Comedy, The Rhythm of My Life
The laugh-fest started on Sunday afternoon. A beautiful day it was (as was the entire weekend.) Following standard procedure, I checked the forecast, including the regions within my traveling possibilities and was happy to see all good things – not a mention of rain all week. I sprang into action and decided I’d leave a bit early so I could detail my truck before departure. The wash gods who come in the dark of night, with stones in their little wash-mitts do a - pardon my language - a half-assed job. They miss all kinds of dirt-laden spots, never, ever, wash the very top, and I am convinced they do not even see that my truck is equipped with wheels. I’m only about one more bad wash away from leaving a note taped to my inside window when I leave on a Friday: “Attention: this truck is equipped with wheels, please wash them. Thank-you.” In addition to that, they never rinse the soap off it and I’m not kidding when I say I have to clean the windows and mirrors every week, just so I can see out of them before I roll. It’s a waste of my companies money in my opinion, but for most of the drivers, it’s good enough. Not for me. I have to show up early and at least try and make it right, just like I did on this beautiful Sunday Afternoon.
My problem is that it always ends up taking more time than I had planned- probably because one thing leads to another. “Today I’ll just clean the glass. No, I really should go over the entire darn thing with my quick-detail spray. Holy cow, those wheels look good but they’d look even better with some tire gel!” If you’re applying it the right way, tire gel alone burns a half-hour of your life. Because the forecast was so nice, I gave my baby the full treatment and she looked like a million bucks.
I wasted another half hour just marveling at her pure beauty and afterwards, hooked up to my trailer, fastened my seatbelt, and we disappeared into the beautiful early evening. Forty minutes later we were shooting north on The PA turnpike’s Northeast Extension when it started to drizzle, followed by a full-blown, ruin-your-shine rainstorm. An un-forecasted, out-of-nowhere storm had just ruined my evening.
I had no choice but to be angry. “That’s it,” I thought to myself. “No more. I’m throwing out all my cleaning paraphernalia as soon as I find a proper receptacle.” After a while, my thoughts turned to all the people who think I’m slightly off base for being so obsessive about my ride. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am a lunatic. “Of course I am,” I thought. And then, I smiled. I had no choice; all crazy people smile.
Monday and Tuesday were actually two of the easiest “can’t believe they pay me for this” days that I have possibly ever had. The only thing wrong with them was caused by the brain of my truck- the driver information screen kept on flashing up the message of “Maintenance required, Engine ECU.” I would push the button to exit the screen and it would flash right back. Sometimes it would go away on its own, but it always came back. There were no physical deficiencies; she was still running at the top of her game. I put the situation in the back of my mind, cranked up the love songs and hammered on down the highway.
On my way home from the Pittsburgh region Tuesday evening, those in charge of my whereabouts informed me I would be heading to Massachusetts for Thursday deliveries. Within a few minutes, I had concocted a brilliant plan: since I was heading right by my house off of interstate 78, I would just stop there for the night and park the truck at a nearby lot. In the morning, I’d quickly give my horse a quality hand bath and then gallop on up to Mass. I could even wash the top, the wheels and get her back to where she was before that rogue rain storm ruined everything! And so I did (including another half hour of just applying tire gel!) She looked like a million bucks once again and I headed back to the yard to get my freshly stuffed trailer and head for the hills. Once in the yard, I got at least three compliments on how good she looked from three different people, one of which was our mechanic. Just before he and I parted ways, I made the unfortunate mistake of saying “by the way, she’s been acting up lately, telling me there is something wrong with the engine ECU or some nonsense………”
“Are you in a hurry” he asked
“Not really, but I’d like to get up there sometime before the all the leaves fall off the trees and the snow starts to fall.”
“Stop by the shop [up the road], they have a laptop they can plug in and tell if we need to order parts.”
“10-4.”
I hooked up my trailer, went to the shop (where the mechanics all chimed in on “how nice” my truck looked) then suffered through a situation that was so unbelievable that I still have trouble believing it really happened. Afterwards, I would try to convince myself this was really nothing more than a bad dream.
Here’s the synopsis of what transpired: Mechanic plugs in laptop after 15-minute wait (enough time to let me get that feeling that something bad was about to happen.) Mechanic says “uh oh” as he and I watch five different inactive codes of death come up on his laptop. Mechanic utters something about a bad EGR valve and says he’ll have to call our mechanic back in Leesport to see if it’s okay for me to drive the truck away. Our mechanic tells this mechanic to call our headquarters in Wisconsin. Mechanic calls Wisconsin and I overhear him say, “Okay, we’ll shut the truck down.” I ask for phone. An argument ensues between me and some guy sitting in a shop hundreds of miles away. Guy hundreds of miles away finally tells me in a firm tone that “the truck is shut down” and hangs up on me. I look at my beautiful and clean truck and think “it’s not the rain this time, it’s the darn mechanics” and throw up all over the floor in front of everyone. I drive back down the road to Leesport with my trailer in-tow, to find another truck. What just transpired is so outside the realm of possibility that I had to smile. This is the second time in one week that I have completely wasted my time by cleaning up my truck! If I had never saw our mechanic, I would have finished the week in my very clean truck and then switched to a loaner over the weekend. But that wouldn’t have made any kind of sense; why ruin the flow of comedy that is my life?
Things got worse when I arrived back at the yard to find out that we only had one spare truck available and of course, it was a complete pigsty. The exterior wasn’t bad, but the inside was horrendous. The spare truck is a 2008 but apparently it hasn’t been cleaned even once since perhaps the year 2000. Stains on the seats, stains on the rear carpets that looked like pee; I was horribly offended that not only would a newer truck look like this, but also that I was told to drive it! I briefly considered just taking my truck against orders until I learned that had it actually left me on the side of the road, I could be held responsible to foot the bill for the tow, and that didn’t sound like something that would put a smile on my face.
I was so frustrated by the situation that I called my Wife, told her of my predicament and informed her I might just come home. That statement freaked her out and she told me “we couldn’t afford that” and we argued back and forth just enough to make me smile. Sometimes making her frustrated brings a smile to my face. I guess crazy people like myself get off on that sort of thing.
I really was ready to just go home for the week while I waited for my truck to be fixed (all the while hoping I wouldn’t be fired for refusing a load due to a yucky truck.) After a few moments, I was able to calm myself down, do the right thing, and relay my concerns to my dispatch office. After another while, we hammered out a deal to my liking: hotel rooms whenever I needed them. I really didn’t want to drive the darn thing but sleeping inside of it was out of the question. Bordering on becoming behind schedule (probably because I spent the morning washing a truck I couldn’t use) I hooked up to my trailer (again) and hit the bricks.
Traffic was light and the music was loud as I made my way up to my planned destination of the night in Willington, Connecticut. I picked Willington because it was the originally planned stop for the night- I could have gone much closer to my first stop (which was still 80 miles out) had I known I could just get a hotel, but I was wiped out from the day’s tragic events, plus the truck stop had a five star (read: sarcasm) Travelodge on the premises.
It was a fairly good ride but I had a moment on 287 North that is forever seared in my memory bank (what’s left of it.) I observed a pickup truck on the shoulder in just enough time to for me to move into the left lane out of courtesy and safety. There was a tall lanky man standing by the tailgate and as I looked at him I noticed his baseball cap had been lifted above his head by the wind from the passing traffic. It kind of hung there, doing a little spinning dance above his head, and his eyeballs were pointed up at it as it spun about. Right after I passed him I glanced in the passenger side mirror just in time to see his tall lanky frame reach for it. He was on his right foot with his right arm outstretched- the entire episode (quick as it was) reminded me of a silent comedy film from the past and I actually laughed out loud. My laughter surprised me; it was such a natural laugh that I thought “that’s odd,” as if someone else had done the laughing. I came to the conclusion that after everything that had gone less than favorable this week that I almost forgot what my own natural laughter sounded like. It sounded (and felt) good.
Once the truck was parked and secured at the truck stop in Willington, I exited the grossness of its interior and made my way to my five star luxury suite within the Travelodge (again, read sarcasm.) I was checked in and on my way to the room in only 15 minutes, the speed of the process made me remember all the benefits of being so famously famous. When I opened the door of my second floor room, I noticed the window was wide open! Really? Do they know there is a bedbug problem down in New York City? Why not leave a window open so if they decide to fly north and get tired, they can come right in and have a rest on the bed I am about to try and sleep upon! I checked over my route on my laptop, said my prayers that included a wish for things to smooth out just a bit, and then hit the sack. I’m happy to report that it was a good night’s rest shared alone; no bugs were present within my bed.
Thursday morning I awoke early with a smile on my face- not only because there were only two more days left in the week, but also because there was a Dunkin’ Donuts within the confines of the truck stop. Everyone knows that a good cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee can turn the impossible into the possible! But first, a hot shower and shave was in order to get myself ready for the wonderful day ahead. It was, as I was standing naked outside the shower, with the water running, when I looked for the towels only to find they were not present. “Why would there be any,” I said out loud to nobody in particular (except for maybe some tired bed bugs stuck to the outside of the now-closed room window.) I got re-dressed and stumbled downstairs to the front desk where I told the clerk “there are no towels in my room, I’m a writer and a legend in my own mind, do you know how this will make your hotel look?” She was in disbelief and only slightly apologetic. Given that the joint was a five star couple hundred-a-night place, I was hoping for coupons for a free truck wash, free Dunkin’ Donuts coffee for life, as well as a free pesticide service subscription should I ever arrive at a place with bedbugs that flew in through an open window. Instead I got nothing but two (hopefully) clean towels. It was a comedic experience that I shared with my friends on Facebook that morning:
“Don't you love it when you're standing before the shower naked when you realize housekeeping never restocked the towels? (Yup, only the best hotels for me.) I was so mad I was gonna walk to the front desk naked but I'm pressed for time and couldn't afford to be fighting off any ladies who might have seen me. :o)”
It was only the latest in a string-of-events that I found comical, so why not share the laughter with everyone? After all, at this point, I’m barely hanging on to the ability to laugh at myself; it somehow brings me comfort if others can have a laugh on me.
Oddly enough, my deliveries went smooth as silk, the customers were well behaved and even traffic wasn’t out to get me (just like in the preceding days.) I’m not complaining; it really seemed this week was all about situational comedy. Keep reading, I’m not done.
After Thursday was finished, I returned to our covert yard in Massachusetts for my next load, which was to deliver in the bottom right corner of the state, with stops sprinkled within the lovely state of Rhode Island. The customers were fairly close and I knew I could return to my five-star favorite hotel again, leave in the morning, and still make it home legally when I finished up on Friday. But did I really want to go back to that lovely place? Nope. Time to take my comedic festival of fun to a new locale and I found a closer joint in Seekonk, Massachusetts that would be only about fifteen minutes from my first stop. I stayed at a Comfort Inn and I am happy to report that if you go there, they even have towels ready for you, right in the room! I was so happy that I grabbed one, took a hot shower then went outside in search of some food.
I walked outside and immediately I hear a loud boom that sounded eerily similar to a gunshot. It was dark and I wasn’t sure what I heard, but remembered I had noticed some people eating outside at the (overly expensive) restaurant attached to the hotel. So I slowly meandered in that direction when a second shot rang out. “Oh my Lord, someone’s shooting up the place, I’m going back inside to hide” I thought as I bobbed and weaved around the vehicles in the parking lot for cover, just in case. I slowly made my way to where I could I see the people who were eating outside and when I did, nobody was panicking. “Thank the Lord,” I thought, “if nobody is running for cover, it must have been a car backfiring or some other audible oddity.” I grew concerned that if any of the outside diners saw my panic-maneuvering dance in the parking lot, they probably thought I was insane. “They might be right,” I thought, as I laughed at myself and went inside the TGI Fridays next door.
I bellied up to the bar and ordered a cold beer. I would have taken a seat somewhere else but I hate being “that guy” eating all alone. One of my greatest fears in life is ending up eating alone in restaurant in my golden years; it’s too sad to bear. I don’t even like seeing old people eating alone. A meal is meant to be shared, unless you’re away from home or don’t like people. I was happy I had TVs to watch, some sort of college football game was on, I could at least feign interest and pretend to watch it. It kept me from looking at the other people who were looking at me and thinking, “poor fellow, he’s got to eat alone, what a shame, given his movie star good looks and all.”
As I waited on my meal and sipped my deliciously cold and well-deserved beverage, I somehow let my attention slip away from the game on the television, a near fatal mistake. It seems there was a gathering of buddies seated at a table just behind my right shoulder, and they seemed to have had a whole series of beverages and, it turns out, were huge fans of one of the football teams. How do I know this? Apparently, while my attention was diverted from the screen and my thoughts were running rampant about God knows what, a huge play must occurred within the game. This in turn caused one of the fellows to emit a loud screeching yell, the beginning of which sounded like something that might come out of a teenage girls mouth at a Jonas Brothers concert. That in turn startled me so much that my entire body shot three feet into the air. I must have still been on edge after dodging imaginary gunfire in the parking lot, I had no choice but to put a smile on my face as well as a look that said “I meant to do that.” My eyes never left that damn television screen for the rest of the time I was in the place - I had learned my lesson and was prepared for any loud sounds anytime a big play happened.
Friday’s deliveries were finished in a timely fashion I was empty by two or so and cleared to head for home. And so I did.
The ride home wasn’t as terrible as I predicted; the last 18 miles in Connecticut on 95 were running at a snails pace. I also had plenty of company as I crossed the Tappan-Zee Bridge but even that wasn’t so bad. The sun was just at the right angle and height to make the scene absolutely beautiful. A part of me was even happy that it was stop and go; I was able to snap a picture and just soak up the beauty of the situation. Some people might find only frustration when stuck in horrible traffic, I’m grateful I can look around and find something that makes me happy. I wondered how many other people were living in the moment; most of my neighbors looked none to happy as we crawled our way across the bridge that afternoon.
It seems that this should be the end of the story, but alas, it is not. The final act of the comedy show came after I had parked my truck for the weekend and stopped by the Sheetz [convenience store] just down the road from our yard.
I pulled in and swung around to the far corner of the lot, nearest the entrance where they keep the free money machine (I needed a couple bucks), and parked next to a green late model Mustang that was idling with a growl in its voice. I noticed the stallion was piloted by a teenage kid, but I took more notice to the half dozen plus cheerleaders that were hanging around outside. What could be a more perfect ending to the week, I thought, than a bunch of pretty young girls, in Cheerleader outfits, hanging around my final stop before I reach the sanctity of home? Obviously, the Universe was trying to make good on all the dirty tricks it pulled on me this week. What could be better? How about a half dozen plus cheerleaders with a side of teenage drama?
As I was walking into the building, one of the cheerleaders stepped off the curb and walked over to the Mustangs driver side window. Little did I know the show was about to begin! My view from the free money machine inside the building afforded me a clear view of what was transpiring in the parking lot. I probably would have never looked, had it not been for the roaring ‘voom-voom-voom’ of the Mustang that signaled the young kid inside was ready for departure. A little tire squeal for added effect and an unhappy looking cheerleader walking back to the curb confirmed my suspicions. The driver was gone in the blink of an eye. Within that same blink of an eye, I saw myself, -as a teenage kid- years and years ago. The only difference was I never had the pleasure to hang out with cheerleaders (it took a few years for my movie star good looks to mature) and my Mustang was cooler because it was a vintage 1970 fastback. But the rest of the drama that just went out on outside could have been me in my younger years. I was more of a gentleman and can’t remember making girls cry, but I can clearly remember pulling up to a 7-11 with a girl riding shotgun, all her friends waiting on the curb were squealing with delight when we pulled up. I felt like the rock star I would later become. The kid in the newer Mustang that left, and me in my younger years, had a lot in common. The irony of it all was not lost on me; I smiled just thinking about it.
As I exited the building en-route to my car, the gaggle of girls was now in a circle to my left, presumably comforting the poor girl whose knight-in-shining-mustang had just left her at the curb, and in tears no less. I would have simply hopped in my own car and let nature and the mysteries of the universe play their course, but I overheard one of the girls say something to the cheerleader-in-distress that stopped me cold in my tracks.
“He’s a nobody, he’ll never become anything in life.”
What? Excuse me? It was almost as if they were offending me personally because the punk that just left was so much like me in my younger life. To make matters worse, he was now gone and couldn’t defend himself, and clearly the universe set this situation up the way it did, so I could step in and do it for him. And so I did.
“Excuse me ladies,” I said as I sauntered on over in their direction. “I think that’s quite unfair of you to say about him. I was, at one time in my life, just like him and I’ve made quite a bit of my life. Quite a bit indeed.”
There was a moment of what would have been awkward silence, but I’ve become accustomed to the fact that sometimes women need a few moments to soak in my movie star good looks before they can assemble simple thoughts. After that time had passed, one of them finally spoke.
“Oh really,” one of them responded with just a hint of teenage cockiness that every parent of a teenager is all too familiar with.
“Yes, really.”
“Wh…wha....what did you do with your life” said another pretty young thing with a stutter in her voice that led me to believe she could have used another few moments before assembling her thoughts.
“Lots of things. I became an awesome husband to a very lucky woman (shush, honey, this is my story), and am such a good Daddy that I set the standard for Daddies everywhere. I sometimes fly little airplanes on the weekend and pilot a beautiful black and gold truck during the week that is so beautiful; it brings my fellow motorists to tears. I’m also a world famous writer who stays in five-star hotels and dodges imaginary gunfire in parking lots! I also throw up on the floor, in front of everyone, when things don’t go my way!”
Once again silence has befallen upon my audience. I almost began to sweat, thinking that perhaps, my idea to speak to these fine young ladies was a mistake. Luckily, the tide changed, and in my favor for once.
There were a few “oohs” and “aahs,” before the first one asked for my autograph, and of course, I happily obliged. I was feeling pretty good about how the situation turned out, but I also couldn’t help feeling sorry for the little cheerleader that had become the damsel-in-distress of the evening, so I concocted yet another brilliant plan.
I looked her straight in the eye and said, “Tell you what honey, why don’t you come with me, we’ll go have some fun and make something out of this night?”
“Really?”
“Yes, really” and she followed me over to my car as her crowd of friends stood on the curb, emitting squeals of delight. “Just like old times,” I thought as I opened the passenger-side car door for my newfound cheerleader friend.
She slid onto the seat and right when I closed the door, -POOF! –
I awake, in my bed, with the beautiful early morning sunlight shining in through its regular, east facing window. I look over to see my Wife, and notice my three-year-old son has once again made the late journey to our bed and now is snuggled firmly between us. I look up at the ceiling and wonder, “Was that whole week a dream?” And then I smile.
The Rest Of The Story…….
While most events of this story happened exactly as I wrote them, I may have embellished a few of them. I didn’t really throw up on the floor in front of everyone, though if I let the situation get to me just enough, I probably could have. I’ve also never tried showing up at home with a teenage cheerleader (or any cheerleader for that matter), but something tells me it would not put a smile upon my Wife’s face and may even cause her to inflict bodily harm upon me. I never even had that conversation with those cheerleaders, except within the confines of my mind. The fact that I didn’t bring one home is what helps makes me an awesome husband, the imaginary conversation I had with them shows how over-active my imagination can be.
Otherwise, the rest of the story was exactly as the week happened, right down to the open hotel window and standing naked before a towel-free shower. There were also a few mini-series acts of comedy that happened within the main show of the week, but some of the things that happened were not so funny. Take for instance Friday morning when I awoke without the luxury of a Dunkin’ Donuts at my disposal. I walked across the street to a Burger King where I waited over fifteen minutes for my meal to arrive. Within that period, I saw a frustrated young man threatening to quit, followed soon by him actually quitting complete with walking out the door – while I stood there questioning why even ordering food can’t be simple this week, I wasn’t happy to see someone walk away from a job that, pays the bills. I wasn’t happy to be a paying customer that had to witness a public display of humiliation.
There were plenty of opportunities during that week where I could have let the situations take control of me and let the week become frustrating and miserable. Instead, I choose to look around for the humor, and I was able to find it every time I looked. I’m often impressed with my ability to take what some might call a bad week and turn it into another week of fun. I like fun. Who doesn’t? I’ll let you know the answer to that question if I ever really do bring a cheerleader home. Then, I might have an answer.
While I am fortunate to know plenty of people in my life that share my sunny disposition, I’m amazed at the number I know who do not. Why some people seem to relish in misery, I’ll never know.
As Humans, I think it’s important to understand that we’re susceptible to a range of emotions including (but not limited to) feeling happy, sad, angry, or confused; sometimes it’s completely acceptable (and required) to let ourselves feel them. While I like to consider myself a happy individual, I often have my struggles where I am quite pissed off, and even have the occasional feelings of sadness and confusion.
At least twice a month on average, I feel like quitting my job and finding another place to work for. Usually it’s because of where I am going (like Jersey or Philly) but I always somehow seem to pull it together and make the best of it. And fear? That’s my worst enemy of an emotion that I deal with in my aspirations to write a book. Actually, it’s a fear of success. I spent a lot of time worrying that it may become a best seller and even garner the attention of Oprah. My over achieving imagination then had her inviting me on her show because she chose my book for her book club. I have a terrible fear of speaking to a live audience (as well as real live cheerleaders) and I considered that possibility more than I could bear. But now her show is set to end, and I’m timing my book to come out just after her last show. Now the pressure is gone! As happy as I like to think I am, I’m no stranger to a range of emotions- but I always lean towards happiness.
What amazes me more than anything, are the people who become overly focused on one emotion or another. They are continually locked into sadness due to love gone wrong, or anger because of circumstances they refuse to change (or even the ones they can’t change, like traffic.) The simple act of choosing to be happy is often all it takes to become happy. The rest takes care of itself.
If we are traveling from point A to point B and we get pulled over for speeding through a small town in the middle, the Cop might ask us, “Where are you going?”
We might reply, “just passing through.”
Our time on Earth is just like our imaginary road trip, we’re truly “just passing through.” Why not make it as fun as we can? The only thing I can say with certainty is that eventually, the show that is my life will come to a close. When the curtain closes and I walk on through to the other side, I hope I can tell whomever (or whatever) that may be waiting, “Man, that was fun!” Until that point arrives, as long as there is a beat within my heart, its rhythm will always be comedy. I’m okay with that. I like to smile
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