A brief excerpt from my life… Last work trip I took, I returned to the Nashville airport, walked the 4 miles through long term parking construction to my car, loaded my suitcase in the trunk, climbed inside and turned the key. It was at this point I was welcomed home by the reality that my car was as broke as Andrea Bocelli feeding quarters into an arcade trying to beat Galaga.
After I remembered I had roadside assistance through my recently acquired new car insurance, I soon found myself waving down the tow truck driver. He had a normal name, so, naturally, we’ll give him an alias. So Gus pulls up and asks for my insurance card. Actual conversation to follow:
“This your wife’s card?”
“Nope. I’m Loren.”
“Huh... You a Johnny Cash fan?”
Easily the greatest conversation I’ve ever had with a tow truck driver. A few minutes later, I learned that the airport still charges you for parking, even when you try to sneak your car out on the back of a tow truck.
Gus was nice. I hope he didn’t like me asking him to repeat everything he said because it was hard for me to interpret his twang with the windows down. Anyway, all worked out wonderfully, but I figured if you clicked looking to catch a glimpse of life as me, I should give it to you.
As I type this, G6 is on. A word of warning for all you young, malleable minds (malleable - Wordly Wise level 9 word), no matter how fly you are feeling or how numb you are from popping bottles on ice in a blizzard, it is never a good idea to sip scissors.
Here I thought kids were just huffing rubber cement, which, I learned at church last week, requires a paper bag. It appears we live in a society where everything Billy Madison used to make his blue duck and pass first grade is now used by kids looking for a high while dancing around on a glittery floor, listening to Ke-dollar-sign-ha.
Who needs urban dictionary when you have East Nashville church kids? Not this guy. Even if we don't have Jesus on our neck-uh-lace, you don't want to mess with South Historic Inglewood.
Finally, for those not-last-minute-but-clearly-not-first-minute Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa shoppers, stop reading this and go buy your kids some Pogs. They're quacktastic.
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