This is my two hundredth blog entry on Thoughts.com. Wow. I'm impressed.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
I look at Teal, standing behind the counter, here at the Columbus Denny’s. “Why?”
“I don’t have a ride home.”
“Ooooookay.”
“Could I please get a ride home with you?”
“You don’t even know me, Teal.”
“I know your name’s George, and I sense very strong that I can trust you to take me home in one piece.”
I sigh. “Where do you live?”
“Hamilton. Not far from St. Gregory’s.”
“I know where that is, I’m only like five minutes from there. My wife’s cousin and her family lives near there.”
“Great! I punch out in twenty minutes.”
“I was planning…”
“I know. I can wait for you. I can wait on you too.”
“Okay.” I pick up a menu, as the satellite feed pours out England Dan and John Ford Coley’s ‘I’d Really Love To See You Tonight’. “How about a grilled chicken salad?”
Teal punches that into the computer screen. “Drink?”
“Ice water.”
“Gotcha.”
“So, how’d you get stuck here without a ride?”
“My mom wound up getting a ride home from The Hairy Munchkin, she’s in no shape to drive.”
“She knew you were working, right?”
“Yeah, but sometimes, people buy her drinks, she goes in and everyone wants to buy her a drink when they see her, and sometimes, she can’t say no.”
Jesus. Some parent. Well, some people are that way. At least she’s not some hovering, helicopter mom who’s gotta micromanage every goddamned detail in this kid’s life. It sounds like she’s got a life, too. Good for her. “So, she’s pretty well lit right now?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like she does it ALL the time. Not even much of the time. Just tonight.”
“I understand.”
He’s off to wait on other customers. Denny’s is rather crowded tonight. The NADE crew’s present, as well as some big rig guys. Down the counter sits a priest, reading over what looks like a newspaper, and sipping tea. Today was probably the most beautiful day of the year; sunny, warm, no humidity. The temp outside hasn’t gone down that much- in fact, there’s a nice breeze outside that whips through your hair and makes you close your eyes and smile. Me, I have no hair anymore for wind to whip through, so, at least the description’s a nice one. Teal comes back. “My mom’s really nice, though.”
“I’m sure she is.”
“I just wish she’d settle down.”
“Hmm?”
“She divorced some years ago, and it’s like, she’s got nobody. She just goes out and has a good time and knocks a few down, but she hasn’t got anybody.”
I can readily comprehend her condition- I lived like that for years. I now regard those as wasted ones. I sometimes wish I had met my wife ten or fifteen years earlier than I had. But then, if I had met her fifteen years earlier than I had, she’d have been only thirteen years old. Of course, the thought of their thirteen-year-old dating a twenty-two year old sailor might have made my mother-in-law choke on her morning orange, but George digresses.
“It’s just the two of you?”
“We live with my aunt, her older sister. Peggy. She’s divorced too. Her kid’s over in Afghanistan, so it’s just the three of us.”
“You have your license yet?”
“Yeah, but I can’t afford a car, I can’t afford the insurance, I can’t even afford any of the valve stems in the tires.”
“Well, I can afford the hubcaps, AND the valve stems, but not much more on my end.”
“Here, hold on.” Teal heads toward the kitchen. He comes back a minute later with my order, and places it in front of me. “Thanks for the ride tonight.”
“I haven’t given it to you yet.”
“I like thanking people for their kindnesses.”
“No problem. You’re welcome.”
England Dan and John Ford Coley move out of the way, to make room for ‘Hearts’, by Jefferson Starship alum Marty Balin, which came out in the summer of 1981. Hearing it automatically sends me back, and I find that it’s always a pleasant ride. Teal is down the counter, talking it up with a couple of the NADE guys. No way he can be this nice. No way. I’m sure that on some level, Teal is a rotten little bastard. I wonder when that will manifest itself.
Then again, maybe he is for real. I hope not. Life isn’t any fun when you’re confronted with people who have no quirks.
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