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Hometown

Daydreaming

My hometown family got together for a lunch yesterday at Ruby Tuesday. It was a small group of just nine. (That’s small relative to how many we could have had at the table with all our spouses and children.) I was sitting at one end of the table, with an empty chair beside me, so I was sometimes disconnected from the conversations going around. I started looking around the restaurant and daydreaming a bit.

Someone noted how quiet I was, and suggested I was probably noticing something to blog about. (Hi Becky.) I was looking around and noticing things, but I hadn’t really considered anything there worth noting in a blog entry.

Among all the junk clutter on the walls, there were two 1977 Star Wars posters.

At one point, a waitress grabbed our waiter by the arm and dragged him over to a table with two girls the waiter’s age. I was too far away to hear the conversation, but it looked like the girls had asked the waitress to introduce the waiter to them. The look on the waiter’s face was funny: like he was surprised to be snatched along, and then pleased to be introduced to the cute girls.

At the far end of our table, my eldest step-brother and his wife were entertaining and feeding their 11-month old grandbaby (yes, my brother is a grandfather). It’s a totally selfish and dispicable thing to think, but I was relieved that I wasn’t having to entertain and feed a baby/child. I was able to sit quietly and daydream.

So I was just a bit lost in my own thoughts at the table rather than really being observant.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

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DWI Checkpoint

The traffic on the highway last night was back up and stopped. I was at a slight turn in the road, so I could see up ahead. I counted at least four blue, flashing lights, and a set of bright roadwork lights. The congestion was about a mile long.

Eventually the traffic started moving, but it was so slow that my speedometer never registered above 0 mph. Traffic cones narrowed the two lanes going east to one lane, and a sign on the side of the road announced this was a DWI checkpoint. “Cool,” I thought. “I don’t think I’ve ever been through one of these before.”

I immediately looked around the interior of my car to see if I had anything out that would make me look stupid or maybe guilty of something. Funny how an expected encounter with law enforcement makes you nervous. I knew I was not guilty of anything I knew was wrong, but I wondered if I might be breaking some rule I didn’t know about. Like, is it okay that my laptop is out of its case, sitting open and running on my front seat? (I was letting some software install while I drove—it just needed time to run—I didn’t have to give it any attention.) Would a cop looking in my car think I was typing on my computer while driving? I closed the lid. While stopped for a minute, I slid the laptop into its case. No need to take a chance.

Traffic just inched along. I kept my foot on the break, letting the car move forward just on idle speed. There were cops on both sides of the road; I counted 10. Most were waving their flashlights to move traffic along, but there were a few talking with citizens outside their stopped vehicles. I could see their handcuffs and guns glinting in the headlights. (No, I wasn’t really that nervous—I just notice things like that.)

There was a civilian car pulled off on the left side of the road, and just a little further up, a civilian van on the right side. Two cops stopped me and one asked for my driver’s license.

I had already pulled out my wallet in anticipation of this, so I handed over my card.

The cop aimed his flashlight at the card and said, “You’re from City?”

“Yeah,” I answered.

“You still live on Road?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.” He handed me my card and added, “Drive safe.”

That was kind of disappointing. I was expecting a test of some kind. You know, at least make me touch my nose or something. Maybe a lengthy conversation, and a flashlight poking around in my car. How could he tell whether I was sober or stoned with that little exchange? I thought I’d get an interesting experience in this checkpoint stop deal. But nope, just a couple mundane questions. Oh well. I went on my way.

I wonder how bad those drivers they had pulled over came across in such a short encounter? Were they just stupid and sloppy drunk or something?

In general, I don’t have a problem with DWI checkpoints. I think they can be a good idea in some places at some times. But on a highway at 10:00 at night, holding up traffic for a mile or more? That seems a little more bothersome than useful. Fortunately, I wasn’t in a hurry, so I won’t complain about it.

If they manage to actually catch some jackass driving drunk, good for us all. (Assuming the jackass actually gets some real punishment.)

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

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Saving Souls in the Walmart Parking Lot

I had to go to Walmart to pick up some stuff. I took my two-and-a-half year old with me. We had to park pretty far out in the parking lot, and as we were walking toward the store, a clean-cut young man approached us with a fist full of pamphlets.

I knew what he was coming to say, and as soon as the young man got close enough to start his spiel, “Hi, I’m a professional . . .” I waved him off with, “No thank you.”

He nodded politely and moved on. But I caught a glimpse of the pamphlet he was carrying. It looked like it had a pretty cool, color illustration—something with swords and armor and horses.

Did he say he was a “professional” something? By the time that term struck me, he and we were too far apart to change my mind. Damn. That illustration on his pamplet, and his use of the term “professional” got me intrigued.

Anyway, we went on in the store, bought what we needed, and headed back out. Just outside the exit door, I saw the young man sitting on a bench holding his pamphlets. He looked tired, hot, and maybe a little dejected. I stopped and asked him if he was the guy that approached me in the parking lot. He confirmed he was, and pulled out one of the pamphlets.

“This is important information about Revelations that you can read.”

I took the pamphlet, thanked him, and then moved on with my son. I didn’t get a chance to look at the pamphlet until I got home.

The image is pretty cool. A sky scene, with a big moon in the center background, and four horsemen on flying horses (without wings). One horseman, on a white horse, wearing silver and gold armor, pulling taunt a mighty bow, is a white-haired king (with crown). This is presumedly, God. The other three horsemen are obviously evil—probably War on his red horse, Death on his pale horse, and . . . who is this guy on the black horse? He carries a set of balance scales (Death has his scythe, War has his bloody sword). I guess I need to read the text on the reverse side. (I was going to read the text anyway.)

Well, apparently, the rider on the black horse, with the scales in his hands, is Capitalism. I kid you not.

. . . symbolizes the rich capitalists that have a major impact on world conditions . . .

I didn’t expect that. I had always thought the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were War, Death, Famine, and Pestilence. According to this pamphlet, famine is part of Capitalism, and pestilence is part of Death. And one Horseman is actually a good guy: God (Jesus). Hmm. I’ll have to research this story further.

I’ll keep this illustration; it really is cool. But I never found out what the evangelist meant by “professional”. Professional what?

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

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Eulogy

The funeral service was very nice. As part of the memorial, some of the family wrote a note about my step-dad. This is the story I related:

I was around 13 years old, and trying to cheat on a book report for school. I hadn’t read the book, and the report I wrote was pure bull. But I, being a smart and wily teenager, knew I could fool my teacher. My mom had me read my report in front of her and my step-dad, and I put on a confident air as I read. When I finished, the look on my step-dad’s face scared me: confusion and disappointment. He easily saw the errors in my report, but he didn’t want to believe it. He asked me a few questions about the subject of the book, and I tried to continue the deception. My ability and will failed me the more I tried.

My mom and step-dad let me go back to my room without saying what I knew they knew. A few minutes later, when my step-dad came to my room to talk with me, I was in tears. I wasn’t crying because I knew I had been caught; I was torn up because of the look of disappointment on my step-dad’s face. He didn’t want to believe I was being so deceitful.

In my room, he didn’t show anger. He didn’t scold me. He just asked, “Why?” Through my blubbering, I admitted that I just hadn’t bothered to read the book. He hugged me firmly, and long.

After I calmed down enough to listen, he talked to me. He told me what he thought of me: he was disappointed in what I had just done, but not in me. Then we talked out my options for that report.

I don’t remember the end result of the book report (probably wasn’t a good grade), but I remember vividly that hug and that talk in my bedroom. It was a simple thing that made me want to be a good, better, person.

***

That story is a good example of what he was like as a step-dad. The term, “step-father” has a lot of negative baggage, so I dislike using it to describe this man. That’s why I prefer to say, “step-dad.” He was a regular, daily, positive part of my life since I was 7 years old.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

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