For a driving fool, its all about the daily routine. Driving here and there all over the United States, seeing things most Americans never get to enjoy. Meeting new people, often times oddly bizarre people. But also folks who are in need or offer me kindness just when I need it most.
I have a lot of time and opportunity to study other people's driving habits on the road. It gives me a lot of terms and definitions of my own. For instance, a few of my pet peeves include people who get into the left lane on an interstate highway and go ten miles under the speed limit. Refusing to move over to the right and let all the drivers behind them go the full, proper speed. And texting while driving is not only irritating, its insane. Robin Williams did a wonderful bit about it, explaining that your brain can't drive and text at the same time, and one day your brain will just quit on you and let you crash.
There is an event that often occurs on highways. Say you are on a large highway, like the LBJ freeway that loops around Dallas. It has four lanes going in each direction. The far left lane, or number one lane, along with number two and three lanes, will collect three drivers who go side by side. All of them at the exact same speed, usually five to ten miles below the posted speed limit. I call this BUILDING A WALL. I constantly find myself jumping over into the number four lane, aka the slow lane, to whip around them and get down the road.
And then there are those folks who like to drive in clumps. They want to be in a group, as close as they possibly can to the other cars. And some drivers seem to think driving is like swimming, you need the buddy system. A car will speed up behind me, and when they are directly behind me they lock in on my tail and stay right with me. This irritates me, so I speed up considerably. They stay right with me. So I slow down, sometimes as far as twenty miles below the speed limit. But they slow down the exact same amount. I've had to go so far as to just pull over on the shoulder of the highway so these parasites will go away. I call them SNUGGLE BUNNIES.
There are the pleasant moments on the road, however. Such as when I'm driving and suddenly notice that there is a clump of cars 100 yards ahead of me. And there is another clump of cars 100 yards behind me. But I am in a space all alone. I call this being in a POCKET. When this happens, I just immediately feel a sense of joy and pleasure wash over me. I smile and relax and careen down the road on my way to my next adventure. A driving fool rides again!
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
ROBIN WILLIAMS IS DEAD
Two days ago I heard the report on the radio as I was driving a car from Chicago to Reno. Actor-comedian Robin Williams, dead at 63, from what appeared to be a suicide. My heart sunk like never before. I felt like a thousand bricks had fallen on my head all at one time. Celebrities die all the time, and I may feel a passing sadness. But this felt like a close friend or family member dying. Not just that, but a brilliant comic genius, an energetic force of nature, one that had never come before or would ever come after.
The fact that it was a suicide made it that much more difficult for me. One of my closest friends ever went out like that, and thus I have a big problem with suicide. For my friend, I felt deep sadness, then anger, then regret, then betrayl, then denial, then profound grief. In this case, how could this man who could make millions laugh take his own life?
I felt myself tearing up. And so I thought back to happier times, when I very first met this amazing man. When I watched Robin on MORK & MINDY, I felt I was discovering something completely new and wonderful in the comedy world. This guy was incredible, and the way his quicksilver mind worked boggled my imagination. It was Robin Williams that made me want to move to L.A. in the 80's. And once there, it was him performing weekly at The Comedy Store in Hollywood that made me want to do the same. And so I did.
I was with a group called the Pot Luck Players, and we opened the show in the Improv room every Monday night. Robin was in the final group of the evening, The Comedy Store players. I would watch him with undying admiration, wanting to meet him but not wanting to be like every fan that pesters a star. I had a part time job working as head usher at a movie theater, and one night I did a favor for one of Robin's cohorts. Jim Stahl, who performed with him at "The Store" and on MORK & MINDY came in with two girls on his arm to see a movie that was already sold out. I found a way to find him 3 seats together, and he told me he owed me one.
"And here's what I want," I told him. "I perform on Monday nights, and would really appreciate it if you could introduce me to Robin."
He smiled and told me I didn't need his help. "Robin is totally approachable, you can just go back stage and introduce yourself."
"Then I'd be like everyone else. Can you help me out?"
He patted me on the back and smiled. "You helped me out tonight. If that's what you want, you got it."
That Monday night I got there early and sat myself at the table right next to the curtained entry way to back stage. Around 10pm, Jim leaned out and wiggled his finger for me to follow him. I walked behind the stage and saw Robin bouncing nervously from foot to foot, rubbing his hands in eager anticipation. He looked like he was about to explode.
Jim said, "Robin Williams, I have the great pleasure of introducing you to the one, the only Bill Thomas."
Robin leaped over to me and grabbed my hand, pumping my arm for all it was worth. "Oh my God, this the most wonderful moment of my life! I can't believe this is happening to me. I mean Bill Thomas! One dreams of moments like this, but never thinks they will happen. What a pleasure to meet you, what an honor, what a challenge. I'm such a big fan, such a big fan!" He went on like that, and then started bouncing off the walls doing comedy just for me. Improving and riffing about anything and everything. It climaxed with him opening the Emergency exit doors onto Sunset Blvd., where he started a conversation with 3 hookers as if he were their black pimp.
After that, I saw him many times performing, both at The Comedy Store and The Improv. I have a distinctive laugh, and he recognized it several times while performing and would point to me, always sitting right down front.
He was absolutely amazing, and I am just so darned depressed and frustrated that he is gone. It leaves a big hole that can never be filled. He had such an influence on so many people, and now he is gone. He left behind wonderful films, from THE WORLD ACCORDING TO GARP to GOOD MORNING VIETNAM to MRS. DOUBTFIRE. He will be missed very much. I have a huge lump in my throat that won't go away.
But my own personal thank you to the man who is now finally at peace. Robin Williams, you made a 20 year old kid feel very special and important one memorable night at The Comedy Store. My comic hero, gone but never forgotten.
The fact that it was a suicide made it that much more difficult for me. One of my closest friends ever went out like that, and thus I have a big problem with suicide. For my friend, I felt deep sadness, then anger, then regret, then betrayl, then denial, then profound grief. In this case, how could this man who could make millions laugh take his own life?
I felt myself tearing up. And so I thought back to happier times, when I very first met this amazing man. When I watched Robin on MORK & MINDY, I felt I was discovering something completely new and wonderful in the comedy world. This guy was incredible, and the way his quicksilver mind worked boggled my imagination. It was Robin Williams that made me want to move to L.A. in the 80's. And once there, it was him performing weekly at The Comedy Store in Hollywood that made me want to do the same. And so I did.
I was with a group called the Pot Luck Players, and we opened the show in the Improv room every Monday night. Robin was in the final group of the evening, The Comedy Store players. I would watch him with undying admiration, wanting to meet him but not wanting to be like every fan that pesters a star. I had a part time job working as head usher at a movie theater, and one night I did a favor for one of Robin's cohorts. Jim Stahl, who performed with him at "The Store" and on MORK & MINDY came in with two girls on his arm to see a movie that was already sold out. I found a way to find him 3 seats together, and he told me he owed me one.
"And here's what I want," I told him. "I perform on Monday nights, and would really appreciate it if you could introduce me to Robin."
He smiled and told me I didn't need his help. "Robin is totally approachable, you can just go back stage and introduce yourself."
"Then I'd be like everyone else. Can you help me out?"
He patted me on the back and smiled. "You helped me out tonight. If that's what you want, you got it."
That Monday night I got there early and sat myself at the table right next to the curtained entry way to back stage. Around 10pm, Jim leaned out and wiggled his finger for me to follow him. I walked behind the stage and saw Robin bouncing nervously from foot to foot, rubbing his hands in eager anticipation. He looked like he was about to explode.
Jim said, "Robin Williams, I have the great pleasure of introducing you to the one, the only Bill Thomas."
Robin leaped over to me and grabbed my hand, pumping my arm for all it was worth. "Oh my God, this the most wonderful moment of my life! I can't believe this is happening to me. I mean Bill Thomas! One dreams of moments like this, but never thinks they will happen. What a pleasure to meet you, what an honor, what a challenge. I'm such a big fan, such a big fan!" He went on like that, and then started bouncing off the walls doing comedy just for me. Improving and riffing about anything and everything. It climaxed with him opening the Emergency exit doors onto Sunset Blvd., where he started a conversation with 3 hookers as if he were their black pimp.
After that, I saw him many times performing, both at The Comedy Store and The Improv. I have a distinctive laugh, and he recognized it several times while performing and would point to me, always sitting right down front.
He was absolutely amazing, and I am just so darned depressed and frustrated that he is gone. It leaves a big hole that can never be filled. He had such an influence on so many people, and now he is gone. He left behind wonderful films, from THE WORLD ACCORDING TO GARP to GOOD MORNING VIETNAM to MRS. DOUBTFIRE. He will be missed very much. I have a huge lump in my throat that won't go away.
But my own personal thank you to the man who is now finally at peace. Robin Williams, you made a 20 year old kid feel very special and important one memorable night at The Comedy Store. My comic hero, gone but never forgotten.
Saturday, July 19, 2014
SOVEREIGN STATE
As careful of a driver as I am, even a driving fool gets a traffic ticket now and then. In this case, it was nearly one month ago in Naples, Florida, and it was for doing 37mph in a zone marked 35mph. It felt a little extreme to me, so I called a place I heard advertised on the radio all over Florida to help you fight traffic tickets.
I was required to appear with my lawyer just yesterday in a courtroom in Naples. When I arrived, I was surprised by the amount of odd and very unusual people waiting to plead their cases. I suddenly felt like I was in a room full of "Bill's people," the strange folks who find me wherever I travel and are drawn to me like I'm a weirdo magnet.
The Judge came in and sat at his bench. I noticed that there was an old fashioned telephone on the edge of his desk (or bench). It was a black phone with a dial on it instead of push buttons. The Judge introduced himself, and then explained the rules and procedures. "But above all," he said, "I insist that you be prepared and just tell me guilty or not guilty. Understood?"
The first name was called, and a grungy dude stepped up to the podium for defendants. "Your honor, I got a story to tell."
The Judge groaned. "Guilty or not guilty?"
"That's the thing, your Honor, it's not a black and white matter. It kinda falls into a gray area. Know what I'm sayin'?"
The Judge shook his head NO. "Did you hear my instructions? Please say guilty or not guilty."
"If only it was that easy, your judgeship. See, it's kinda, well, you know how it is."
The Judge sighed. "No, I do not."
"Sure you do. I'm a good man, a real good man. Oh sure, I've stolen cars and robbed ladies' purses, but I think we've all done that, right?"
"Guilty or not guilty?"
"Judge, I need you to know that prison is not for me. I'm not a prison person. If you send me to prison, I won't come out a better man, but instead I will come out being a bad ass criminal. Now do you want to be responsible for that?"
The Judge shook his head in frustration. "Why don't you take your seat and think long and hard about how you want to plead. I will call your name when I'm ready for you, after everyone else."
"Hold up, you means I got to stay here all day?"
The Judge turned to the bailiff and said, "Call the next name."
The bailiff did so as the grungy fellow made his way angrily back to his seat. A very large obese latina woman came waddling up to the podium next.
The Judge stared at her very intently. "Guilty or not guilty?"
"Your Honor the Judge, I claim myself a sovereign state."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I am a sovereign state, I am independent, and I do not follow the U.S. laws or either am I bound by them. See, I am a sovereign state."
The Judge slowly pulled his hand down over his face. "That doesn't apply here."
"Of course it does."
"It does not."
"I think you're wrong."
"I know I'm right."
"What makes you so sure?"
The Judge held up his gavel. "This gavel, my robes, and the state of Florida."
"That don't mean nothing to me. Hijo de puta."
"A what?"
"Your Honor the Judge, I am a sovereign state. Wherever I walk, the soil underneath my feet be my own state of sovereignty, and so everything that I do has diplomatic immunity."
The Judge looked over the court documents. "It says here you ran a red light. Did you do it?"
"Of course, but I am protected by--"
The Judge interrupted quickly "Guilty," and pounded his gavel. The woman continued to speak, but the bailiff went over and firmly yet politely escorted her to the courtroom doors. And then my name was called. I was a bit concerned because my attorney had not yet arrived. I slowly walked up to the podium, and just as the Judge spoke to me my lawyer ran in and came rushing to my side.
"Good morning, your Honor."
The Judge smirked. "Running late today, counselor?"
"The bigger issue here is justice your Honor, and I know we will find that in your courtroom today for Mr. Bill Johnson."
I whispered to my attorney "Bill Thomas."
"Your Honor, I've just been informed it's Bill Thomas we are here to defend."
"You are here to defend him, not me, not WE."
My attorney chuckled. "Yes your Honor, of course you're right." Then my attorney whispered to me. "Hi, I'm sorry to be late. We met on the phone. Jason Biggins, at your service." We shook hands. Then he turned to the impatient Judge. "Your honor, what we are dealing with today is a serious miscarriage of justice to the most heinous degree."
"Guilty or not guilty?" asked the Judge. And then the phone rang. The Judge held up a finger towards me and Jason to indicate for us to pause. The Judge answered. "Yes? What? When did this happen? And what did you do? Oh, I see. How much did they say it was going to cost? How much? Are you kidding me? OK, I will speak to you later." The Judge hung up and seemed very distracted and lost in thoughts.
"Shall I continue now?" asked Jason.
"What? Yes, yes, go on."
"Your Honor, Mr. Thomas is a respected man and a professional driver. He was passing through our fair town one month ago when--" The Judge held up a finger again to pause Jason. "Did you have a question for me, your Honor?"
"Yes I do. My wife just called and said that a large rock hit her car windshield and caused a large crack. How much do you think it will cost to replace the windshield?"
Jason seemed dumbfounded. "I really wouldn't know."
"Come now, you are an intelligent man. My wife says she was told that it would cost around $500. Does that sound right to you?"
Jason shrugged. "I guess that sounds fair..."
"Well I'd like to know what world you live in where that's fair!" barked the Judge.
"I meant no disrespect, your Honor."
"I mean really, $500! That is highway robbery!"
"In retrospect, I suppose you are correct. That is too high." The Judge paused and pondered for a full minute. Jason seemed to not know what to do or say at this point. Finally, the Judge spoke. "Do you have a motion?"
Jason's eyes widened. "Uh, case dismissed, your Honor?"
"Granted." The Judge pounded his gavel. "We're going to take a recess now, we will start again right after lunch. 1pm sharp, do not be late." He pounded the gavel once more, then hurried out of the courtroom. I looked at my watch and it was only 9:45am. Short session.
Jason beamed at me as we walked out of the courtroom. "Told you I'd get you off." Indeed he did. But that had to be the most oddly interesting display of American justice I've ever witnessed.
I was required to appear with my lawyer just yesterday in a courtroom in Naples. When I arrived, I was surprised by the amount of odd and very unusual people waiting to plead their cases. I suddenly felt like I was in a room full of "Bill's people," the strange folks who find me wherever I travel and are drawn to me like I'm a weirdo magnet.
The Judge came in and sat at his bench. I noticed that there was an old fashioned telephone on the edge of his desk (or bench). It was a black phone with a dial on it instead of push buttons. The Judge introduced himself, and then explained the rules and procedures. "But above all," he said, "I insist that you be prepared and just tell me guilty or not guilty. Understood?"
The first name was called, and a grungy dude stepped up to the podium for defendants. "Your honor, I got a story to tell."
The Judge groaned. "Guilty or not guilty?"
"That's the thing, your Honor, it's not a black and white matter. It kinda falls into a gray area. Know what I'm sayin'?"
The Judge shook his head NO. "Did you hear my instructions? Please say guilty or not guilty."
"If only it was that easy, your judgeship. See, it's kinda, well, you know how it is."
The Judge sighed. "No, I do not."
"Sure you do. I'm a good man, a real good man. Oh sure, I've stolen cars and robbed ladies' purses, but I think we've all done that, right?"
"Guilty or not guilty?"
"Judge, I need you to know that prison is not for me. I'm not a prison person. If you send me to prison, I won't come out a better man, but instead I will come out being a bad ass criminal. Now do you want to be responsible for that?"
The Judge shook his head in frustration. "Why don't you take your seat and think long and hard about how you want to plead. I will call your name when I'm ready for you, after everyone else."
"Hold up, you means I got to stay here all day?"
The Judge turned to the bailiff and said, "Call the next name."
The bailiff did so as the grungy fellow made his way angrily back to his seat. A very large obese latina woman came waddling up to the podium next.
The Judge stared at her very intently. "Guilty or not guilty?"
"Your Honor the Judge, I claim myself a sovereign state."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I am a sovereign state, I am independent, and I do not follow the U.S. laws or either am I bound by them. See, I am a sovereign state."
The Judge slowly pulled his hand down over his face. "That doesn't apply here."
"Of course it does."
"It does not."
"I think you're wrong."
"I know I'm right."
"What makes you so sure?"
The Judge held up his gavel. "This gavel, my robes, and the state of Florida."
"That don't mean nothing to me. Hijo de puta."
"A what?"
"Your Honor the Judge, I am a sovereign state. Wherever I walk, the soil underneath my feet be my own state of sovereignty, and so everything that I do has diplomatic immunity."
The Judge looked over the court documents. "It says here you ran a red light. Did you do it?"
"Of course, but I am protected by--"
The Judge interrupted quickly "Guilty," and pounded his gavel. The woman continued to speak, but the bailiff went over and firmly yet politely escorted her to the courtroom doors. And then my name was called. I was a bit concerned because my attorney had not yet arrived. I slowly walked up to the podium, and just as the Judge spoke to me my lawyer ran in and came rushing to my side.
"Good morning, your Honor."
The Judge smirked. "Running late today, counselor?"
"The bigger issue here is justice your Honor, and I know we will find that in your courtroom today for Mr. Bill Johnson."
I whispered to my attorney "Bill Thomas."
"Your Honor, I've just been informed it's Bill Thomas we are here to defend."
"You are here to defend him, not me, not WE."
My attorney chuckled. "Yes your Honor, of course you're right." Then my attorney whispered to me. "Hi, I'm sorry to be late. We met on the phone. Jason Biggins, at your service." We shook hands. Then he turned to the impatient Judge. "Your honor, what we are dealing with today is a serious miscarriage of justice to the most heinous degree."
"Guilty or not guilty?" asked the Judge. And then the phone rang. The Judge held up a finger towards me and Jason to indicate for us to pause. The Judge answered. "Yes? What? When did this happen? And what did you do? Oh, I see. How much did they say it was going to cost? How much? Are you kidding me? OK, I will speak to you later." The Judge hung up and seemed very distracted and lost in thoughts.
"Shall I continue now?" asked Jason.
"What? Yes, yes, go on."
"Your Honor, Mr. Thomas is a respected man and a professional driver. He was passing through our fair town one month ago when--" The Judge held up a finger again to pause Jason. "Did you have a question for me, your Honor?"
"Yes I do. My wife just called and said that a large rock hit her car windshield and caused a large crack. How much do you think it will cost to replace the windshield?"
Jason seemed dumbfounded. "I really wouldn't know."
"Come now, you are an intelligent man. My wife says she was told that it would cost around $500. Does that sound right to you?"
Jason shrugged. "I guess that sounds fair..."
"Well I'd like to know what world you live in where that's fair!" barked the Judge.
"I meant no disrespect, your Honor."
"I mean really, $500! That is highway robbery!"
"In retrospect, I suppose you are correct. That is too high." The Judge paused and pondered for a full minute. Jason seemed to not know what to do or say at this point. Finally, the Judge spoke. "Do you have a motion?"
Jason's eyes widened. "Uh, case dismissed, your Honor?"
"Granted." The Judge pounded his gavel. "We're going to take a recess now, we will start again right after lunch. 1pm sharp, do not be late." He pounded the gavel once more, then hurried out of the courtroom. I looked at my watch and it was only 9:45am. Short session.
Jason beamed at me as we walked out of the courtroom. "Told you I'd get you off." Indeed he did. But that had to be the most oddly interesting display of American justice I've ever witnessed.
Friday, June 20, 2014
SKINNY ATLAS
As I drove up through upstate New York last weekend, I felt very concerned about the car I was driving. It belonged to an old man, a snow bird, and he had packed the car so full that I could not see out the back window. My rear view mirror was completely useless. And the front seat passenger side was completely full from floor to roof, making it extremely tight to settle into. I had to squeeze my backpack onto the console, and it rubbed up against me as I drove.
My cell phone rang. "This is Bill."
"Hello Bill, this is Maggie up here in Skaneateles. You asked me to find out about cabs going to the Syracuse airport."
"Yes ma'am, that's right."
"I've decided that when you deliver my Dad's car, I will give you a ride myself. But you're gonna have to pay me."
"No problem."
"No, I am serious. Your company raped me on the price to move Dad's car, and so this is payback."
"No problem. I should be there in an hour." I hung up and smiled as I peered at my Mapquest directions. I was going to a town in New York called Skaneateles, but to me it sounded like Skinny Atlas. I had nothing but trouble driving it up from Naples, Florida. The car was overloaded and completely unsafe. And Maggie had been calling me once an hour every hour since I started this trip.
Just over an hour later, I pulled into her driveway. Maggie was standing in the driveway doing stretching exercises, and she marched straight over to the car with her hand out. "Where's my money?" she demanded.
"How much did you want?" I asked.
"Fifty dollars. And I will not haggle or bargain with you."
I shook my head. "No need." I pulled out my wallet and gave her the cash. "Ready to go?" I asked, wondering how we could both possibly fit into this car.
"Come on into the house and have a cup of joe."
"No thanks, I just want to get to the airport."
She stopped and gave me a dead-eyed glare. "We are not going anywhere until you come into the house and drink coffee and have some decent conversation."
I reluctantly followed her inside of her filthy house. The first thing I noticed were the dolls, because there must have been hundreds of them, all lined up along the walls and on shelves. The smallest were the size of a Barbie doll, but there were some three feet tall. It was really strange to me, and reminded me of a movie about killer dolls that come to life and attack people. She hurried into the kitchen and came back with two mugs of steaming hot coffee. I didn't want any, but thought I could just blow on it and pretend to sip it.
She turned on the TV and Gilligan's Island was on. "Oh this is good. Do you ever watch this show? It's about seven stranded castaways who went on a three hour tour. And now they are stranded on this island. It's very dramatic and thought provoking."
I smiled. "So, what time do you think we'll leave for the airport?"
"You just slow down, hot rod. Keep your pants on, there's no big rush. Besides, I have to wake up my partner, well, my boyfriend, before we go."
"Why is that?"
"Because my partner, I mean my boyfriend, needs to ride along and give us directions to the airport."
I pulled a folded sheet of paper out of my pocket. "Already got directions right here, printed them up off a computer."
"No, no, he has to come. Those directions might get me to the airport, but then how am I supposed to get back home?"
I shrugged. "Well, I guess I would just follow the directions in reverse."
She busted out laughing. "And just how am I supposed to do that? Read the directions upside down, from right to left." I didn't understand what she meant, and so I simply remained mum. She chattered fast non-stop for thirty minutes, then looked at her watch. "Guess its time to go wake up my partner, I'm sorry, I mean my boyfriend."
Off she went down the hallway, and then I heard a voice mumble incoherently. Suddenly, a booming male voice shouted, "Bitch, why are you waking me up!"
"Because you told me to! Because I need your help getting this idiot driver to the airport!"
"Oh you dirty whore! I am trying to sleep, you know I love my sleepy time. You have to ruin it like you ruin everything!"
"That's not fair, you rotten bastard!"
"You scum-sucking tramp!"
"You lousy son of a bitch! Get your lazy ass out of bed and help me like you promised."
"Oh I will get out of bed, just long enough to break your nose and split your lip."
Maggie came back into the den where I was sitting, and she was all smiles. "He'll be here in a minute. Um, if you could, please don't mention anything about minority people to him. He really hates them a lot. If he owned a gun, I hate to think what he'd do."
Her boyfriend came trudging down the hall from the bedroom. He was shirtless, and had his hands down the front of his sweat pants scratching his privates. "Are we gonna take your Dad's car?"
I spoke up. "I don't think there is room for all of us in that until it's unpacked."
He spun around and pointed his finger at my face. "Did I ask you? Was I even talking to you?" I shook my head No. He looked at Maggie. "Get me a cup of that awful coffee you make, you toxic Tinkerbell."
"Oh, shut the hell up," she said as she went to get his coffee. He looked very slovenly, and I didn't even know his name. She walked back with another mug of coffee, and said "Here you go, Maurice."
He took it from her and took a long drink from it. "So are we gonna leave now, or are we gonna stand around with our dicks in our hands all day?"
She put her hands on her hips defiantly. "It may surprise you to learn that I don't have a dick!"
"Shut your freakin' pie hole, would you?" He walked out the front door, and we followed. We all piled into her car, and he told her that she would be driving. "Don't kill us all like usual."
She held up a fist and shook it at him. "I have never killed you, not once."
"You kill me a little bit every damn day. Now drive."
"I will Maurice, but I'm gonna give you the silent treatment."
We all rolled along in the car for ten minutes in silence, and then she pondered, "I wonder if it's gonna rain today?"
Maurice shook his head and sighed. "So much for the silent treatment. Take the next exit."
"I was just asking if it would rain," she protested.
"Next exit!"
"What?"
He screamed at her. "The exit you just passed! The exit you just passed, you stupid slut!"
Maggie looked sad. "Now that hurt. That was unnecessary."
"Well I say that you are unnecessary. How do you like that?"
"I don't like it. But we'll talk about that later." She turned and looked at me. "Maurice is a bit of a night owl, you know."
Maurice grunted. "Shut up, will you please just shut up."
They continued to shout at each other until we arrived at the Syracuse airport. I was eager to get out of the car, and Maurice called to me as I climbed out.
"Hey!" he called. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"What?" I asked.
"A little something for the driver?"
"I already paid her at the house."
"No, I'm talking about a tip for services rendered."
"No, I don't think so."
Maurice fumed. "Mister, you've got no class."
I walked away, but could hear Maurice and Maggie continue to scream at each other until I entered the airport building.
My cell phone rang. "This is Bill."
"Hello Bill, this is Maggie up here in Skaneateles. You asked me to find out about cabs going to the Syracuse airport."
"Yes ma'am, that's right."
"I've decided that when you deliver my Dad's car, I will give you a ride myself. But you're gonna have to pay me."
"No problem."
"No, I am serious. Your company raped me on the price to move Dad's car, and so this is payback."
"No problem. I should be there in an hour." I hung up and smiled as I peered at my Mapquest directions. I was going to a town in New York called Skaneateles, but to me it sounded like Skinny Atlas. I had nothing but trouble driving it up from Naples, Florida. The car was overloaded and completely unsafe. And Maggie had been calling me once an hour every hour since I started this trip.
Just over an hour later, I pulled into her driveway. Maggie was standing in the driveway doing stretching exercises, and she marched straight over to the car with her hand out. "Where's my money?" she demanded.
"How much did you want?" I asked.
"Fifty dollars. And I will not haggle or bargain with you."
I shook my head. "No need." I pulled out my wallet and gave her the cash. "Ready to go?" I asked, wondering how we could both possibly fit into this car.
"Come on into the house and have a cup of joe."
"No thanks, I just want to get to the airport."
She stopped and gave me a dead-eyed glare. "We are not going anywhere until you come into the house and drink coffee and have some decent conversation."
I reluctantly followed her inside of her filthy house. The first thing I noticed were the dolls, because there must have been hundreds of them, all lined up along the walls and on shelves. The smallest were the size of a Barbie doll, but there were some three feet tall. It was really strange to me, and reminded me of a movie about killer dolls that come to life and attack people. She hurried into the kitchen and came back with two mugs of steaming hot coffee. I didn't want any, but thought I could just blow on it and pretend to sip it.
She turned on the TV and Gilligan's Island was on. "Oh this is good. Do you ever watch this show? It's about seven stranded castaways who went on a three hour tour. And now they are stranded on this island. It's very dramatic and thought provoking."
I smiled. "So, what time do you think we'll leave for the airport?"
"You just slow down, hot rod. Keep your pants on, there's no big rush. Besides, I have to wake up my partner, well, my boyfriend, before we go."
"Why is that?"
"Because my partner, I mean my boyfriend, needs to ride along and give us directions to the airport."
I pulled a folded sheet of paper out of my pocket. "Already got directions right here, printed them up off a computer."
"No, no, he has to come. Those directions might get me to the airport, but then how am I supposed to get back home?"
I shrugged. "Well, I guess I would just follow the directions in reverse."
She busted out laughing. "And just how am I supposed to do that? Read the directions upside down, from right to left." I didn't understand what she meant, and so I simply remained mum. She chattered fast non-stop for thirty minutes, then looked at her watch. "Guess its time to go wake up my partner, I'm sorry, I mean my boyfriend."
Off she went down the hallway, and then I heard a voice mumble incoherently. Suddenly, a booming male voice shouted, "Bitch, why are you waking me up!"
"Because you told me to! Because I need your help getting this idiot driver to the airport!"
"Oh you dirty whore! I am trying to sleep, you know I love my sleepy time. You have to ruin it like you ruin everything!"
"That's not fair, you rotten bastard!"
"You scum-sucking tramp!"
"You lousy son of a bitch! Get your lazy ass out of bed and help me like you promised."
"Oh I will get out of bed, just long enough to break your nose and split your lip."
Maggie came back into the den where I was sitting, and she was all smiles. "He'll be here in a minute. Um, if you could, please don't mention anything about minority people to him. He really hates them a lot. If he owned a gun, I hate to think what he'd do."
Her boyfriend came trudging down the hall from the bedroom. He was shirtless, and had his hands down the front of his sweat pants scratching his privates. "Are we gonna take your Dad's car?"
I spoke up. "I don't think there is room for all of us in that until it's unpacked."
He spun around and pointed his finger at my face. "Did I ask you? Was I even talking to you?" I shook my head No. He looked at Maggie. "Get me a cup of that awful coffee you make, you toxic Tinkerbell."
"Oh, shut the hell up," she said as she went to get his coffee. He looked very slovenly, and I didn't even know his name. She walked back with another mug of coffee, and said "Here you go, Maurice."
He took it from her and took a long drink from it. "So are we gonna leave now, or are we gonna stand around with our dicks in our hands all day?"
She put her hands on her hips defiantly. "It may surprise you to learn that I don't have a dick!"
"Shut your freakin' pie hole, would you?" He walked out the front door, and we followed. We all piled into her car, and he told her that she would be driving. "Don't kill us all like usual."
She held up a fist and shook it at him. "I have never killed you, not once."
"You kill me a little bit every damn day. Now drive."
"I will Maurice, but I'm gonna give you the silent treatment."
We all rolled along in the car for ten minutes in silence, and then she pondered, "I wonder if it's gonna rain today?"
Maurice shook his head and sighed. "So much for the silent treatment. Take the next exit."
"I was just asking if it would rain," she protested.
"Next exit!"
"What?"
He screamed at her. "The exit you just passed! The exit you just passed, you stupid slut!"
Maggie looked sad. "Now that hurt. That was unnecessary."
"Well I say that you are unnecessary. How do you like that?"
"I don't like it. But we'll talk about that later." She turned and looked at me. "Maurice is a bit of a night owl, you know."
Maurice grunted. "Shut up, will you please just shut up."
They continued to shout at each other until we arrived at the Syracuse airport. I was eager to get out of the car, and Maurice called to me as I climbed out.
"Hey!" he called. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
"What?" I asked.
"A little something for the driver?"
"I already paid her at the house."
"No, I'm talking about a tip for services rendered."
"No, I don't think so."
Maurice fumed. "Mister, you've got no class."
I walked away, but could hear Maurice and Maggie continue to scream at each other until I entered the airport building.
Sunday, May 18, 2014
DAY OF THE MOTHER
For over a decade, Mother's Day has been a tough day for me to get through. Since my Mom and brother were killed by a drunk driver, it affected me deeply and I think of her a lot. Mom and I had argued a lot, and when she died we hadn't patched things up. It felt like we had unfinished business. I'm a big believer now in telling the people you love just how much they mean to you.
On Mother's Day, I found myself in Austin, TX. I was going to stay overnight and deliver my car the next morning. So I went to get provisions at the local grocery store, food for dinner and breakfast the next day.
As I walked up and down the aisles of the grocery store, I had the eerie sense that I was being watched. But I tend to be a bit on the paranoid side, so I ignored the feeling. A few minutes later, I looked down the aisle and saw a woman staring right at me. I made a U-turn and went two aisles down. As I looked at the shelves, I saw her once again watching me intently. This time, I grabbed my cart and walked to the other side of the store, as far as I could go. I stood there for a few minutes, just wasting time. And then I felt a tap on my shoulder and nearly jumped out of my skin.
"Excuse me," said a frail female voice.
I turned to see the woman who had been following me. She had a very tragic look on her face. "Yes ma'am, how can I help you?"
"I'm afraid this is going to sound very strange."
I meet strange people on a daily basis as I drive. I classify them as "Bill's people", the odd folks who like to pop up and creep me out at the most inconvenient times. I could barely wait to hear what was coming. "Go ahead and give me a try."
"Mother's day is very hard for me."
And with those words, I was suddenly feeling a change in my thinking. I felt empathy for this woman, whatever she had to say. "I can relate to that."
"Five years ago, my son and I had a terrible argument one Saturday night. Things were said, mean and nasty things. He was furious when he stormed out of the house." She began to sniffle. "My son was killed that night when a dumptruck's brakes failed to function. He died, being mad at his mother. Do you know how horrible that is?"
"I think so."
She shook her head. "No, you can never know. Where are my manners, my name is Beverly."
She held out her hand, and I took it and gave it a light shake. "Bill Thomas."
"Bill, the reason I was staring at you is... well, you bear a striking resemblance to my son Don."
I felt a chill go up my spine. "Really?"
"Yes. I know that I have no right to ask you, but... The thing of it is, I never got to say goodbye to my son. Is there any way you might consider just saying goodbye mother?"
I got a knot in the pit of my stomach. "Uh, no. I don't believe I could do that."
Beverly nodded. "I understand. It was presumptious of me to ask you that. God bless and have a nice day." She turned and walked off, pushing her cart loaded down with items.
I wandered around the store for a while, lost in thought. A million memories of my own Mom, and thoughts of Beverly who had the same lack of closure with her own son.
One half hour later, I pushed my cart to one of the cashier stations. And who should be right in front of me but Beverly. She smiled at me and said "Hello, Bill."
I nodded and smiled back at her, starting to open my mouth but not knowing what to say. She grabbed her cart full of groceries in plastic bags and started for the door. Suddenly I blurted out "Goodbye Mom." She turned at me and smiled sweetly, and then she hurried out as if washed away by waves of emotion.
The cashier rang up my ten items, and then announced I would owe him one hundred fifty one dollars. I asked him to repeat, as I was certain I misunderstood. He repeated it for me, and I felt full of confusion. "It's the combined price for you and your mother's groceries. She said her son Bill was paying."
"She said-- what?" My mind was reeling. "She's not my mother."
The cashier smirked. "I heard you say 'Goodbye mother'."
"But that was... no, I mean it--"
"Someone has to pay for this."
And so I did. I ran out to the parking lot to see if I could find her, but she was long gone. I had been conned. But at the same time, I had experience a weird and unexpected form of closure regarding my own mom. On Mother's Day.
On Mother's Day, I found myself in Austin, TX. I was going to stay overnight and deliver my car the next morning. So I went to get provisions at the local grocery store, food for dinner and breakfast the next day.
As I walked up and down the aisles of the grocery store, I had the eerie sense that I was being watched. But I tend to be a bit on the paranoid side, so I ignored the feeling. A few minutes later, I looked down the aisle and saw a woman staring right at me. I made a U-turn and went two aisles down. As I looked at the shelves, I saw her once again watching me intently. This time, I grabbed my cart and walked to the other side of the store, as far as I could go. I stood there for a few minutes, just wasting time. And then I felt a tap on my shoulder and nearly jumped out of my skin.
"Excuse me," said a frail female voice.
I turned to see the woman who had been following me. She had a very tragic look on her face. "Yes ma'am, how can I help you?"
"I'm afraid this is going to sound very strange."
I meet strange people on a daily basis as I drive. I classify them as "Bill's people", the odd folks who like to pop up and creep me out at the most inconvenient times. I could barely wait to hear what was coming. "Go ahead and give me a try."
"Mother's day is very hard for me."
And with those words, I was suddenly feeling a change in my thinking. I felt empathy for this woman, whatever she had to say. "I can relate to that."
"Five years ago, my son and I had a terrible argument one Saturday night. Things were said, mean and nasty things. He was furious when he stormed out of the house." She began to sniffle. "My son was killed that night when a dumptruck's brakes failed to function. He died, being mad at his mother. Do you know how horrible that is?"
"I think so."
She shook her head. "No, you can never know. Where are my manners, my name is Beverly."
She held out her hand, and I took it and gave it a light shake. "Bill Thomas."
"Bill, the reason I was staring at you is... well, you bear a striking resemblance to my son Don."
I felt a chill go up my spine. "Really?"
"Yes. I know that I have no right to ask you, but... The thing of it is, I never got to say goodbye to my son. Is there any way you might consider just saying goodbye mother?"
I got a knot in the pit of my stomach. "Uh, no. I don't believe I could do that."
Beverly nodded. "I understand. It was presumptious of me to ask you that. God bless and have a nice day." She turned and walked off, pushing her cart loaded down with items.
I wandered around the store for a while, lost in thought. A million memories of my own Mom, and thoughts of Beverly who had the same lack of closure with her own son.
One half hour later, I pushed my cart to one of the cashier stations. And who should be right in front of me but Beverly. She smiled at me and said "Hello, Bill."
I nodded and smiled back at her, starting to open my mouth but not knowing what to say. She grabbed her cart full of groceries in plastic bags and started for the door. Suddenly I blurted out "Goodbye Mom." She turned at me and smiled sweetly, and then she hurried out as if washed away by waves of emotion.
The cashier rang up my ten items, and then announced I would owe him one hundred fifty one dollars. I asked him to repeat, as I was certain I misunderstood. He repeated it for me, and I felt full of confusion. "It's the combined price for you and your mother's groceries. She said her son Bill was paying."
"She said-- what?" My mind was reeling. "She's not my mother."
The cashier smirked. "I heard you say 'Goodbye mother'."
"But that was... no, I mean it--"
"Someone has to pay for this."
And so I did. I ran out to the parking lot to see if I could find her, but she was long gone. I had been conned. But at the same time, I had experience a weird and unexpected form of closure regarding my own mom. On Mother's Day.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
TORNADO HOPSCOTCH
As I drove across the Florida panhandle today, I was assaulted by pouring rain and furious thunder. And of course, the lightning that goes with it. I had been warned by the weatherman to expect tornadoes in the area, just like the ones that had done so much damage in Mississippi just days before. I could feel the wind pushing and shoving at the van I was driving, and it was much more than worrisome. I was getting very scared, very fast.
I said a prayer without closing my eyes, and just then my cell phone rang. It was my boss Riff, and his typical nasty mood was far from an answer to my prayers. "What are you doing, loser?"
"Driving this van to Mississippi for you."
"Whoa now, you're not doing it for me. Don't go acting like you're doing me some big favor. No sir, you are moving that van for our client."
"OK, whatever you say."
"Hey now, cream puff! I don't think I like the tone of your voice."
"Riff, I am in terrible weather, and I need to keep both hands on the wheel. Talk to you later." And then I hung up before he had a chance to say another word. Moments later, the phone rang again, and I answered, "Look Riff, you--"
"Nope, not Riff," the voice interrupted me. It was the voice of Pastor Rex, my old friend and spiritual adviser. "Just me, your old buddy Rex."
"Pastor and Pirate."
He chuckled. "At your service. Just had a gut feeling that I should call you."
"Your timing is great. I am driving in some pretty nasty weather, and playing hopscotch with tornadoes."
"Are you in the panhandle?"
"Yes sir, and to be honest I'm feeling nervous."
"No need," he said to me. "God is your co-pilot. He is watching over you, shrouding you in the hedge of protection. He will get you safely to your destination."
I smiled, feeling a sense of calm. "Thanks. You're right."
"I know I'm right. By the way, I really liked your blog about going to see GOD'S NOT DEAD."
"I loved that movie."
"And I loved the experience you had with the man outside the theater after the movie."
"God does work in mysterious ways."
"He does indeed." We spoke for a few minutes, then I excused myself so I could keep both hands on the wheel.
I was getting low on gas, and I needed to use the restroom. I got off at the next exit with a truck stop, and pulled up to the pumps. When I stepped out of the van, a gust of wind hit me that felt like it would knock me over. I slid my credit card into the slot in the pump, then removed the handle.
I heard a girl's voice as I pumped the gas. "Excuse me, sir?"
I turned to her slowly, not knowing what to expect. "How can I help you?" I asked, anticipating the worst.
She was an older woman dressed as a young girl. Her blonde hair was in pigtails, and her little girl's dress was worn and tattered. "Have you seen my dog?" she asked me.
"No, sorry."
"His name is Toto, and we need to get home to Kansas. I've lost my way, I'm looking for the yellow brick road."
She was clearly one of what I call Bill's people. The odd folks around the USA who always seem to find me and engage me with their zaniness. "Sorry, I can't help you."
"Sure you can, if you only believe it. If you have the brains, the heart, the courage, why then anything is possible."
I nodded. "I guess you have a point."
"Of course I do, don't be ridiculous." A strong gust of wind picked up trash and paper and spun them around in a small funnel. The girl looked terrified and screamed. Then she ran away yelling, "Uncle Henry, Auntie Em, it's a twister, it's a twister!"
You may call this extremely bizarre behavior. But for me, another blog just wrote itself.
I said a prayer without closing my eyes, and just then my cell phone rang. It was my boss Riff, and his typical nasty mood was far from an answer to my prayers. "What are you doing, loser?"
"Driving this van to Mississippi for you."
"Whoa now, you're not doing it for me. Don't go acting like you're doing me some big favor. No sir, you are moving that van for our client."
"OK, whatever you say."
"Hey now, cream puff! I don't think I like the tone of your voice."
"Riff, I am in terrible weather, and I need to keep both hands on the wheel. Talk to you later." And then I hung up before he had a chance to say another word. Moments later, the phone rang again, and I answered, "Look Riff, you--"
"Nope, not Riff," the voice interrupted me. It was the voice of Pastor Rex, my old friend and spiritual adviser. "Just me, your old buddy Rex."
"Pastor and Pirate."
He chuckled. "At your service. Just had a gut feeling that I should call you."
"Your timing is great. I am driving in some pretty nasty weather, and playing hopscotch with tornadoes."
"Are you in the panhandle?"
"Yes sir, and to be honest I'm feeling nervous."
"No need," he said to me. "God is your co-pilot. He is watching over you, shrouding you in the hedge of protection. He will get you safely to your destination."
I smiled, feeling a sense of calm. "Thanks. You're right."
"I know I'm right. By the way, I really liked your blog about going to see GOD'S NOT DEAD."
"I loved that movie."
"And I loved the experience you had with the man outside the theater after the movie."
"God does work in mysterious ways."
"He does indeed." We spoke for a few minutes, then I excused myself so I could keep both hands on the wheel.
I was getting low on gas, and I needed to use the restroom. I got off at the next exit with a truck stop, and pulled up to the pumps. When I stepped out of the van, a gust of wind hit me that felt like it would knock me over. I slid my credit card into the slot in the pump, then removed the handle.
I heard a girl's voice as I pumped the gas. "Excuse me, sir?"
I turned to her slowly, not knowing what to expect. "How can I help you?" I asked, anticipating the worst.
She was an older woman dressed as a young girl. Her blonde hair was in pigtails, and her little girl's dress was worn and tattered. "Have you seen my dog?" she asked me.
"No, sorry."
"His name is Toto, and we need to get home to Kansas. I've lost my way, I'm looking for the yellow brick road."
She was clearly one of what I call Bill's people. The odd folks around the USA who always seem to find me and engage me with their zaniness. "Sorry, I can't help you."
"Sure you can, if you only believe it. If you have the brains, the heart, the courage, why then anything is possible."
I nodded. "I guess you have a point."
"Of course I do, don't be ridiculous." A strong gust of wind picked up trash and paper and spun them around in a small funnel. The girl looked terrified and screamed. Then she ran away yelling, "Uncle Henry, Auntie Em, it's a twister, it's a twister!"
You may call this extremely bizarre behavior. But for me, another blog just wrote itself.
Monday, April 21, 2014
THE SHERMANATOR
I have grown to love some cars very much. The Cadillac, for example. It is so comfortable and so state of the art that it nearly drives itself. Not many people I drive for have them, but I'm always glad when they do. Soft seats, great stereo, and you don't feel a single bump in the road. My favorite customer who drives one is sweet old Mrs. Sherman.
Every December I drive her car from Maryland down to Florida. And then in May I drive it back up to Maryland, just like clockwork. This year, she called me the first week of April and said she needed it to go up early. I told her to call my boss Riff to make the formal arrangements and payment. The day before I was set to pick up at her lovely home in southwest Florida, she called me. "Hello? Hello?"
"Hi, Mrs. Sherman."
"Who is this calling?"
"It's me, Bill Thomas, your favorite driver."
"Oh Bill," she said, sounding relieved. "I am so glad you called, I was just about to call you."
"How can I help you?"
"Well, I had an idea. My son is driving me to the airport in Sarasota tomorrow to fly back to my Maryland home, and I wondered if you might meet us there. Then you could take my car and get on the road, while we get on a plane and fly, fly away."
This would work out especially well for me. I would not have to drive nearly as far south, and I could turn in my rental car at the Sarasota airport and just wait for them to arrive. "Absolutely, no problem."
"Is it a problem?"
"No ma'am, I will be happy to accommodate you."
"That's what I love about you, Bill. You always think of me."
"See you in the morning."
"OK, I will see you in the morning. Can you be there by 11am?"
"I sure will."
"Yes, I know you will."
The next day, I got up extra early and I arrived in Sarasota at 9:30am. As I pulled into the entrance to the airport, my cell phone rang. "This is Bill."
"Bill? Is this Bill?"
"Yes, hello Mrs. Sherman."
"Bill, I just had an idea. What if you meet my son and I at the airport today and then you can take off from there. Would that work out for you?"
I smiled. "I am pulling into the Sarasota airport right now."
"Oh Bill, you are a mind reader. You continue to surprise and fascinate me."
"I will be waiting for you here at 11am when you arrive."
"OK, but we won't be arriving there until 11am."
"That's not a problem, I'll wait." I hung up.
About fifteen minutes before she was set to arrive, I grabbed a wheelchair and went out to the curb. While she can get around fine with a cane, I knew that she used a wheelchair at the airport to get on and off the plane. It's a long way from the ticket counter to the gate for an elderly lady.
Just a few minutes after 11am, I saw her Cadillac pull up to the curb. I opened her door and she said, "Oh Bill, you are wonderful. How did you know that I'd need a wheelchair?"
"I picked you up here once before, and they rolled you out in a wheelchair."
"Yes, but that must have been five years ago. How could you possibly know I would need one again this trip?"
I shrugged. "Lucky guess."
Her son got out and introduced himself. He got two small carry on bags out of the back seat, but Mrs. Sherman began to fret over wanting to take more luggage with her. Her son reminded her that I was going to deliver it with the car, so they didn't have to worry with much themselves while traveling. "But, but..." she sputtered. "But when Bill takes off, I don't know when I'll ever see him or my car again."
"I'll be there in three days, first thing in the morning."
"Bill, I brought you something. I know how you love my baking, so I made you a batch of cookies." She pulled out a huge freezer bag stuffed with cookies. "They are black licorice cookies, with gumdrops and jawbreakers baked right into them. Yummy."
"Thanks so much."
"You are most welcome. Now, when will you be delivering the car to me?" Her son rolled his eyes, lovingly.
"Three days from now, first thing in the morning."
"Oh good, I will make my world famous black licorice waffles for you."
I got into the car and started driving north. I noticed that the odometer only had 200 more miles on it since I had dropped it off in Florida back in December. Don't ask me how I remember, I just do. My cell phone rang, and it was Mrs. Sherman.
"Hello, Bill?"
"Yes ma'am."
"It's Mrs. Sherman. I just wanted to let you know that I am at the airport now, and you can come and pick up my car whenever you're ready."
"Well, I am driving your car north on Interstate 75 right now."
"Oh my, aren't you clever. Thank you, Bill."
She is quite a lady. 97 years old and still going strong. She keeps on rolling and never stops, just like the Eveready bunny. Or the Terminator. She's the Shermanator, and I admire her a lot. I snuggled back into the comfy seats, and turned on the Sirius radio. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy driving a Cadillac?
Every December I drive her car from Maryland down to Florida. And then in May I drive it back up to Maryland, just like clockwork. This year, she called me the first week of April and said she needed it to go up early. I told her to call my boss Riff to make the formal arrangements and payment. The day before I was set to pick up at her lovely home in southwest Florida, she called me. "Hello? Hello?"
"Hi, Mrs. Sherman."
"Who is this calling?"
"It's me, Bill Thomas, your favorite driver."
"Oh Bill," she said, sounding relieved. "I am so glad you called, I was just about to call you."
"How can I help you?"
"Well, I had an idea. My son is driving me to the airport in Sarasota tomorrow to fly back to my Maryland home, and I wondered if you might meet us there. Then you could take my car and get on the road, while we get on a plane and fly, fly away."
This would work out especially well for me. I would not have to drive nearly as far south, and I could turn in my rental car at the Sarasota airport and just wait for them to arrive. "Absolutely, no problem."
"Is it a problem?"
"No ma'am, I will be happy to accommodate you."
"That's what I love about you, Bill. You always think of me."
"See you in the morning."
"OK, I will see you in the morning. Can you be there by 11am?"
"I sure will."
"Yes, I know you will."
The next day, I got up extra early and I arrived in Sarasota at 9:30am. As I pulled into the entrance to the airport, my cell phone rang. "This is Bill."
"Bill? Is this Bill?"
"Yes, hello Mrs. Sherman."
"Bill, I just had an idea. What if you meet my son and I at the airport today and then you can take off from there. Would that work out for you?"
I smiled. "I am pulling into the Sarasota airport right now."
"Oh Bill, you are a mind reader. You continue to surprise and fascinate me."
"I will be waiting for you here at 11am when you arrive."
"OK, but we won't be arriving there until 11am."
"That's not a problem, I'll wait." I hung up.
About fifteen minutes before she was set to arrive, I grabbed a wheelchair and went out to the curb. While she can get around fine with a cane, I knew that she used a wheelchair at the airport to get on and off the plane. It's a long way from the ticket counter to the gate for an elderly lady.
Just a few minutes after 11am, I saw her Cadillac pull up to the curb. I opened her door and she said, "Oh Bill, you are wonderful. How did you know that I'd need a wheelchair?"
"I picked you up here once before, and they rolled you out in a wheelchair."
"Yes, but that must have been five years ago. How could you possibly know I would need one again this trip?"
I shrugged. "Lucky guess."
Her son got out and introduced himself. He got two small carry on bags out of the back seat, but Mrs. Sherman began to fret over wanting to take more luggage with her. Her son reminded her that I was going to deliver it with the car, so they didn't have to worry with much themselves while traveling. "But, but..." she sputtered. "But when Bill takes off, I don't know when I'll ever see him or my car again."
"I'll be there in three days, first thing in the morning."
"Bill, I brought you something. I know how you love my baking, so I made you a batch of cookies." She pulled out a huge freezer bag stuffed with cookies. "They are black licorice cookies, with gumdrops and jawbreakers baked right into them. Yummy."
"Thanks so much."
"You are most welcome. Now, when will you be delivering the car to me?" Her son rolled his eyes, lovingly.
"Three days from now, first thing in the morning."
"Oh good, I will make my world famous black licorice waffles for you."
I got into the car and started driving north. I noticed that the odometer only had 200 more miles on it since I had dropped it off in Florida back in December. Don't ask me how I remember, I just do. My cell phone rang, and it was Mrs. Sherman.
"Hello, Bill?"
"Yes ma'am."
"It's Mrs. Sherman. I just wanted to let you know that I am at the airport now, and you can come and pick up my car whenever you're ready."
"Well, I am driving your car north on Interstate 75 right now."
"Oh my, aren't you clever. Thank you, Bill."
She is quite a lady. 97 years old and still going strong. She keeps on rolling and never stops, just like the Eveready bunny. Or the Terminator. She's the Shermanator, and I admire her a lot. I snuggled back into the comfy seats, and turned on the Sirius radio. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy driving a Cadillac?
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