich, the stage manager of our touring production of WICKED, and we all just wanted to welcome you today specially."

"Wow, really?  That's...something."

He handed me an envelope.  "A little gift to remember the day by."

I opened the envelope and found a Playbill program.  Every single page was covered with signatures.  "What is this?"

"The entire cast and crew signed that for you, Bill.  And they asked me to tell you that today's performance is dedicated to you.  We all think you're very special."  He nodded and excused himself.  I looked down at the program, and read notes like, "You are an inspiration," and "we believe in you."  

Moments later, another man came scooting down the aisle.  "Bill?  Are you Bill?"

"Yes."

He reached his hand out to shake mine.  "I'm Bradley, the house manager, and I just wanted to personally welcome you here today.  It's a real honor to have you here."

"Bradley, I appreciate all the attention, but I have to ask... why me?"

Bradley winked at me.  "Don't be so modest."  He turned and moved away.  Two older women in front of me had been chattering, and they suddenly turned to me.

"Who are you?" one of them asked.

"No one."

"No sir, you are someone, else they wouldn't be catering to you."

"Well I'm a writer.  I wrote a book."

"I'd like to read that book!"

It just so happens I always carry a few copies of my books with me wherever I go.  Because you never know.  I handed her a copy and said, "My gift to you ladies."

They both stared at me like I was dense.  "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Like what?"

"Your autograph.  To my good friend Jessica and Kristine, thanks for all you did."

I signed my book, and the show began.  And what a show it was.  It exceeded my wildest expectations, and I kept feeling a profound sense of gratitude for being there.

After the show was over, I was headed for an exit so I could catch my Uber to the motel.  I heard a voice behind me "Mr. Williams.  Mr. Williams."  It kept getting louder and closer, but it couldn't be meant for me.  I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Bradley.  "Mr. Williams."

"Bill."

"Sorry, Bill.  I just wanted to see if you enjoyed the show?"

"Well that would be severe understatement.  It was one of the most entertaining experiences of my life"

"We are just so glad you could make it.  And hey, PRETTY WOMAN THE MUSICAL is coming here in the Fall, and we'd love to see if you're still around."  We shook hands again and I left.

Monday morning I got the car and was just headed north when my cell phone rang.  I answered, and it was Erin from the theatre.  "Hello, Bill?"

"Erin, I owe you so much.  I not only got to see this great show, but I was treated like royalty.  It was incredible, and I don't know what I did to deserve it, but I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth."

"Bill...I don't know how to tell you this.  There was a miscommunication."

"How so?"

"There was a man with a brain tumor whose last wish was to see WICKED.  His name was Bill Williams, and he was to be seated next to you.  When he didn't show up, everyone assumed you were him."

"So the signed program was for him.  The show that day was dedicated to him."

"I'm afraid so."

"I just feel guilty as crap, those things weren't meant for me.  I will return the program and..."

"No, no," Erin urged.  "Please don't do that.  We discussed it here in the office and decided that there is no reason to inform the cast and crew.  It would be an unnecessary popping of a feel-good balloon."

"Got it.  Well, hopefully Bill Williams will get another chance to see the show."

"No sir, he...  I'm going to have to let you go now.  Thank you Bill.

Sad to hear that the Bill I was mistaken for will never get to see the show.  But perhaps I enjoyed it enough for the two of us and can share that with him cosmically.

UBER THE CUCKOO'S NEST

 My name is Bill Thomas, and I drive cars for a living.  All over the USA, for busy executives, snowbirds, anyone who wants me to drive their car and deliver it anywhere in the lower 48 in an expedited fashion.  It was a cold morning in Cleveland, Ohio, and the address I had delivered to this morning was not exactly the shining gem of the city.  I was actually a little bit scared, and definitely wary.

Once I drop off a car, I have to get to the next pick up.  Sometimes it will be in the same city or nearby, but more often than not it's another city or another state.  I've gotten very good at finding the best and cheapest modes of transport, whether its plane, train, or rental automobile.  The trick used to be finding a city bus route to get from the drop off point to the transportation center.  Thank goodness Uber was created, it makes my getting around much easier.

I was waiting in the chilly morning hours for my Uber to come and take me to the Cleveland Amtrak station.  There I would catch a train to Chicago, where my next pick up was waiting.  The Uber was taking longer than usual, and almost double the ETA that appeared on the Uber App.

Five minutes later, a rusty old pickup truck pulled up and I saw a very elderly man inside.  He rolled down the passenger window and said  "I'm your ride, get in."

I always introduce myself so I know I have the right driver and the right car.  "I'm Bill."

"I don't care," he said as I climbed in.  He stared at me with a steely gaze and said, "My name is Jocko.  I'm 94 years old and I have a bad case of hemorrhoids.  So now you know."  He stepped on the gas so hard that my head snapped back and bounced off the head rest.

"I didn't know Uber hired drivers over 90."

"They don't.  My old pal Bobby made me a fake ID that says I am 70 years old.  Would you believe me if I told you I was 70?"

I looked at his wrinkled, weathered skin and his toothless grin, then replied, "I'm not good at guessing ages."

"Well, I fooled Uber, and I fooled you too."

"I'm headed to the Amtrak station."

"In what city?"

"Cleveland."

"Cleveland?  There ain't no Amtrak station in Cleveland."

I was perplexed.  I had a train ticket in my pocket from Cleveland to Chicago.  "Can you just take me to the address I entered?"

"OK, hot shot, I'll take you to that address, but you won't find Amtrak there.  And by the way, what are we going to do about all these damn aliens?"

Fearing this would open up a political conversation, I cautiously asked, "You mean illegal immigrants?"

"What?  No!  I mean the aliens from outer space who walk among us.  And fly over us in big white balloons."

"I think that was China."

"No, boy, China is another country but its here on earth.  I'm talking about Unusual Flying Objects from another planet.  You need to be better informed.  By the way, I saw a good movie the other day.  Something about crashing into a cuckoo's nest."

"One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest?"

"That don't sound right.  This was a movie about a big giant Indian man, who could not speak or hear anything.  He just pushed a broom around the mental hospital.  Then one day, he decided to just leave, so he tore a huge water fountain out of the floor, and threw it at the window.  Then he jumped out and ran away.  The end."

"I've seen that movie.  A lot of other stuff happens besides that."

"Oh, I know, I know.  I loved that little shrimp guy who wants always betting quarters and silver dollars."

"He bet a dime, then he bet a nickel."

"Yep, he was a funny little guy, that Screwdriver."

"His name, was Martini."

"No, that don't sound right.  Where did they find that little dwarf who played Screwdriver, he was hilarious."

"He's not a dwarf, he's just short.  His name is Danny DeVito."

"And after that movie, he was never heard from again."

I decided it would be foolhardy to debate this.  "How far are we from my destination."

"Dammit, I told you there's no Amtrak station in Cleveland.  And I -- wait, did you see that?"

"See what?" I asked.

"It was here, then it was gone."

"What was?"

"Mind your own business, that's what.  Do you ever think about suicide?"

What a crazy segue.  "No, not really."

"I do.  A lot.  I mean I don't want to live to be 100, am I right?"

"Well, as long as you're happy."

"But that's just it.  I'm never happy, not ever.  Sometimes when I'm driving on one of those big high overpasses, I'm tempted to crash through the guard rail and sail to my death."

 Now I was officially alarmed.  "Listen Jocko --"

He got very agitated.  "Who said you could call me that?  Don't you ever use my name without permission.  You got that?"

"Yes sir."

"I think you flew out of that cuckoo's nest."

"I just want a quiet, peaceful ride sir."

Jocko slammed on the brakes, and we were nearly rear ended.  "Get out."

"Beg your pardon?"

He was growling.  "I said get out, and I mean now!  You are making me uncomfortable, and I don't want you in my truck anymore.  And neither does my dead wife Naomi.  She would not have liked you one bit.  Now get out, before I call the police and report you."

I climbed out of the car and he took off, his tires kicking up gravel that sprayed me.  I've taken a lot of Uber rides with a lot of different drivers, but none like this one.  I ordered another Uber, and it came quickly and took me to my address.  And to my delight, there was an Amtrak station there.  I am sure if Jocko had finished my ride he would have been furious to find there was a station here when he was so certain there was not.  Riding with Jocko, I felt I had been Uber the cuckoo's nest.