An Emergency Dispatch at Subway?

A couple of nights ago, I was at a 24 hour/day Exxon station, on Russel Street, around midnight. The Exxon station has a Subway sandwich shop inside. As I was getting back into my car, one of Exxon/Subway employees came out to hang a sign on the door, "Subway is Closed".

Almost as soon as the employee went back inside, a Baltimore police squad car pulled up. As soon as the two officers got out of their squad car and read the sign, they jumped back into their squad car and sped off with lights and siren.

There was no radio call.

Did they suddenly received a telepathic message from the dispatcher?

Or.... did they realized that they had just 30 minutes before the Subway sandwich shop inside the Walmart, on Washington Boulevard, closes at 12:30am?

Flirting on the Corner of Eastern and Broadway

I was driving east on Eastern Avenue, with my window rolled down, when the light at the intersection of Eastern and Broadway turned red, forcing me to wait for the crossing traffic.

As I waited for the light to turn green, I noticed a very beautiful young woman, dressed in a colorful dress, standing on the corner. The dress looked like the ones that women, in Central America, wear.

A young man stood next to her at the cross walk. He took several quick glances at this young woman as if trying to decide if he should engage her in conversation.

Finally, he decided to speak, "You are Latino, right?"

The young woman, corrected him, "Latina."

The young man, a bit confused, decided to re-phrase his query, "Where are you from?"

The young woman answered, "I'm from Ecuador."

The young man, replied, "So you are Latino, right?"

Why Pigtown Kid Don't Survive Their Teenage Years

(I actually wrote this piece a very long time ago and posted it on a different web site. I'm moving it here as part of my effort to consolidate my stuff.)

While I was waiting for Richard M. (my car) to be serviced at "Pep Boys", a kid walked in. His jacket collar was pulled up over his neck. The visor of his baseball cap covered his eyes. He leaned on the counter with the attitude of someone carrying a .45 in his right jacket pocket. But, his eyes shifted back and forth quickly between the service clerk, the waiting customers, and the outside window. His neck sporadically twitched as he waited in line. This guy exemplified the ultimate shady character.

I thought to myself, "This kid looks pretty dumb, but I don't think he's so stupid that he'll pull a heist at 8 o'clock in the morning when there's no cash in the register."

But I was still uneasy. I shifted myself in my seat. My fellow customers did the same.

When he finally arrived at the beginning of the line, he made his request in spurts of two and three word phrases.

He mumbled, "Tire rotated... ah... back to front... front to back... Wheel balanced... ah, hmmm... check brakes"

I wondered if he is capable of forming a complete grammatically correct sentence.

The clerk asked the kid if he had been a previous customer.

"Yeah, man... been here before."

"Son, what's your telephone number?"

He jumped, "Don't give out no number!"

"Well, son, that's how we keep our records in our computer, by telephone numbers. If you've been here before, you've already given us your telephone number."

The clerk waited for a response.

The kid looked out the window, nervously. His eyes searched the street. Then he turned back to the clerk with his voice raised, "Hey, man! Don't give out no number! Private business!"

By this time, the eyes of all the waiting customers were also searching street (looking for a possible drive-by).

"Son, I can't complete the work order on the computer if you don't give me your telephone number. That's how they set up the system. Can't by-pass it."

The clerk waited as the kid unloaded a truckload of obscenities. Vulgarity spew from the kid's mouth for a good minute and a half.

Then, the kid fell silent. Evidently, he exhausted his entire vocabulary of the English language.

The kid redundantly gave his telephone number and sat down.

I leaned over, "Why didn't you just give him a bogus number? like 555-5555"

"Dang!"

He rushed over to the counter, "Hey, wait... that number wrong, ma number 555-5555"

Epilogue:

As you may already know, my car's namesake didn't survive the stroke. I dedicate this piece to him, Richard Milhous Nixon, the ultimate political comeback king.

Everyone thought the nervous politician's career was dead after the debate with JFK. But, he came back to be president (a landslide election, no less).

Everyone thought tricky Dick's reputation was unrecoverable after Watergate. But, he came back to be a respected statesman (invited to more states dinners than sitting presidents).

May his spirit live on in my car. (Come on, baby! You can make 200,000!)

Men and Cars

Every workday morning, I watch husbands, who share a car with their wives, pull up to the plant gate, get out of the car, and their wives move from the passenger seat to the driver seat. In the evening, when the wives pull up, they move to the passenger seat to allow the husbands to drive.

The first time that I've ever seen the seat switching, it took quite a bit of self-control to restrain my impulse to shout at these husbands, "Hey, guys! Is being a passenger, while your wife drives, really that intolerable?"

However, I've watched this absurd ritual play out so many times that, now, I no longer notice it as an oddity.

This past Saturday, however, I watch a husband take it to a whole new level.

My brother and I were dining at one of our favorite restaurants and we given a table by the window. As we sat down, we watch a wife push her wheelchair-bound husband to their car.

Yes, that's right... The husband got into the driver seat of the car and the wife got into passenger seat after she put away the wheelchair.

So, it's ok for the wife to push the husband in his wheelchair but not ok for her to drive the car?