A DOG IN NEED

I was driving down the highway in the Hill country of Texas, on my way to see my friends Tom and Jenny at their ranch full of dogs.  I've made no secret of the fact that I love dogs, and all dogs that I meet seem to instinctively know this.  Because I am always on the road it is impractical for me to own a dog at this point, but it does my heart good to stop at the ranch.  With up to 50 dogs there at any given time, I get all the canine love I can handle.

I changed lanes to go around a slow car, and a car coming up behind me accelerated and began flashing their lights at me to express their extreme displeasure.  "Well I guess you showed me," I said as I looked into the rear view mirror.  "I guess I've been told off now.  You flashed your lights at me, I must now hide my head in shame.  I have been schooled, I've been taught a lesson that I won't soon forget.  You really showed me who's boss."  I chuckled to myself and pulled over to the right lane so that the speed demon could get past me in his bad Porsche.  As he passed, he swerved his car at me and gave me the finger.

I needed to stop for a restroom break, and saw an old country store and gas station I've been to many times before.  Just in time!  I pulled off to the side of the store, and I was startled to see a large man beating a small Beagle.  The man had his belt in his hand, and was repeatedly whipping the dog with it.  To make matters worse, the belt buckle was striking the little dog, and I couldn't stand to watch.

Jumping out of the car, I hurried over to the man.  I don't know if I thought somehow I would be able to reason with him, because he was in a wild rage and was screaming and cursing at the dog.  "You stupid mutt, I've had about all I'm gonna take from you!  I got no choice but to beat you bloody, and maybe you will learn to mind your manners and obey me."

I stepped up to the man.  "Excuse me, but--"

"Screw you!" he spat.

"Sir, you can't beat that poor dog."

"I'd say I'm doing a pretty good job of it."  And the man got even more vicious with his attack on the pooch as he spoke to me.  "He's my mutt and I can do what I want with him."

"It's not right, you can't--"

"I suggest you walk away before I turn my belt on you."

"No, I'm not going to walk away, but you--"

The man spun around and gave me a mighty shove that dropped me onto the ground.  I sat on my butt for about a split second, then heard the dog yelp.  Something snapped inside of me, and I jumped to my feet and sprang towards the man swinging my arm as hard as I could.  My balled up fist made contact with the side of his head, and the man dropped like a big sack of potatoes.  The dog quickly ran into the crop field that surrounded the country store.  I stood and stared down at the man.  He was out cold, and I couldn't believe I had knocked him out with one punch.  I must have struck him in the temple.  It was a lucky punch, but I was also acting out of rage.  I can't stand injustice, and it's not right and not fair to hurt a poor animal.

Rather than stand around and wait to have to explain myself to the next passerby, I jumped into my car and took off.  One mile later I came to a construction site on the highway and had to come to a stop.  I went onto Twitter and tweeted about what had just happened.  It felt very odd to me, because I'm a peace-loving, non-violent person who likes to avoid confrontation.

Around one hour later, I pulled into the driveway leading up to Tom and Jenny's ranch.  When I pulled up to the house, Jenny came rushing out the door.  When I got out of the car, she jumped into my arms and hugged me tightly.  "I love you Bill!"

"I love you, too," I said.

"I read your tweet, and I am so proud of you.  That man had no right to beat on a defenseless dog, and I'm glad you kicked his ass."

"It was just a punch to the head, but he passed out."  I opened the passenger door to my car, and the beagle jumped out.  Jenny grabbed him up into her arms and began loving him.  "Poor little guy took off running, but then I got stopped for road construction and he came running out of the field.  I grabbed him up, I thought he needed a new home."

"He will have one here!  Than man was damn lucky I wasn't there, I would've pulled out my gun and sent him straight to Hell."

"Then I am really glad you weren't there. And by the way, I really, really need to use your restroom."

Tom came to the front door and waved at me.  "Welcome, buddy."

Jenny looped her arm through mine.  "Come on into the house.  I'm going to fix you anything you want for supper.  You're my hero today."

I am definitely no hero.  But I had to stand up for an innocent dog.  And I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

EBOLA IN MY SOUL-A

I was driving through Texas last week when I got bit by a spider.  It happened while I was pumping gas, and it turned out to be a brown recluse spider.  My leg got all swollen up badly with infection, and I had no choice but to go to a hospital.

I got very lonely there, as I always do in hospitals.  I was in a city where I didn't know anyone, so there was no chance that a living soul would come to visit me.  I started to feel pretty down in the dumps by my fourth day, and then the door to my private room opened.  A young pre-teen boy stepped inside, wearing a hospital gown just like I was.

"Hello," I said to him.

He held up a hand to greet me and said,  "Hi."

"Are you looking for someone?"

"Nope, just really bored."

I smiled.  "I can certainly understand that feeling.  My name is Bill."

"I'm Nate, glad to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you too, Nate."

"What are you in here for?"

"I got bit by a brown recluse spider.  I guess I'm allergic."

Nate's face lit up and he looked very excited.  "Maybe you'll turn into Spider Man now!"

I shook my head.  "I very seriously doubt it."

He was determined in his conviction.  "You never know.  Anything's possible, it could happen."

"Okay, you're right.  I need to look at the glass more as half full."

Nate furrowed his brow.  "What?  Half full?  I don't understand."

I shrugged.  "I'm just saying you are correct.  Maybe I will turn into Spider Man."

He smiled again and nodded enthusiastically.  "Hey, I wrote a poem, you want to hear it?"

"Sure buddy, I'd love to."

He reached behind his back and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.  Since there are no pockets in the hospital gowns, I briefly wondered where he had been storing the poem.  Then I decided it was best to just focus on the poetry and not the location it came from.  "Ready?" he asked.

"Yes, go for it."

Nate cleared his throat then began to read.  "I knew a girl named Lola, she liked to drink Coca Cola, she liked to hear rock and roll-a, she played it on her Victrola, she said she came from Nola, and now I have Ebola, deep down in my soul-a."

I stared at the boy slack-jawed.  I didn't know what to say.  "Uh..."

He was beaming with pride.  "Pretty good for a 12 year old, isn't it?"

"Well, you sure do know how to rhyme.  But I have to ask-- do you really have the Ebola virus?"

He shrugged.  "I don't know.  I keep hearing about it on TV and used it for my poem."

Suddenly, two nurses dressed in Hazmat suits came in and quickly scooped up Nate.  "What's going on?" I asked fearfully.

"Can I come and visit you again sometime?" asked Nate as they whisked him out of the room.  Then a third nurse in a Hazmat suit came in.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked me.

"So far so good.  But did that kid have Ebola?"

"What?  Goodness no, why would you think that?"

"Because of a poem he wrote."

"A poem?"

I was feeling frustrated.  "Yes, but also two people came in and rushed him out of here.  All of you are wearing those bio protection suits."

"That's not for him, that's for you."

"It is.  But why?"

"We've determined that you may have MRSA."

"What's that?"

"It's a really bad infection, and we are all going to have to wear these suits when we come into your room.  Until you are completely better or we can determine you don't have MRSA."

"Oh.  I guess that's comforting."

It took them 24 hours to finally decide definitively that I did not have MRSA.  And I am very thankful about that, dealing with the spider bite was enough.  I never saw Nate again, but his visit was very memorable.  It's always nice to have visitors when you spend time in the hospital.

SNUGGLE BUNNIES

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.