I am busy at the computer typing more of more life experiences into scripted pieces. Working hard to develop a "Bible for the TV series of A DRIVING FOOL. It seems that Bill Thomas is growing on people.
A little while ago, I was listening to George Strait on my boom box and banging the computer keyboard.
There was a rapid knocking at my front door.
It kept on and on, and I had to put my shirt on and run for the door.
Guessed it must be urgent.
I threw open the front door, and an extremely large fat woman
said, "Hey, do you know where Lydia is?"
"Lydia?"
"Yeah, Lydia, do you know where she is?"
"No, I --"
"You look like you don't know what I'm talking about.
Lydia? My best friend in the world? Do you know if she
is at home, and if not where she is and what she's doing?"
"I don't know Lydia."
"How can you not? Everyone knows Lydia. She's a wonderful human being."
"I'm sure she is."
"She lives in this apartment complex. Or at least she
used to. I've got to find her, I've just got to."
"I'm sure you will."
"But you don't understand, I've been looking for her 3 years." Then she began to tear up, about to begin sobbing. "I can see that I've bothered you enough. Good day to you."
And with that, she marched off purposefully.
I don't even have to go out on the road to find the Crazies
anymore, they are coming to my front door.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
CRAZY JUNE
I continue to be amazed at the surprisingly amount of odd people I meet as I drive around the country delivering cars. More often than not, truth is stranger than fiction.
I was about to deliver a car in Las Vegas, and decided to pull over and find something to eat. As I was walking through a parking lot, I saw a woman stooped over between two cars, and I thought she was ill. "Are you all right, ma'am?"
She stood and pulled her pants up, and I could see that she had been squatting to pee. "Steve, where have you been? I've been looking all over for you."
"Excuse me?"
"No, oh no, you don't have to apologize to me, Steve. Not now, not ever. I love you so much, always have and always will. I never should have left you. We both know that you did me wrong, but I know in your heart that you love me."
"I think you've got me confused with someone else. My name is Bill."
"What the hell are you talking about, Steve? It's me, June, your lover. How are you gonna be treating me like that? After all I've done for you, all the wild sex that we had, all the sexual positions I got into just for you! You can't squeeze me like a piece of ripe fruit then toss me out the window. No sir, it doesn't work like that! Not at all!" And with that, she ran away from me in tears. I decided to shrug it off, and turned and walked in the other direction through the parking lot.
A few seconds later, June popped up from behind a cargo van and said, "Hi lover, I've decided to forgive you. I have to admit you were mean to me, but I can't help loving my man."
"Uh, listen, I think that--"
She put her hand over my mouth. "Hush now, Steve, I only want to hear about how much you love me. Come and whisper into my ear how much you love me." She pulled close and put her ear up to my mouth.
"But really, I--"
Once again, her hand covered my mouth. "Not another word, Steve. I only want to hear sweet sounds coming from your sweet mouth. Come on and dance with me, Steve, dance with me the way you did at the Senior Prom." She wrapped her arms around me and forced both of our bodies to sway. She rested her head on my shoulder and was in a state of bliss as the music played in her head.
I pushed her away after a moment, and told her "No, stop."
"What in the world is the matter with you, Steve?"
"What's the matter is that I don't know you."
"You mean you don't want to know me!" She became enraged. "You dirty son of a bitch. You think you can treat me like some slut, some common whore, then just throw me out on the trash bin? Is that the way you want to play? Well, two can play this game!" She stormed away in a huff, and I made my way more rapidly through the parking lot. I hoped I had seen that last of her.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, she grabbed me from behind and said seductively "Hi Sugar Buns. My white chocolate lover."
I shook my head and sighed. "Lady, please just--"
"I have to respect the man I love. I always make it a rule to respect my elders, whether they're older than me or younger than me. Now shut up and dance with me, do the dance of love!" She began an energetic dance, taking my hands and sort of forcing me to dance along. I was a bit dazed by it all, and hung on for a few moments as she led me in her little Dance of Insanity.
When I pulled away from her, she said "I know now what's wrong with you, Steve. My man needs some good loving." She dug into her huge handbag and began pulling out condoms, handcuffs and various sex toys, enthusiastically trying to hand them off to me. "I know how to treat my man." Then she reached down and took a big handful of my manhood and squeezed.
"Hey! You can't do that, you can't just grab me like that."
"Why not? What's the problem, Steve?"
"Quit calling me Steve. You have mistaken me for someone else, and--"
She interrupted me by giving my face a solid slap. "I am done with you. We are officially over. You are both a bitch and a bastard." She turned on her heel and marched off. Then she stopped and faced me one last time. "And one more thing. I know a lot more about nuclear science than you might think I do." She hurried over to an empty pickup truck, threw her handbag in the back, and sat on the back bumper. She yelled at a non-existent driver "Step on it Raoul, I've got to get to Miami."
I decided to skip the meal and get back into my car and keep on driving. I had nothing against June, but clearly she was a lady whose mind has its own address in another universe. And I remain A Driving Fool.
I was about to deliver a car in Las Vegas, and decided to pull over and find something to eat. As I was walking through a parking lot, I saw a woman stooped over between two cars, and I thought she was ill. "Are you all right, ma'am?"
She stood and pulled her pants up, and I could see that she had been squatting to pee. "Steve, where have you been? I've been looking all over for you."
"Excuse me?"
"No, oh no, you don't have to apologize to me, Steve. Not now, not ever. I love you so much, always have and always will. I never should have left you. We both know that you did me wrong, but I know in your heart that you love me."
"I think you've got me confused with someone else. My name is Bill."
"What the hell are you talking about, Steve? It's me, June, your lover. How are you gonna be treating me like that? After all I've done for you, all the wild sex that we had, all the sexual positions I got into just for you! You can't squeeze me like a piece of ripe fruit then toss me out the window. No sir, it doesn't work like that! Not at all!" And with that, she ran away from me in tears. I decided to shrug it off, and turned and walked in the other direction through the parking lot.
A few seconds later, June popped up from behind a cargo van and said, "Hi lover, I've decided to forgive you. I have to admit you were mean to me, but I can't help loving my man."
"Uh, listen, I think that--"
She put her hand over my mouth. "Hush now, Steve, I only want to hear about how much you love me. Come and whisper into my ear how much you love me." She pulled close and put her ear up to my mouth.
"But really, I--"
Once again, her hand covered my mouth. "Not another word, Steve. I only want to hear sweet sounds coming from your sweet mouth. Come on and dance with me, Steve, dance with me the way you did at the Senior Prom." She wrapped her arms around me and forced both of our bodies to sway. She rested her head on my shoulder and was in a state of bliss as the music played in her head.
I pushed her away after a moment, and told her "No, stop."
"What in the world is the matter with you, Steve?"
"What's the matter is that I don't know you."
"You mean you don't want to know me!" She became enraged. "You dirty son of a bitch. You think you can treat me like some slut, some common whore, then just throw me out on the trash bin? Is that the way you want to play? Well, two can play this game!" She stormed away in a huff, and I made my way more rapidly through the parking lot. I hoped I had seen that last of her.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, she grabbed me from behind and said seductively "Hi Sugar Buns. My white chocolate lover."
I shook my head and sighed. "Lady, please just--"
"I have to respect the man I love. I always make it a rule to respect my elders, whether they're older than me or younger than me. Now shut up and dance with me, do the dance of love!" She began an energetic dance, taking my hands and sort of forcing me to dance along. I was a bit dazed by it all, and hung on for a few moments as she led me in her little Dance of Insanity.
When I pulled away from her, she said "I know now what's wrong with you, Steve. My man needs some good loving." She dug into her huge handbag and began pulling out condoms, handcuffs and various sex toys, enthusiastically trying to hand them off to me. "I know how to treat my man." Then she reached down and took a big handful of my manhood and squeezed.
"Hey! You can't do that, you can't just grab me like that."
"Why not? What's the problem, Steve?"
"Quit calling me Steve. You have mistaken me for someone else, and--"
She interrupted me by giving my face a solid slap. "I am done with you. We are officially over. You are both a bitch and a bastard." She turned on her heel and marched off. Then she stopped and faced me one last time. "And one more thing. I know a lot more about nuclear science than you might think I do." She hurried over to an empty pickup truck, threw her handbag in the back, and sat on the back bumper. She yelled at a non-existent driver "Step on it Raoul, I've got to get to Miami."
I decided to skip the meal and get back into my car and keep on driving. I had nothing against June, but clearly she was a lady whose mind has its own address in another universe. And I remain A Driving Fool.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
REHOBOTH BEACH, DELAWARE
Ever hear of Rehoboth Beach, Delaware?
I think mostly only people who are wealthy enough to live there
or vacation there know where it is.
I was told to go there from Florida and drive down a SUV pulling a
UHaul trailer along.
Which I'd never done, even with all my driving experiences.
So I flew from Orlando to Philadelphia, then took a train to downtown
Philly, then caught a NJ transit bus out to Cape May, NJ. Then I got
on a shuttle that took me out to a Ferry boat, where I climbed aboard
and chugged across the water of Delaware Bay. An hour and a half later,
we came back to shore and I got on another shuttle, which took me to
city bus, then transferred to another city bus.
On the last bus, I was asking the driver how close he would come to
the address where I was to pick up the car.
Some younger women stared at me, and one of them said, "You don't
look wealthy enough to live in Rehoboth."
I told her I didn't live there, I was just going to pick up a vehicle.
"Then the people you're driving for must be rich, especially if their
house is that close to the ocean."
I got off the last bus and walked one mile to the house.
I found that the UHaul was twice as big as the SUV in front of it, and
felt nervous.
It was a trick to find where the customer had hidden his car keys for me,
and a bigger trick to back the SUV and UHaul trailer out of the driveway onto
the narrow street with cars parallel parked on it.
Wooo-hooo!
As I began the drive, the cell phone rang and I spoke to the owners.
They sounded like surfer hippies, saying "cool" and "mellow" a lot.
"We left you some righteous snacks in the car, dude. There's granola
and organic trail mix. Oh, and a case of organic water."
Never heard of organic water.
I stopped in Norfolk for the night, and the next day I noticed that the front tires
on their SUV were losing lots of tread very fast on the outer edges.
This worried me incredibly, so I just chose to drive ten miles under the speed limit.
Which led to lots of people honking and waving at my with one finger.
I called the owner to tell him about the tires, and he said "Wow, bummer. Sounds
like you need to puff a joint and be mellow. I rolled you a fattie, its in the glove
box"
Seemed like a bad idea.
I made it OK, but barely.
I sincerely hope I won't have to pull a big trailer again anytime soon.
Not conducive with a stress-free driving experience for A Driving Fool.
I think mostly only people who are wealthy enough to live there
or vacation there know where it is.
I was told to go there from Florida and drive down a SUV pulling a
UHaul trailer along.
Which I'd never done, even with all my driving experiences.
So I flew from Orlando to Philadelphia, then took a train to downtown
Philly, then caught a NJ transit bus out to Cape May, NJ. Then I got
on a shuttle that took me out to a Ferry boat, where I climbed aboard
and chugged across the water of Delaware Bay. An hour and a half later,
we came back to shore and I got on another shuttle, which took me to
city bus, then transferred to another city bus.
On the last bus, I was asking the driver how close he would come to
the address where I was to pick up the car.
Some younger women stared at me, and one of them said, "You don't
look wealthy enough to live in Rehoboth."
I told her I didn't live there, I was just going to pick up a vehicle.
"Then the people you're driving for must be rich, especially if their
house is that close to the ocean."
I got off the last bus and walked one mile to the house.
I found that the UHaul was twice as big as the SUV in front of it, and
felt nervous.
It was a trick to find where the customer had hidden his car keys for me,
and a bigger trick to back the SUV and UHaul trailer out of the driveway onto
the narrow street with cars parallel parked on it.
Wooo-hooo!
As I began the drive, the cell phone rang and I spoke to the owners.
They sounded like surfer hippies, saying "cool" and "mellow" a lot.
"We left you some righteous snacks in the car, dude. There's granola
and organic trail mix. Oh, and a case of organic water."
Never heard of organic water.
I stopped in Norfolk for the night, and the next day I noticed that the front tires
on their SUV were losing lots of tread very fast on the outer edges.
This worried me incredibly, so I just chose to drive ten miles under the speed limit.
Which led to lots of people honking and waving at my with one finger.
I called the owner to tell him about the tires, and he said "Wow, bummer. Sounds
like you need to puff a joint and be mellow. I rolled you a fattie, its in the glove
box"
Seemed like a bad idea.
I made it OK, but barely.
I sincerely hope I won't have to pull a big trailer again anytime soon.
Not conducive with a stress-free driving experience for A Driving Fool.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
DAYTONA BIKER WEEK
A few weeks back, Biker Week came to an end in Daytona Beach, Florida.
And at the end of that week, I was given a car to drive up to Allentown, PA.
Which meant that I was driving with a whole lot of traffic up I-95, most of
them motorcycles.
They often ride in bunches, and a group of them can easily be as long as a semi truck.
But unlike a truck, their size can expand or shorten, sort of like an accordian.
So getting around them can be tricky.
I have to hand it to them, speaking from a safety standpoint.
They will often go 55 to 60mph in a zone that is marked for 70mph.
But I'm doing a job and need to go the maximum allowed speed, which meant
in this case passing them.
A few times there were just two Bikers, and when I'd try to speed up and go around
them, they'd gun their engines and speed up even faster than me to cut me off.
At first I thought it was coincidence, and then decided maybe they were screwing with me.
When I stopped in South Carolina for gas, an elderly Gent came rapidly towards me, limping along as he used a cane for support.
As he approached me, I was pumping gas into my tank.
He surprised me by lifting his cane and poking me in the chest with it.
"Just who do you think you are, young man?"
I was bemused. "Beg pardon?"
"I don't like the way you drive!"
"You don't?"
"No sir, I do not. You're zigging and zagging all through traffic, weaving in and out, doing at least 100 miles per hour."
"I think you've made a mistake."
"Don't sass me, boy! Don't try to treat me like an old fool." He poked me with
the cane again for emphasis. "You make me nervous."
"Did I cut you off or something?"
"What do you mean, boy?"
"Did I cut in front of you while you were driving? If so, I am sorry."
"Heck, I'm not driving, I can't see well enough to drive anymore.
My daughter is driving me back up to Virginia."
I was baffled. "I thought you said I made you nervous."
"I did. You do. Zipping around like a crazy person, ripping down the road like
a crazy man in that little yellow sports car of yours. Stop it. Stop it now!"
I pointed at the black Cadillac Seville I was driving. "Sir, this is the car I'm driving today."
"Huh? You say what?" The old fellow was genuinely perplexed.
"I don't know who you saw driving a yellow sports car, but it wasn't me."
The old Gent's confusion dissolved, and quickly turned into rage. "Listen boy, no one likes a smart ass! You got me?" He poked me with the cane once more, and then limped away proudly.
I got back in the car and continued headed north. I guess I need to have more respect for Bikers. And wear a bullet proof vest in case I get attacked by a cane again.
And at the end of that week, I was given a car to drive up to Allentown, PA.
Which meant that I was driving with a whole lot of traffic up I-95, most of
them motorcycles.
They often ride in bunches, and a group of them can easily be as long as a semi truck.
But unlike a truck, their size can expand or shorten, sort of like an accordian.
So getting around them can be tricky.
I have to hand it to them, speaking from a safety standpoint.
They will often go 55 to 60mph in a zone that is marked for 70mph.
But I'm doing a job and need to go the maximum allowed speed, which meant
in this case passing them.
A few times there were just two Bikers, and when I'd try to speed up and go around
them, they'd gun their engines and speed up even faster than me to cut me off.
At first I thought it was coincidence, and then decided maybe they were screwing with me.
When I stopped in South Carolina for gas, an elderly Gent came rapidly towards me, limping along as he used a cane for support.
As he approached me, I was pumping gas into my tank.
He surprised me by lifting his cane and poking me in the chest with it.
"Just who do you think you are, young man?"
I was bemused. "Beg pardon?"
"I don't like the way you drive!"
"You don't?"
"No sir, I do not. You're zigging and zagging all through traffic, weaving in and out, doing at least 100 miles per hour."
"I think you've made a mistake."
"Don't sass me, boy! Don't try to treat me like an old fool." He poked me with
the cane again for emphasis. "You make me nervous."
"Did I cut you off or something?"
"What do you mean, boy?"
"Did I cut in front of you while you were driving? If so, I am sorry."
"Heck, I'm not driving, I can't see well enough to drive anymore.
My daughter is driving me back up to Virginia."
I was baffled. "I thought you said I made you nervous."
"I did. You do. Zipping around like a crazy person, ripping down the road like
a crazy man in that little yellow sports car of yours. Stop it. Stop it now!"
I pointed at the black Cadillac Seville I was driving. "Sir, this is the car I'm driving today."
"Huh? You say what?" The old fellow was genuinely perplexed.
"I don't know who you saw driving a yellow sports car, but it wasn't me."
The old Gent's confusion dissolved, and quickly turned into rage. "Listen boy, no one likes a smart ass! You got me?" He poked me with the cane once more, and then limped away proudly.
I got back in the car and continued headed north. I guess I need to have more respect for Bikers. And wear a bullet proof vest in case I get attacked by a cane again.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
BAD NEWS IN WEST VIRIGINIA
An old friend asked me to drive his Mom's car up to West Virginia last week.
It was a nice Lincoln Town car, and I agreed to do it for a reduced rate.
He also agreed to buy me a plane ticket back to Florida, and said that I could spend
the night at his Mom's house up in West Virginia.
As I drove along, I noticed that the car was missing.
Which usually means it needs a Tune up.
I had told my friend to be sure that the car was fully serviced
before I took it on this long trip, and he told me it was all taken care of.
But...
Late in the afternoon, the missing turned into jerking and jumping.
When I drove at 70mph on cruise control, everything was just fine.
But in stop and go traffic, it was like a bucking Bronco.
I called the Mom and told her what was going on.
"Yeah," she said, "It will do that sometimes. Is it smoking yet?"
I looked out the rear view mirror, and sure enough there was white smoke billowing
up from the exhaust pipe.
I told her, and she didn't seem at all suprised.
At 4pm, when I was 99 miles south of her house, the car stopped running completely.
The transmission was completely burned out, and I was stuck on the very narrow shoulder of Interstate 77 in West Virginia, on a steep hill and at a curve in the road.
Lucky for me, Mom called her eldest son, and he jumped into action.
He found a tow truck to come and get me, although it took 7 hours for it to arrive.
In the meantime, I was stuck in the middle of nowhere.
And having an upset stomach, with a strong need to go sit in a bathroom.
After a few hours of holding it in, I decided to climb over the guardrail and climb
precariously down the steep hill so as to be out of sight.
I dug my feet into the dirt, dropped my pants and squatted.
Suddenly, the dirt under my left foot gave way, and I fell flat on my butt and start sliding very fast down the hill.
Crapping all the way down.
I was grabbing onto plants and roots and anything I could to try to stop my rapid descent, and every single thing I grabbed was covered with stickers.
It took me a long time to climb back up, and when I arrived at the top I stood up just as a big semi flew by, and the strong gust of wind made me lose my balance and go sliding down the hill again.
The tow truck driver dropped me off at his wrecker yard at 1am.
Mom's eldest son was there and took me to his house, fed me, and gave me a bed to sleep in.
The next morning, he drove me 30 miles to the airport.
Times can be tough on the road, but its good to know that there are kind and caring people out there.
It was a nice Lincoln Town car, and I agreed to do it for a reduced rate.
He also agreed to buy me a plane ticket back to Florida, and said that I could spend
the night at his Mom's house up in West Virginia.
As I drove along, I noticed that the car was missing.
Which usually means it needs a Tune up.
I had told my friend to be sure that the car was fully serviced
before I took it on this long trip, and he told me it was all taken care of.
But...
Late in the afternoon, the missing turned into jerking and jumping.
When I drove at 70mph on cruise control, everything was just fine.
But in stop and go traffic, it was like a bucking Bronco.
I called the Mom and told her what was going on.
"Yeah," she said, "It will do that sometimes. Is it smoking yet?"
I looked out the rear view mirror, and sure enough there was white smoke billowing
up from the exhaust pipe.
I told her, and she didn't seem at all suprised.
At 4pm, when I was 99 miles south of her house, the car stopped running completely.
The transmission was completely burned out, and I was stuck on the very narrow shoulder of Interstate 77 in West Virginia, on a steep hill and at a curve in the road.
Lucky for me, Mom called her eldest son, and he jumped into action.
He found a tow truck to come and get me, although it took 7 hours for it to arrive.
In the meantime, I was stuck in the middle of nowhere.
And having an upset stomach, with a strong need to go sit in a bathroom.
After a few hours of holding it in, I decided to climb over the guardrail and climb
precariously down the steep hill so as to be out of sight.
I dug my feet into the dirt, dropped my pants and squatted.
Suddenly, the dirt under my left foot gave way, and I fell flat on my butt and start sliding very fast down the hill.
Crapping all the way down.
I was grabbing onto plants and roots and anything I could to try to stop my rapid descent, and every single thing I grabbed was covered with stickers.
It took me a long time to climb back up, and when I arrived at the top I stood up just as a big semi flew by, and the strong gust of wind made me lose my balance and go sliding down the hill again.
The tow truck driver dropped me off at his wrecker yard at 1am.
Mom's eldest son was there and took me to his house, fed me, and gave me a bed to sleep in.
The next morning, he drove me 30 miles to the airport.
Times can be tough on the road, but its good to know that there are kind and caring people out there.
Friday, March 19, 2010
PANCAKE BREAKFAST
I was told to pick up a car in Tallahassee over the weekend. I was in Orlando, so
I rented a car to drive up in, then showed up early Saturday at the ladies' house. I saw a huge sign on the front door that stated BARE FEET ONLY IN THIS HOUSE. I looked over my paperwork, then rang the doorbell.
An excitable woman threw open the front door and said impatiently, "Yes? What? What do you need?"
"Hi. I'm your driver, I'm here to pick up your car."
"Oh! Right, right, I remember. We're having a slumber party here. Well not me, but my daughter, and all her friends are here. Do you want some pancakes?"
"Uh, no thank you."
"Are you sure? Its no problem, we have plenty. Let me fix you a big ole plate of pancakes."
"No really."
"But I made these pancakes Jamaican style."
"Sounds tempting, but no."
"You'll have to take your shoes off if you want to come in the house."
"Excuse me?"
"Your shoes, you have to kick them off before you come inside."
"Oh yes, I saw the sign on the door."
"Bare feet only in this house."
"Understood, but I won't need to come in.
"You sure?"
"Yes, absolutely."
"Because you can just kick those shoes right off your feet and come in to eat a nice big plate of pancakes."
"No, I just need the keys to your company car so I can drive it back to Orlando."
"The keys are in the ignition, where they belong."
"OK, good, that's helpful."
"Just one thing, though."
"What's that?"
"You'll have to take your shoes off before you can come into the house. I mean, if you decide you want to come in the house."
I paused to consider this. "Sure."
I did the paperwork, then as I was leaving, she came running out of the house barefooted. "Can I make you a plate of pancakes to go?"
"No, but thank you very much." And I drove off for my four hour journey back to Orlando. Overall, it was a happy Saturday for a driving fool.
I rented a car to drive up in, then showed up early Saturday at the ladies' house. I saw a huge sign on the front door that stated BARE FEET ONLY IN THIS HOUSE. I looked over my paperwork, then rang the doorbell.
An excitable woman threw open the front door and said impatiently, "Yes? What? What do you need?"
"Hi. I'm your driver, I'm here to pick up your car."
"Oh! Right, right, I remember. We're having a slumber party here. Well not me, but my daughter, and all her friends are here. Do you want some pancakes?"
"Uh, no thank you."
"Are you sure? Its no problem, we have plenty. Let me fix you a big ole plate of pancakes."
"No really."
"But I made these pancakes Jamaican style."
"Sounds tempting, but no."
"You'll have to take your shoes off if you want to come in the house."
"Excuse me?"
"Your shoes, you have to kick them off before you come inside."
"Oh yes, I saw the sign on the door."
"Bare feet only in this house."
"Understood, but I won't need to come in.
"You sure?"
"Yes, absolutely."
"Because you can just kick those shoes right off your feet and come in to eat a nice big plate of pancakes."
"No, I just need the keys to your company car so I can drive it back to Orlando."
"The keys are in the ignition, where they belong."
"OK, good, that's helpful."
"Just one thing, though."
"What's that?"
"You'll have to take your shoes off before you can come into the house. I mean, if you decide you want to come in the house."
I paused to consider this. "Sure."
I did the paperwork, then as I was leaving, she came running out of the house barefooted. "Can I make you a plate of pancakes to go?"
"No, but thank you very much." And I drove off for my four hour journey back to Orlando. Overall, it was a happy Saturday for a driving fool.
Monday, March 8, 2010
HANGING AT THE TRUCK STOP
Driving jobs have become few and far between.
I am anxious to work so I can save enough to get off the road, but my finances have become a series of peaks and valleys.
I work very hard for what I earn, and I try to hang onto every penny.
Last week, I was driving from Birmingham to Orlando, and I stopped on Sunday
night at a Truck Stop just outside Tallahassee.
I hopped out of the car and started to gas it up, deep in thought about how late
I would be arriving in Orlando.
Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me. "Evening!"
I turned and saw a scraggly-looking man striding towards me, and my
heart sunk.
From my experience, he'd want something, and I just wasn't in the mood.
"Good evening," I replied as politely as possible.
"I have had one hell of a day. My girlfriend Carol drove us here from Panama City Beach, we were on the way to Jacksonville for a little vacation. We stopped here for gas this afternoon, and I went in to use the bathroom. But when I came out, she was driving away! And she had another guy in the car with her! And I think it was my cousin Timmy!"
"What was your cousin doing here?"
"Yes, exactly, that's just what I was wondering. How did it just so happen that Timmy was here at this particular Truck Stop at just the right time? It all smells of a conspiracy to me. But if you could just give me some money to help me get home, I'd surely appreciate it."
I sighed, but then remembered that I had a whole lot of change in my pocket weighing me down. Lots of pennies, dimes, nickels, and a few quarters. So I dug into my pocket and pulled out all the change, then poured it into his cupped hands. He stared down at the money, then looked up at me with disappointment in his eyes. "I don't think this will get me back to Panama City."
I try to help my fellow man, and this is the thanks I get?
Oh well, in my heart I feel I did the right thing... whether his story was true, or another tall tale told to me by a penniless drifter.
Such is the life of a driving fool.
I am anxious to work so I can save enough to get off the road, but my finances have become a series of peaks and valleys.
I work very hard for what I earn, and I try to hang onto every penny.
Last week, I was driving from Birmingham to Orlando, and I stopped on Sunday
night at a Truck Stop just outside Tallahassee.
I hopped out of the car and started to gas it up, deep in thought about how late
I would be arriving in Orlando.
Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me. "Evening!"
I turned and saw a scraggly-looking man striding towards me, and my
heart sunk.
From my experience, he'd want something, and I just wasn't in the mood.
"Good evening," I replied as politely as possible.
"I have had one hell of a day. My girlfriend Carol drove us here from Panama City Beach, we were on the way to Jacksonville for a little vacation. We stopped here for gas this afternoon, and I went in to use the bathroom. But when I came out, she was driving away! And she had another guy in the car with her! And I think it was my cousin Timmy!"
"What was your cousin doing here?"
"Yes, exactly, that's just what I was wondering. How did it just so happen that Timmy was here at this particular Truck Stop at just the right time? It all smells of a conspiracy to me. But if you could just give me some money to help me get home, I'd surely appreciate it."
I sighed, but then remembered that I had a whole lot of change in my pocket weighing me down. Lots of pennies, dimes, nickels, and a few quarters. So I dug into my pocket and pulled out all the change, then poured it into his cupped hands. He stared down at the money, then looked up at me with disappointment in his eyes. "I don't think this will get me back to Panama City."
I try to help my fellow man, and this is the thanks I get?
Oh well, in my heart I feel I did the right thing... whether his story was true, or another tall tale told to me by a penniless drifter.
Such is the life of a driving fool.
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