3JOH22A

I drove out to visit Mom again yesterday. As usual I took Lake Shore Drive down to the Dan Ryan. It's a nice drive down the lakefront, even in the gray and rainy weather yesterday. I like to get in the inside lane, set my cruise control to sixty miles per hour and relax. Because the speed limit is forty miles per hour I usually don't have to worry about tailgaters, and if somebody does want to do more than twenty over the limit, I move over and let them by. So I'm cruising along, nobody in front of me, when a black Scion cuts over into my lane. Here is my problem. Scion driver is an asshole. Pure, assholiness driving a cheap version of a Toyota. He's doing under fifty in the left hand lane, while to the right of him are cars going faster. So I change lanes to go around him and as I come up even with him, he speeds up. So I speed up. Then he speeds up even faster. So I give in and drop back in behind him. He then slows back down to forty five. This is Chicago. He doesn't know me. I could be an even bigger asshole with a gun. It happens often here. Road rage punctuated by guns. No matter how I try to get around Scion asshole, he won't let me. It's not like I was tailgating him. I wasn't, not at all. He simply wanted to be an asshole that day. I did finally get him when the highway broadened to five lanes after the river bridge. I then set the cruise control to seventy miles per hour and never saw that guy again. The End.

Soda Jerked

You know that feeling you get when the first hint of a cold scratches at the back of your throat? First you deny that's what it is. Then you are overcome with dread when you realize that no matter what, you're screwed. Within hours you begin with the watering eyes, the runny nose, and overall feeling of crud. That was me on Saturday. My problem was that I had to go grocery shopping. So I put on my jacket and drove on up to the Jewel Foods so that we wouldn't starve over the next seven days. The Oscar Meyer Wienermobile sitting out front let me know that it wouldn't be a normal visit. Jewel was having some kind of celebration. At every turn of the aisle there was somebody with a little table giving out free samples. Some aisles had more than one table, but every aisle had at least one. And at those free sample tables crowds had formed making it difficult for my cranky ass to get by. That's another thing coming down with a cold does to you. Makes you very crabby. It took me two hours to do my Saturday shopping. Normally I am out of there in an hour. To make matters worse, the liquor lady who is actually there every Saturday giving out free samples of booze, was not there. Abandoned when I needed her the most. So I slogged on through my chore, following Mark's grocery list, trying to read it between blowing my nose and wiping the gushing water out of my eyes. By the time I finished and started out to the car with a cart full of groceries, it was pouring rain. So there I am, trying to shove all that crap into the trunk of the car as fast as I could while getting soaked to the skin. That's when one of the twelve packs of soda bursts open and spills out onto the pavement. Cans of orange soda go rolling though the puddles with me chasing after them, dodging cars and cursing loudly. By the time I got home, I felt like shit and I was not happy. Mark was waiting for me.

"So how was shopping today? Took you a long time. What kind of soda did you get me?" Mark said as he pawed through the bags of groceries.

"Grrr....." I responded

"Where's my bagels? Didn't you get me bagels?"

I had missed one thing on Mark's shopping list. Things went downhill from there.

Taxi Driver

Artist: My brother Gary

One of my favorite jobs ever, was driving a taxicab. Not always the easiest of jobs, but it did provide two things. Freedom through flexibility, and it was a one hundred percent cash business. If you don't understand the importance of being paid only in cash with no record of how much cash, then you don't pay taxes. I drove the taxi for a total of three years. One for Yellow, and two for Flash Cab. Among the fun things I experienced driving the cab was having a gun held to my head. Thankfully they took the wad of cash and not my life. Then there was the drunk who puked in the back seat. If you think about it, that was amazing. In three years of driving a taxicab only one drunk threw up in my cab. I once pooped in my pants while driving the cab. That was not so much fun. (Read about it here) I had my share of famous passengers, but I was a good driver. I never acknowledged that I knew they were famous. I simply got them to where they were going. The best thing about driving a taxi is that you got to know the city and the rhythm of the city. I always knew what was happening, where things were, and who lived in what neighborhood. I feel sad for the taxi business these days. It's not a pure cash business anymore. I don't think folks who pay with a credit card tip as much. And then there is Uber and Lyft. People roaming around in the family car, with no training, no licensing, no background check (I had to get fingerprinted), no inspection of that car, and no proof of insurance. On the high end they're taking business out from under taxis. On the low end they're taking business from mass transit. No, I don't think I could drive a taxi now. My back aches too much, my eyes get tired real fast, and they now have those damn cameras giving out tickets for speeding and running stoplights.

Eventually Somebody Will Notice and Push Me Back In

Spent some time out in the garden on Saturday. I pulled all the mums out of the window boxes out front and planted them in the backyard garden. Then I put the garden hose and the window boxes in the basement for the winter. Finally, I took the bag of daffodil bulbs that I bought at Home Depot and planted them along the fence. I was on my hands and knees digging little holes and shoving a bulb down each hole. After I made sure each bulb was upright and at the right depth, I went back along the row and covered each one with dirt. A winter dirt nap for the daffodil bulbs. I then was reminded of how old age is creeping up. Besides the five minute peeing, and having to pee every hour because of my old man prostate. Besides walking into rooms and forgetting why I walked into that room, and also forgetting many of my relatives names. Besides fingers that don't quite work the way they used to because they hurt all the time. Besides all those things, there was still one thing I hadn't experienced yet. Not being able to get my ass up onto my feet after kneeling down. There among the mums and daffodil bulbs, I lay like a beached whale, unable to pull myself back upright. As the dogs rollicked in the yard, I took appraisal of my situation. I knew Mark would never find me out there, and Dennis only comes out there once a day to throw out the garbage. No, I would have to figure this out on my own. So I dragged myself over to the little brick wall I had built to keep the dogs out of the garden, and managed to pull myself up. All the time thinking of that ad I used to laugh at on television. "I've fawlen and I can't get up."

What Is It?

Mark is feeling a little bit better lately. The doctors have done a good job. How do I know? Because he is shopping again. It's the goddamned internet, Mark has gone internet shopping crazy. He can't do much actual in store shopping anymore. But that Siren, the internet, Mark cannot resist it. Yesterday seven packages showed up on our doorstep.

So what do you get for the kitchen counter that has so much crap on it that it has become useless? How about a mug rack for the new mugs Mark bought three days ago. Now we have over a dozen mugs for two guys who use the same two mugs every morning for coffee.

In another package was what looks kind of like a pirate's chest. I asked Mark, "What is that for?"

"That's for Halloween candy."

I opened it up, and sure enough. It was stuffed with bags and bags of Milky Way candy bars. Fun size.

"Okay then. So what do we do with it the other 364 days a year?"

"Shut up. Leave me alone."

On Mark's new living room coffee table sits a hand. Not a flesh and blood hand, but some kind of metal hand looking like a trophy. Once again I ask.

"What the hell is this...   ?"

"Shut up. Leave me alone."

And on, and on it goes. He bought new chairs for the dining room table. They are lovely, they are very comfy. But who the hell buys upholstered chairs for two sloppy, drippy, messy old men, and two drooling hounds? Seriously, those dogs drool about a quart of saliva while begging for some of my dinner.

Don't get me wrong. I am very happy that Mark is feeling better. He had such a bad summer with two stays in the hospital. I truly hope he will recover soon from his ailment. Shopping addiction.