DEAR MR. SPIELBERG

I was driving as fast as I could from Ohio to Louisville, Kentucky where my best friend Steve was in the hospital.  Just three days earlier I had received a surprise call from him.

"Hey Bill," he said with the joy that was always in his voice.  "Oh boy, it's good to hear your voice."

"Same here, buddy.  How have you been?"

 There was a pregnant pause.  "I need to share some news with you.  My Doctor just told me that I have an advanced case of PNH, it's a rare blood disease and Doc says there are some promising experimental treatments.  But, this could be bad."

 "Wait, I don't understand.  How bad are we talking?"

"Dead bad."

"You could die?"

Steve chuckled.  "I will die, but maybe sooner that I had hoped."

"So does this mean our trip across Canada is cancelled?"

"Lord no," he exclaimed.  "I've been looking forward to that road trip with you since high school.  And I still plan to make it with you, once I get this PNH sorted out."

I was way beyond stunned.  "This is hard to process."

"Well Bill, you have been my best friend over 40 years now, and you are the one person I wanted to know about this."

"Wow, 40 years," I said in wonderment.

"Yep, and when I met you in high school, I was fresh out of the backwoods of Kentucky where I had grown up, and people teased me about being a country bumpkin.  But not you.  I remember you pulling me into your wild world of non-stop fun and crazy, and next thing I know I'm helping you make movies."

"I couldn't have made them without you."

"I really doubt that is true.  You were a one man machine back then, there wasn't any obstacle you couldn't overcome.  And I felt so damn lucky that you called me friend."

"I was the lucky one, always have been."

Steve began coughing hard, causing me concern.  He got hold of himself and assured me he had something caught in his throat.  "I have a really big favor to ask of you."

"What's that, buddy?"

"I've had to consider death for the past few days, although I'm not planning on going anytime soon.  But when my time comes, I want you to promise me that you will get one of your screenplays made into a movie.  I've always believed in you, and your writing and your stories are very good.  You just need a break, and I can't tell you how much I admire you for hanging in there."

I was so moved.  "I admire and respect you so much for the good person you are.  You have helped so many people in your life, you have the kindest heart of anyone I know.  You would quite literally take the shirt off your back to clothe a man with no shirt."

"Can I ask one more favor?"

"Anything, Steve."

"Can you please write a letter to Mr. Steven Spielberg and tell him how much his movies meant to you and me?  How we saw every single one of them from JAWS forward.  And the way that each movie marked a major milestone in our friendship.  Like the day my mom was buried, right after the funeral you took me to see ET.  I was so low, but I came out of the theatre with my heart soaring.  Just write him and tell him, for me."

"Sure buddy, if that's what you want."  I didn't have the heart to tell him that the likelihood of my getting a letter to Steven Spielberg was almost as good as winning the Powerball Lottery.  But there is nothing I would not do for my friend. 

 Once I had dropped off the car I was delivering to Dayton, Ohio, I rented a car from a local Avis office and headed for Louisville.  I had not told Steve I was coming, but decided I should call as I got near and let him know.  After repeated calls and texts were not answered, I assumed that he had already started his treatments.  When my phone GPS told me I was 20 minutes from the hospital, my phone rang and I could see it was Steve.  I quickly picked up.  "Hello, best friend in the world."

"Hi, Bill."  It was the voice of Fred, Steve's only child, only he was an adult now with his own kids.

"Fred, how are you?  I'm in Louisville now and on my way to the hospital."

"Bill..."  Fred's voice cracked.  "Dad just died."

"What?  He what?"

"He was driving over to the hospital this morning, it's over 100 miles from his house out in the sticks.  Just 3 miles from the hospital, a man was texting and driving and went through a red light.  T-boned my Dad's car and it was crushed all around him.  He was DOA."

"Wait, this can't be right."

Fred's voice wavered, and he said, "It's not right.  But it's true.  Bill, I'm sorry but I've got a lot to take care of here right now."

"No, of course, I completely understand."  Fred hung up, and I pulled over and parked.  Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, and I felt a deep sense of loss.  Steve was quite simply the best guy I had ever known.  But I pushed down my feelings and got a hold of myself.  I pulled a blank legal pad and a pen out of my backpack.  I made a promise to my best friend, and I had a letter to write.

FAST FOOD DRIVE THRU

 As I was driving a Ford Escape through central Tennessee, I was thinking of something my friend said to me on the phone. He said as he read all of my blogs, he noticed that my boss Riff never changed.  He is always half drunk, yelling at me, hurling insults my way, and not treating me with any respect whatsoever.  My buddy said Riff should show different sides to his personality, and that he has to grow as a character.  I pointed out that I write about Riff exactly as he is, and some things never change.  He pointed out that these are true life stories I write, and that I can fictionalize if I want to.  Dramatic license.  He insists that Riff needs a "character arc."

I was very hungry and got off the highway in a small town to search for fast food.  I didn't see a McDonalds or Wendys anywhere, but I did find a place called Burger Qween, so I drove in and got into the line at the drive thru lane.  When it was my turn at the speaker, I was greeted by an impossibly cheerful man saying "Welcome to the magical land of the Burger Qween, may I take your order?"

"Uh, yes," I stumbled.  "I'd like a fish sandwich --"

The man on the speaker interrupted quickly, saying  "You mean the Fish burger, that cute little cod fish who swims its way down the Alaskan pipeline by the Alaskan coastline, and swims its way into our hearts and our 450 degree fryers?"

"Yes, correct.  And I'd like some fries --"

He interrupted again.  "You mean golden brown french fries, Idaho potatoes sliced and diced before they jump into our 450 degree fryers, cooked just like the French do over in France?"

"Yes, large fries.  And a Sprite --"

"You mean Sprite, that delicious lemon lime soda, tastes like a lymon, and tastes a lot like the Uncola, 7-Up?  Is that what you want sir?"

I was frustrated.  "Yes!"

"I'm sorry sir, we don't serve Sprite here."

That did it.  I stepped on the gas just enough to get me up to the window, where I saw the manic cashier who had taken my order.  

"Hi there, I'm Mark, and I'm here to fill your order."

"Can I get a Coke with that?"

"Instead of the Sprite?"

 "You said you don't serve Sprite."

"You are so right, give the man a cigar!"

"How much?" I asked.

"How much longer?  Why it should just be a few minutes.  What's your rush sailor, slow your roll."

 "I came to a fast food restaurant because I wanted my food fast."

Mark stuck out his bottom lip.  "Well, someone sure is a grumpy Gus today.  Your total is $7.89."

I handed him the money and he gave me change.  "I forgot to tell you, I don't want any lettuce on my Fish sandwich."

"Sorry sir, this isn't Burger King.  It's never have it your way, at Burger Qween its have it OUR way."

 "Bad policy."

He clapped his hands together.  "Bad policy, bad sandwiches, that's Burger Qween.  If you want a really great chicken sandwich, don't buy ours.  Try out Chik Fil A, you will be glad you did."

 "But I ordered a Fish sandwich."

"OK, then try Long John Silvers, their fish is much superior to ours."

"Private!" came a booming voice, as the Manager walked up.

Mark jumped to attention and saluted the manager.  "Yes sir, Commandante..  Reporting for duty, Mr. Doloheim."

"Private Mark, what have I told you about promoting the competition? We have the best burgers, chicken sandwiches and fish sandwiches in the world."

"That is inaccurate and way wrong."

"Not as long as you're working here."

A fellow worker named Jolene brought a few bags to Mark, no doubt my food and the next customer after me. Mark held up a finger to make a dramatic proclamation.  "I shall no longer work for evil overlords who opress me and make me sad to wear this uniform".  Mark pulled off his hat and grabbed the bags.  He jumped out of the drive thru window nearly landing on my car.  He ran down the street, waving the bags of food and screaming "Have it your way!  Have it your way!"

The Manager stuck his head out the window.  "I'm so sorry for the trouble and inconvenience.  Just tell me what you want and it's on the house."  So I gave him my order again, but this time ordered a dessert.  I have been to many fast food joints, but never have I run into anyone remotely like Mark.  I keep wondering where he will be working next... wherever it is I don't want to order my food there.

THE LIMOUSINE

Before the Covid virus hit one year ago, life was very different.  All of our lives have changed, some folks a whole lot more than others.  But most everyone has been affected in some way or the other, including me.  My workload has decreased to the point where I've been struggling just to stay afloat.  And my boss Riff grows ever less charming each and every day.

Early January 2020, when we were mostly blissfully unaware of the viral dangers that lay ahead, I had been assigned to pick up a limousine in Long Island.  Riff had called and said,  "Listen you sorry SOB, you need to pick up this brand new limousine and get it to Charlotte, pronto."

"North Carolina?"

"No stupid, I'm talking about Charlotte, New Orleans.  How dumb can one man be?"

"You tell me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it."

"Now this limousine is going to a Funeral home in Charlotte, but they haven't printed the company name on the doors yet.  They will use this limo to take family's to and from the services for the loved one.  Wait, what did you say?"

"Never mind, Riff."  I hung up.

I'd driven the limo south through some very heavy traffic.  I stopped off in Richmond to stay overnight with my friend Justin and his family.  He had a lovely wife named Mary, and two kids, Bud and Judy.  Bud's real name was Timothy, but no one ever called him that.  I cared a lot for both of these kids, and was sorry to see them both looking so sad when I arrived.  But they did light up when I walked into the house that day.

"Uncle Bill," shouted Judy, running up to give me a hug.

"Hi, Uncle Bill," said Bud, smiling as he rose from his seat to greet me.

"Hey guys, how ya doing?"

"Don't ask," said Judy.

"Bummed out," said Bud.

"Why?"

Mary walked into the room.  "Because they want to go to the dance at their school tonight."  She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.  "Welcome."

I was confused.  "Why can't they go to the dance?"

Mary smirked.  "Well they can, of course."

"No we can't," scoffed Bud.

"Nope," echoed Judy.

"I don't understand."

Mary smiled and shook her head.  "Neither do I.  They've both been looking forward to this event and planning for months."

"And Daddy said he'd get us a limousine to take our dates to the prom," Judy pouted.

Mary was defensive.  "Your father did not promise."

Bud protested.  "I would definitely have to call it a commitment."

"No sir, no promises or commitments.  Your father discussed it with you, and then with me.  Ultimately, it cost too much and we decided against it."

Bud shook his head.  "So we get to take our dates in the family minivan."

"I will be happy to drive you there and back," offered Mary.

Judy gave her a cold stare. "You're only making it worse, mom.  I can't believe I'm 15 and I've never had a ride in a limo."

"Dad really screwed the pooch on this one."

Mary was irritated.  "OK, that's enough.  You don't talk about your Dad that way, more especially when he's not here to defend himself."

Justin walked in the front door.  "OK I am here, ready to defend!  Guys, lower your voices, I could hear you out in the garage.  Bill Thomas, you adorably insane maniac!"

"Reporting for duty, sir."

"Is that your car out front?"

I grabbed Justin and pulled him behind him through the door that leads down to the basement.  I wanted a private conversation with him about taking his kids to the dance.  Justin wanted to be sure it wouldn't be an inconvenience for me.  "I want to do this!  Please let me?"

Justin shrugged.  "Who am I to tell you no?"

"You're not."  I ran up the basement stairs.

"Wait for me, you madman!"

"Hey kids," I yelled when I was back in the living room with them.  "Have I got a surprise for you."

"Hang on," Justin cautioned.  "Your Uncle Bill is going to do something really nice for you, and I expect you both to give this gift full acknowledgement and recognition."

"Bud, Judy, come with me, please."  As we all stepped out the door, I asked if I could please drive them to the dance that night.

"What are you driving?" asked Judy.  That's when we turned the corner outside the house and they saw the limousine parked out front.

"Oh my God!" yelled Bud.

"No way!" shouted Judy.

"Yes way!" I shouted back.

Mother Mary stepped up to me.  "Are you sure you want to do this, Bill?"

"I really am, and I really do."

"Don't argue with the man!" warned Judy.

"Is it 100% OK with your company?"

I burst out with laughter.  "I just don't care.  It just doesn't matter.  I still have not been paid for the past two jobs I did, and I'm treated with disdain all day every day.  I feel they owe me, and this is a payoff."

"He's made up his mind, Mom, and there's no changing his mind," said Bud.

I jerked my thumb towards Bud.  "What he said."

The kids got ready.  I had to borrow a clean dress shirt from Justin, and it was pretty tight on me.  But Mary helped me to look dressed up, and even found a jaunty racing cap for me to wear to complete the ensemble.  Four hours later, when the kids were all dressed and ready to go, I gave them the full treatment:  opening and closing doors, being the faithful and subservient driver.

Judy's date was impressed.  Bud's date was truly super impressed, and then some.  I made them look good.  I took a nap in the parking lot of the school where the dance took place.  I wanted to be there waiting for them when they were ready to go.  I took a quick peek in the rear view on the drive home and saw the kids making out.  I was happy for them, but a tiny bit jealous because I haven't kissed anyone lately.  Nope, longer than lately.  Damn, I crave the soft lips of a familiar girl.

After dropping off their dates, I did a few fishtails and stunts with the limo that made Bud and Judy squeal with glee.  When I got them home, both of them thanked me profusely.  It was such a pleasure, and I knew I had made their evening special and memorable.  That's what I like to do most in the world.  Making people happy, and giving free rides in a limousine.

DUCK THE PUCK

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nope, I am be Carl."

"Why did you shout duck?"

"You got something against ducks?"

"No."

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

"And score some points."

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not here for hockey."

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

"I have a truck --"

 "I don't give a puck."

"What?"

"You're out of luck."

"But I'm --"

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

"I think you mean the Mighty Ducks."

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

"That was a movie called SLAP SHOT."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carl seemed perplexed.  "Since when?"

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

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

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

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

"That's irrelevant."

Carl looked wounded.  "To who?"

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

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

"Yes, a nasty, smelly truck."

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

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

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

I smiled.  "I never will."

WHO WAS THAT UNMASKED MAN?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What others?" he asked.

"Everyone else.  Your friends, your neighbors."

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

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

"Why?" he shot back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

CORONAVIRUS HEROES

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Believe me, it's my pleasure."

"I'm Bud Jones."

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

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

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

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

"What's your specialty?"

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

"Wow.  That is incredibly inspiring."

"What else could I do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Buddy, you make me believe we can."

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

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

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

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

FUN VOTER REGISTRATION!

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

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

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

"Tom, please call me Tom."

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

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

"A personal check?"

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

"What's the question?"

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

"Yes, of course."

"Why do you say of course?"

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

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

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

"Just like that?" he asked.

"Just like that."

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

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

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

"What do they, or we, want?"

He nodded knowingly.  "Exactly."

"Exactly what?"

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

"So you're an independent?"

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

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

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

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

"Because you consider it a private matter?"

"Yes, it is a private matter."

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

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

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

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

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

I inadvertently belched before saying "Yes".

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

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

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

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

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