Flat Tire
Jerry and I didn’t have a care in the world as we rode down the street in our ancient, yet still running very nicely, Ford Explorer. Mainly, we didn’t have a care since the car’s AC kept us cool. The heat outside could sizzle eggs on the sidewalk, should anyone want to try it. Suddenly…Bam! Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump. “We have a flat,” Jerry announced and pulled the car over, got out and began to change the tire, kneeling on the soft, melting-to-a-boil asphalt. “Do you want help?” I asked while silently thinking, pleeeze-say-no. Jerry said, “No, I’ve got it.” Suddenly out of nowhere a man in a pickup truck pulled up behind us. “Need help?” he called out. Jerry thanked him and said he had it under control. “You sure?” the guy asked. Jerry assured him all was well. I realized then, no matter how much we hear on the news of terrorism, murders, and general hatred between various groups, kindness for humankind still exists. A stranger in a pickup offered to sweat in 100-plus degrees in order to help Jerry, and for no other motivation than kindness. After all, what else could it be? We didn’t post a sign on the road stating that anyone who helped us would get ten bucks.
Tag Archives: Cork
The Call of the Wild, Flyaway Hair: Part III
Friday–July 31. Gate 18.
“Your flight will be delayed 20 minutes,” the ticket agent announced over a microphone.
“And this won’t delay your connecting flights in Minneapolis,” she added.
My fellow passengers waiting at Gate 18 focused their eyes on books, like The Girl on the Train or a J.A. Jance detective novel. Lit screens on phones hypnotized many others. The man across from me crunched potato chips. Ka-rrrrrunch! A lady chomped on gum. Chaaw-ommmppp! Some took dainty sips of bottled airport water as others gawked blankly into the vast chasm of the airport’s back and forth hustle of people towing luggage…
Secret to Happiness: Get Rid of Your Bucket List
If you have a bucket list, chuck it.
Perhaps you haven’t made your bucket list yet. But you have dreams of some day, some place, some time. Write those dreams down and throw the list out your window. If you have screens, this could be difficult, in which case your alternative is throw it in the rubbish bin. I don’t use the term ‘trash can’ after being chastised by an elderly English lady seated outside a wee deli in Edinburgh, Scotland. I inquired of the deli’s server the whereabouts of the nearest trash can as the deli had served my soup in a paper cup. The English lady sat regally at one of the deli’s two outdoor tables. Hearing of my inquiry, she said to me, “For your future reference, we call it rubbish bin over here.” She smiled at me with kind eyes, giving me the sense she told me for my own good. Helping me avoid the faux pas of uttering the crass term ‘trash can’ ever again. I said to her, “Ah yes, I’m not in America. Over here you also don’t say ‘restroom’ but ‘toilets.'”
“Yes, we say it like it is,” she said. “And you Americans say ‘parking lot’ and we say ‘car park.’ It doesn’t make sense.” We both chuckled at our respective country’s different terminology. However, I do think ‘car park’ sounds backward. I also think the way the Brits drive is backward. They drive on the left side and riding in their cars is a complete harrowing experience. When you see cars on the opposite side of the road coming toward you, the scary feeling of an impending collision comes over you.