In line at the Jack in the Box

So, i don't normally eat fast food but today I couldn't resist. I pulled into the long line at the Jack in the Box and contemplated my order.  The car ahead of me had two tiny old ladies in it and the driver could barely see above her steering wheel. 

She crawled her way slowly toward the menu sign...  and then pressed too hard on the brakes, lurching the car forward as it dipped to a stop. Both women bounced around in their seats. 

The shocks in the car were shot. It was as if they were sitting on a trampoline. 
Once the car settled down, she backed up so she could get a better view of the outdoor menu.

They took a long time deciding what they wanted to eat and when the voice in the speaker finally thanked her for her order and to move forward... I noticed her car was still in reverse! She started to inch her way toward me and I was just about to honk at her, when she noticed her mistake, breaking hard again. 

Even more bouncing. Little round fuzzy white hair-dos rolling all over the front seat.

Eventually, she made her way to the first window and paid for their order. And as she drove up to the second window to receive their food, she simply waved, "thank you, darlin'!" and continued to drive out of the parking lot and turned right and drove down the street, forgetting to pick up their lunch!

I pulled up to the front window... still giggling to what I had just witnessed.

The Jack in the Box employee rolled her eyes and blew out a breath so hard, her bangs blew upward. "Old people!!!!  Look what we have to look forward to!"

Reminds me of this joke:

Three sisters, ages 92, 94, and 96 live in a house together. One Night the 96 year old draws a bath. She puts one foot in and pauses. She Yells down the stairs, "Was I getting in or out of the bath?"
The 94 year old yells back, "I don't know. I'll come up and see." She starts up the stairs and pauses. Then, she yells, "Was I going up The stairs or down?"
The 92 year old is sitting at the kitchen table having tea, listening to her sisters. She shakes her head and says, "I sure hope I never get That forgetful."
She knocks on wood for good measure.
She then yells, "I'll come up and help both of you as soon as I see who's at the door."

Long Lost Cousin

Are you ever sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic and then get behind a car that stops maybe 100 yards behind the car stopped ahead of him? I feel such anxiety when that happens to me. I want to shout, "It's called bumper-to-bumper traffic! Please drive up to the next bumper!" I am terrified that thirty cars will squeeze in between them causing me to be later than I already am.

I think I have a long-lost cousin that might be one of those drivers. I can't be sure but I'll tell you what happened when I told him to follow me to the freeway ramp.

"As soon as we get out of this neighborhood, we'll be turning left on to a busy boulevard. There will be four lanes with lots of hotels and shopping centers and restaurants along that street. "

He stands there listening to my every word, nodding and making hand gestures, convincing me he's got it memorized. "Once we get on that boulevard," I warn him, "we'll drive along for about a mile. Continue to follow me until we get to the first intersection, and at that light, I will wave to you, and turn right... but you just keep driving straight and that will take you directly to the highway."

He nods and repeats my directions back.


We pile into our cars. I wait for him to adjust his mirror. Put on his seatbelt. Turn on the heater and maybe adjust the radio dial waiting for his favorite song to come on. Finally he inches out away from the curb, braking a bit too hard at first, his head jerking toward the windshield... and eventually he begins to follow me.

We are only four houses away and we're clearly still in the neighborhood when I turn right heading for the busy boulevard when I notice in my rear view mirror that he thinks this must be his sign to keep driving straight. So he does!!!

Now I have to lasso him back in.

I do a quick turn around but it's not quick enough and I'm unsure where he went. I drive down the street and after about a minute, I think I might see him driving ahead of me. I don't want to speed through the neighborhood so I follow him until he gets to a stop sign and I catch up. I jump out and motion for him to turn around and follow me back into the neighborhood.

Startled to see me behind him, he finally understands what I am asking him to do and he swings into someone's driveway, backs up and he's following me once again.

Finally I get him onto the busy boulevard, but instead of going 35 mph, he is going more like 10 mph. He is about 100 yards behind me and even though I keep dropping my speed considerably, he is a long way off. More and more cars are passing him up and coming between us and I no longer can see him in my rear view mirror.

I drive through the green light but he doesn't make it, so I pull to the side of the busy boulevard and wait for him. (This is the intersection where I was supposed to turn right, but fearing it'll confuse him, I decide to stay on the boulevard and take him personally to the freeway ramp). About 3-5 minutes later, I can see his car crawling along the busy street, so I put my blinker on, believing he'll see me and let me in front of him so he can continue to follow my lead, but he doesn't recognize my green bug and doesn't let me in. He passes me by. Now I hafta wait for another few cars to pass before I can edge back in. Now I'm about six cars behind him and I need to figure out how to manuever my way around the traffic to get ahead of him again to show him the way to the freeway.

By the time I make it in front of him, I am just 50 yards from the freeway on-ramp. I put my blinker on to enter the ramp. Clearly, he can read the signs now and follow the directions but because he sees my blinker turning right to get on the ramp, he waves goodbye and honks To0OT! To0OoT! and continues on down the boulevard thinking I'm at the intersection I told him about earlier.

It is too late. I am now getting on the freeway toward his hometown and he is still slowly puttering along the boulevard happy and unaware of his mistake.

I hope this isn't the case, but I'm worried that he's still driving down that same boulevard. If you happen to see a blank expression on a man's face driving extra slow ... not reading any signs... perhaps sporting a beard now, please point him in the direction to the freeway. I think that might be my long lost cousin.

It was a bit of a cartoon week

I met another Illustration Friday artist. This time around it was Doodlestreet! What fun! She is an incredible cartoonist and is such an extremely warm and endearing person.

She and her wonderful friend, Annie were up in my neighborhood and dropped by my house for a visit.

I gave them a tour around my town including taking her to the home her mother lived in as a baby under a mile away! And how could I resist taking them by another cartoonist's studio?

Yup. A quick sneak peek of Charles Schulz's former studio where he drew his lovely comic strip Peanuts. After all, Doodlestreet is a cartoonist. The gate was open and pulling in to the entrance just outside the gate, I asked, "Ya wanna chance it?"

I reminded them of the last time I was there. A friend and I were locked inside the gate for hours in the dark and cold.

"Sure!" they said. Because, really. Who would have believed it would happen a second time around?

So we drove in, did a quick jaunt around the parking lot and driveway and as we turned to make our exit, I could not believe my eyes. The door had closed shut. Again! Locking us back inside! We were trapped! And hungry. And it was growing dark.

Fortunately, because of the many Snoopy statues that once adorned the streets of Santa Rosa were on view at the softball field by the Charles Schulz Museum, we managed to find our way down there to find a very kind security guard who left his post to rescue us.

Thank you Pam and Annie for our meet-up and for the fun time together. I am wishing you a safe trip home.

Snippets of Conversation

A conversation overheard in a restaurant bar by a table of older women:

Woman: "What is your name?"
Waitress: "Thindy."
Woman: "What an unusual name!"
Waitress: "My real name ith Thynthia."
Woman: "Oh. That's even more unusual."

(silence)

Woman: We would like to order a round of Lolitas please.
Watiress: Thank you. I'll be back with your order.

(she leaves and returns a few moments later)

Waitress: "I'm thorry. The bartender hathent heard of a Lolita. Can you tell me whath in it?"
Woman: "It's a popular mexican drink. It has tequila in it and salt around the rim. You can drink it blended or on the rocks."
Waitress: "Ohhhh, do you mean a Margarita?"
Woman: "Yes, that's it! I always get those two mexican names mixed up!"

observing this very moment

Two minutes ago, I was quietly working away on new Dick and Jane fabric designs when two cleaning ladies showed up to clean the studio.

The constant roar of the vacuum motor suddenly turned into a loud shrieking sound and I saw the hose sucking up ribbons by the mile. I don't want to embarrass her, so I acted like I don't notice.

"Act casual, act casual, act casual..."

My eyes focused on the computer monitor, I don't want to appear as if I can see her in the corner of my eye.

Now.

This very moment, as I type this sentence out, she has quickly turned off the vacuum. It is silent. And she is still pulling out the ribbon like there's no end to it. She's panicked. I can see her looking down, pulling it out, looking at me, looking back down, looking back at me and pulling again on this tangled mess. My eyes still focused on the monitor pretending to be oblivious to her.

click. click. click. goes the keyboard as I type.

She is wearing loud pink pants and a loud bright lime green shirt. It's all a blur to me with her arms flailing, pulling this massive amount of ribbon from the hose.

*snap*!

She just broke off the end. Or the vacuum just did it for her. She turns the vacuum back on. It is still making that loud shrieking sound. She turns it back off. Looks into the hose. Sticks her fingers in it. Shakes it. Turns the vacuum back on. It is still loud and furious.

"Act casual, act casual, act casual..."

I never look up.

She turns it off and grabs the broom from across the room. She is headed over to my desk. I lift my feet pretending not to see her. Then I scoot my chair as close to my desk as possible, still pretending I don't notice the elephant in the room. Then I turn and give her eye contact. She bashfully giggles. And so do I with a sympathetic expression.

We don't speak the same language. But we both acknowledged our unspoken secret.

Riding shotgun with the bearded lady

My tow-truck driver was Ronnie. I could see she had been in a few brawls and she hadn't shaved in months.

She told me stories how she likes rough men. Men with missing teeth. Especially those she has kicked out with her own boots. "That's how I like men!" she said in her low, raspy voice. She tosses me a small bag of Hershey's Reeses Pieces. "Here! Eat some candy!"

No way would I insult the driver by declining, so I ate her candy as we travelled thirty minutes down the road while she told me stories of her fast-pitch softball days, her various sport injuries, and life on the road as a Tow Truck driver. She wants to write a book of all the crazy experiences on the road. I told her about the NYC woman cab driver who blogs her experiences and is now publishing a book. She felt inspired by that. "Look at my goosebumps!" she said. Her arms were covered with them.

Driving through town, she pulls over halfway in the middle of the road at a post office. "I'll be right back. Watch the rig..." and she runs in the post office to mail her rent check.

And then minutes later, it was all over. The ride had ended. We were at the shop.

"Take care of the little lady now," she hollers out to the mechanic. She turns and gives me a wink as she lights up her cigarette. "Nice ridin' with you!" she says as she drives off, kicking up a splattering of dirt and gravel on way to her next adventure.

Laughing Betty and the gas leak

So, Dan smelled a gas leak in my studio-office.
I sniffed and I sniffed.

Yeah. I began to think I smelled it, too. So I called our local gas & electric company.

I waited hours for someone to show up. At 11:30 pm Betty showed up at my door with so many pens in her front pocket and she wore the roundest shape hair I have ever seen. There was a small circle of blue ink that left a ring around her pocket from a leaky pen -or two.

She smelled the gas odor before I open the door. "Yup, that's a gas leak alright!" she says, and explodes into a crazy belly laugh, where she leans backwards, looking up at the stars and then throws herself forward, to bend down toward her shoes.

She states she needs to climb under my house to get to this leak and now it's my turn to do the belly laugh. I was under my house soon after I first moved in and noticed how tight it was down under there. I knew I needed a much slimmer worker to climb under my house with the low lying pipes and Laughing Betty didn't fit the bill. I worried. I wanted her to know how tight and cramped it was down there, without pointing any attention to her weight.

But. She insisted.

I walked her around to the opening under my house and she kneeled down to take a look.

"Hold my flashlight Lil' Lady" she said to me.

As she crawled in, I crouched down behind her and leaned in to shine the flash light over her head so she could see, but she filled up the entire door light of space.

"HeyYyYy!" She shouted. "I can't seeeeee!"

I'm searched frantically for an opening of space to shine the light. Her legs were kicking widly and then... she was in. I handed her the flashlight and she started to crawl and I said, "You okay in there?" She turns around (which took seemingly forever to face me) and says, "I'm hard of hearing! Please do not talk to me while I'm under your house, because I can't read your lips."

"Oh no," I thought, shaking my head. "This is a really lousy idea". I really felt unsettled --even panicky-- with her crawling under my house during a gas leak while I watched from the outside door.

Within a moment, I heard:"I'm STuUCcKk!"

She crawled only about six feet before getting stuck under the large pipe I suspected she would. After several pushes and tugs and pulls, she was able to free herself, but her work trousers remained behind.

She crawled back to the door of my crawl space in her underwear, laughing again like she did on my front porch. Her entire body convulsed. It made me giggle, too.

I leaned in and grabbed her work trousers and handed them to her. She hopped around squeezing herself into them while laughing into convulsions. I started to belly laugh, too. The experience caught me so off-guard. Any moment, I was waiting for Alan Funt to appear to tell me to "smile, I'm on Candid Camera!" But he never showed up. It was just me and her.

Before she left, she apologized she couldn't help and suggested I call a plumber to come out to fix the leak and she left my home still laughing.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day, I got a call from her on my answering machine.

"Hello Shawn? This is Betty. Remember me from last night? I have lost my main gas key. Can you check under your house to see if I left it under there when I lost my pants? (explosion of laughter erupted). I can pick it up during a break between two house calls!"

I went back to look under my house and not only did I find Betty's key, but about $4 dollars worth of change, two credit cards, a handful of catsup packages and a half-dozen pens.

She showed up at my door and before she knocked, I heard her laughing again so hard walking up the walkway.

I opened the front door before she rang the door bell and I handed her the key and her other belongings. She thanked me and laughed at the pile of stuff that seemed so consealed inside her pockets. As she walked out the door, she turned toward me only once more and wanted to give me a quick hug. I returned it to her. She continued on her way down my front walk toward her truck and she laughed again, bending down to her shoes and then back up toward the stars, her little round vibrating hair casting shadows against the moon reflection on her truck.

Today it is quiet. And, I actually miss her.

Joy Riding

It was 1987.

My friend, Joe, and I were going out to eat and to a movie, but his car overheated and his friend said, "No problem! Use my car!" His 1982 Datsun B510 was parked on the 3rd floor ... closest to the elevator. He said the hubcab was missing in the front driver's side and the key would be tucked inside the sunvisor.

"No problem!" we'd find it easily. Especially a car like that in the upscale neighborhood of Walnut Creek.

He said he'd be working until after midnight. To just park it in or near the same spot. Leave the keys up in the sunvisor and he'd find it.

I will never forget that hot afternoon. It was easy to find his Datsun B510. The hubcap was missing, certainly, but just not on the front drivers side. We opened the door and checked for the keys up in the sunvisor. Instead, they were under the mat.

Unbeknownst to Joe, his friend was apparently a chain smoker and kept it well hid from him. The cigarettes were overflowing from the ashtray down into the floor of his car.

The first thing we did was fill the empty tank with gas and then headed to the nearest car wash to clean it.

Afterwards, it didn't leave us much time to eat, so we found a quick in and out burger place and then stood in a long line to see Good Morning Vietnam.

It was a brand new show.

The lines were long but we were excited to get in. At the end of the movie, we returned the car back. It was clean and the tank was filled with gas. We left a quick note on his dash: "THANKS FOR THE CAR! IT WAS A REAL JOY!"

Three days later, we realized it was more of a ... Joy Ride.
Joe and his friend were talking and somewhere in the conversation, his friend asked why we never ended up borrowing his car.

"We did! Didn't you notice how clean we left it and left you with a full tank of gas?"
"Nooooo!"

As it turned out, we had gotten into the WRONG car. We actually were Joy-Riding. We could have been arrested for Grand Theft. I often wonder what would have happened if we were captured.

This innocent evening out.

I also wonder about the car owner who returned to his car only to find it filled with gas and clean with a nice note from the thieves thanking him for the joy ride. Oh to hear his side of the story!

Tonight, I am grateful we never got caught.