Well.....doggone it....

...I know I'm not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree but I never thought of myself as a complete dunce. That is until I decided to create a new blog. It's a nice blog, classy, modern, and completely useless. I have been able to post one article on the site and it was just a test run. So, I give up. I will continue to use this old site. It's easy and doesn't make me feel so DUMB!! I will occasionally post on here with a serious comment or two amid the stories I like to write and I hope you like to read. I feel I better not try to be serious today after admitting total failure with my new site. I still have lots of untapped memories so I'm gonna sit here for a minute and try to remember one.......

....long pause, lunch, nap....

Oh yeah, remember when I saw this girl, Debbie Tatom, for the first time? I hate to say it was love at first site because she was only eleven years old and while I didn't have pervert status, I felt like one for noticing this child at church for the first time. I was fourteen don't you know, so I kept my thoughts and comments to myself. In all honesty my attraction to her was completely innocent. I just thought, "What a pretty little girl. I wish she was older."

Time passed and I followed my dreams, my education, and girls, all over the place. My parents were very clear about the order of life. It was pretty simple: Get out of high school. Go to college. Get a job. Get married. Have babies...all in that order. Since I hadn't completed even the first requirement of this assignment I never gave thought to who I would marry. I just figured when it was time the right person would come along. No sense even thinking about it until I aced all the other stuff. The training was supplemented by a secondary responsibility not discussed but definitely understood: No sex til you're married or you will be smitten with either lightning, plague, blindness, or possibly all three. This threat wasn't what kept me from messing up however. The driving force to my straight and narrow was my mom's promise that nothing was better than the wedding night...but only if I kept myself "pure" for it. Now, cut it out. I am not a prude. I just thought this was darn good advice and I promised myself I would follow it.

As I got older and started actually dating girls as opposed to just ogling them and wishing, the thought of long term relationships never entered my mind. After one terrible experience of "falling in love" I avoided serious relationships to the point of being rude and/or thoughtless to those lovely ladies who passed through my life. If I could go back with apologies....well, I probably wouldn't. It would be my luck I would go back say, "Hey I'm sorry I treated you so bad" and she would say, "Who are you?" 

All my experiences having to do with girls always came back to, "What a pretty little girl. I wish she was older." I thought if I ever decided to get serious enough with a girl to consider marriage, she would have to be like that girl I remembered from church. As I got through high school and halfway through college serious thoughts did start to occur. Would this girl be the one I got serious about? The answer was always "no" because things just didn't feel right. I didn't know what it was exactly but I decided to let the Lord handle it. The Lord works in mysterious ways. My brother Glenn was in the same class with this Debbie Tatom. He would make comments like, "She is so rude and stuck up. I can't stand her!" My best friend during these years would continue to say, "I think you need to date Debbie Tatom and no, she isn't too young for you." I would constantly run into her at parties, Jack Clark's Drive-In and other strange encounters.  Glenn would continue to complain about this snotty girl named Debbie, in band with him. 

Then the serious situations started happening. Glenn would ask me to pick him up from marching band practice and I found myself getting there earlier and earlier. It seems I didn't spend much time watching Glenn practice but I did notice Debbie Tatom a lot. Still, I was clueless. 

When my friend from high school came home from college for the Christmas holidays I stopped by to see him one night. He was getting ready to go out with his girlfriend and suggested I come along. I refused of course. Nothing worse than the old third wheel hanging around...especially since my friend hadn't seen his girlfriend for a whole semester. Not gonna happen I responded. He was holding the telephone about to dial when he suggested I call Debbie Tatom. As he called who I assumed was his girlfriend he kept up the Debbie barrage. My argument was the same as always, "She's just too young".  About the time I ended that last sentence, he handed me the phone and said, "Well you better come up with something because she's who I just called." Then he laughed as he walked out of the room. Sorry best friend if you ask me.

I could have hung up of course and no one would have been the wiser. It wasn't my phone and Caller I.D. hadn't been invented anyway. But I didn't hang up. I was intrigued enough to go ahead and talk to her. I apologized for calling so late but would she be interested in going bowling with me and friends? She didn't hang up on me and to my surprise she seemed happy I had called. Well, okay then. I guess I'm going bowling with this girl who's too young for me. I certainly hope I don't get arrested, or shot by her daddy when I show up. The date went better than I thought it would. I had more fun than I had experienced in a long time. She was dressed like a model when I picked her up. She was interesting, funny, beautiful, and she laughed at all my jokes without it seeming to be fake. She wasn't at all stuck up as I had been led to believe. I had found someone I truly enjoyed being with. I was surprised and very pleased. When I got home that evening my brother asked where I'd been. I told him I had taken Debbie Tatom bowling. He rolled his eyes and said, "Not Debbie Tatom! Why'd you have to go and take Debbie Tatom out? Don't you know she's a stuck up snob?" I had to disagree with him and told him it was the best date I had ever had. He tried to make me promise I would never take her out again but I couldn't make that promise. I didn't know if she would ever agree to go out with me again but I was sure going to try. 

As a summary to this too long story, I'll try to answer some unasked questions: Was Debbie a stuck up snob? Nope, she was blind as a bat but wouldn't wear her glasses except when she was driving. She just couldn't see anyone when walking down the hall at school. Did Glenn ever forgive me for taking her out? Yes, eventually but first he had to tell me she was already telling friends at school that she had gone out with the guy she was going to marry. Did we eventually get married? Oh yeah, we did. About a year and a half later. I was a junior in college. She was a senior in high school. She graduated in January and we married in February. 

I'm sitting here now looking over at my seventy year old bride. She's also the mother of two grown men and the grandmother of eight perfect kids, ranging in ages from twenty-one to seven. She's also my best friend. She doesn't seem too young for me anymore even though her mother had to go with us to the courthouse for our marriage license. She had to sign for Debbie....because she was just too young for me!

Thank you Lord.

I think we all worked at Six Flags...

I'm pretty sure just about everyone in my generation who lived close enough worked at Six Flags Over Texas at one time or another. Sure, some of my friends decided it would be more fun, or possibly more manly to get a summer job somewhere in the construction industry and to these I say, "Idiot!" It's too hot in Texas to work construction. Only the mentally challenged would choose to make their school money like that. I say all that to see what kind of response I get. My cousin, Mike, worked for my uncle Frog during the summer. He not only built up his muscles and got a tan, he also learned many new words previously never spoken around our mamas. Uncle Frog spent a lot of time in trouble with our mamas. 

I went to work at Six Flags in June of 1968, immediately after graduating in the top 90% of my class. I had a nice run at Foodway Grocery and left it with some trepidation. My old friend Rick and I were the stars of the Hurst Foodway. It was a huge loss for the store in June of 1968 because at the same time I left to go out to Six Flags, Rick left to follow his dream of becoming a butcher....never really understood that until years later when I was still struggling along with an entry level job in telecommunications Rick was knocking down some serious money as a journeyman butcher in charge of his own meat store. But, this is very important, in the late 60's and all the way through the 70's a 4 year college degree was what a person had to have to get ahead....any old 4 year degree would work. As it turns out, the degree did open lots of doors for employment but after you got in the door you had to make it on your own.....no magic in that degree. Sadly, anyone opting for an apprenticeship rather than a college education back then was not necessarily looked down on but considered slightly less intelligent than all us college boys. Tongue in cheek, wink wink. I really wanted to become an apprentice electrician but daddy seemed to think I only had one route. He wanted me to graduate from college with a degree in business management and spend my life at Bell Helicopter as a department head. To him that was the pinnacle of success. 

I don't know why I always go down the wrong rabbit hole when I start on a story. This story is about my time at Six Flags Over Texas. My sister, Cindy had already worked one season at Six Flags and loved it. She wanted me to come out there too. It was fun she said. I wasn't too interested. I didn't want to wear an orange and yellow outfit sweeping up cigarette butts and candy wrappers. She said she thought she could get me in at the hat shop next door to her candy store. I told her I didn't want to be sellin' no stinkin' hats all summer long. She said I would meet lots of girls. I rode out there with her the next day. Cindy was well liked at the hat shop which was called Pom Pom Hats. I was hired before I even had a chance to wow them with all my charm. I started the next day.

Pom Pom Hats was an independent company paying a lease for space at the park. I didn't actually work for Six Flags so the restrictions were a bit different from the park employees. They started out at minimum wage which I think was about $1.25 an hour. The hat shop started a new employee out at $1.90 an hour. The park strictly adhered to child labor laws so there were limits to the number of hours someone under 18 could work. The hat shop had no such silly rule. I averaged 80 hours a week during the summer and easily saved up enough money that first summer to see me all the way through my freshman year in college. The park employees did indeed wear some awful looking uniforms...well, the guys did. The girls always looked sharp in their pin-striped dresses and straw hats. The hat shop dress rules were nice dress slacks, freshly polished dress shoes, and a dandy looking Pom Pom hat shop shirt courtesy of the owners. I don't want to brag but....hey, what can I say? We were without a doubt the cool guys at the park. The hat shop would only hire college guys to work in their three shops. They gave me a slide on that since I was starting college that fall....and they adored Cindy. I worked with guys who were sage college guys, experienced in all the adult ways of the free and wild college life. I did not fit in but since I was Cindy's little brother, they put up with me and taught me how to be a sage adult college guy too. 

The hat shop owners leased three spots in the park. The first, and home of the big guys, was in the modern section of the park. The shop was called "Modern" by us sage college guys. The second shop was in the area where the gunfights took place. It was called "Texas". The third shop was located down in the Boom Town area. Yes, it was called "Boom Town". You don't need to take notes. All new employees started in Modern so we could be trained by a senior UTA business major named Larry. Larry reminded me of a drugstore Indian. He would stand in one spot with his arms crossed, seemingly staring off in space but actually watching every move we made. He would let us mess up for a while and then uncross his arms, walk over to whichever disaster we had created, take over without a word, fix the problem, and return to his self-appointed post. Larry was a very smart guy and you would know it just by looking at him. His problem was when he opened his mouth. He had a high pitched nasal voice that I wish I could mimic with written words. It was hysterical and quite probably the reason he said so little.

One day during the first week I was working in Modern I was told by Larry (by pointing) that all the shelves needed dusting. I began the process of removing one stack of hats, "dusting" under it and setting the stack back down. This process was repeated until all 75 or 80 stacks of hats had had their respective spots dusted. About halfway through this process I picked up a stack of hats and found a ten dollar bill laying there. I picked it up, walked back around and into the shop and asked Larry what I should do with it. Larry looked at the ten, then at me, then slipped the bill out of my hand and walked over to the cash register. He opened the register, put the ten dollars in the till and pulled out two fives. He put one five in his pocket and handed me the other one. He then said (and oh how I wish you could hear the voice I'm hearing in my head right now), "Mr. Mihills. You have just learned a very valuable lesson." I had indeed learned a valuable lesson.

After a few more days in the Modern shop I was considered "trained". I could remember the various prices, I knew how to act toward the guests, and most importantly, I had mastered the art of sewing names on the hats with the modified Singer sewing machines. This was a talent most would never learn and absolutely no one would ever need post Pom Pom Hats. I don't know how I picked it up so quickly. It was a sewing machine mounted on a wooden box with a hand control under the box. It would turn the thread and needle as needed to write out a simple name on any hat sold. You would think most people would say "No thanks" to a name sewed onto their new hat but oddly it was very popular. After I was moved down to Boom Town to be one of the Ace name writers, a little boy walked up and handed me a white sailor hat he had chosen from one of the stacks of hats. He also handed me a dollar bill and said he wanted his name on the hat. I took his dollar for the hat and put the hat on the machine. I asked him his name. He whispered, "Henwy". I asked a second time because I didn't hear him. Again he whispered, "Henwy". Still a little confused I asked if he could spell his name for me. He said, "yeth, H-E-R-N-Y." I spun that name out real quick and put it on his head wishing him a "great rest of your stay at Six Flags". He wandered off happy with his new purchase. About ten minutes later this big six foot plus, two hundred and sixty pound line backer who was Henwy's dad walked up, slapped the hat on the counter and said, "FIX IT". I fixed it....real quick!

I had more fun working in Boom Town than Modern. It was more relaxed, not as busy, and the popcorn girl in the wagon outside our shop was so darn cute it hurt. I dated her a couple of times but my 80 hour work weeks made dating kind of hard. If I wanted to take a day off it was fine with the owners but man oh man that loss of eleven hours of pay was hard to take. If I was working this hard during the summer so I wouldn't have to work during the school year, cute little popcorn girls had to be put on hold. I admit I weakened at times and gave up at least enough hours to go out occasionally. One of the guys, named Ronny, was a senior at Abilene Christian College (now ACU). He was engaged to his high school sweetheart but didn't see her much during the summer. He worked 12 to 14 hours every day of the week except Sunday when he would leave at six to go to church with his sweetheart. Typically, he averaged 90 hours per week and never spent a cent of his money. I remember close to the end of my first year there Ronny came to work with one of his shoes slapping the sole with every step. He hid his feet from the owner so he wouldn't get in trouble and then taped the sole onto the shoe with black electrical tape to keep it together. That next Monday Ron showed up wearing a new pair of shoes. We teased him about finally spending some of his money but he admitted his girlfriend's dad had bought him the shoes.

Ronny and I were typically the only two in the Boom Town shop after five each day. The others all took off to have a life while Ronny and I worked our silly brains off just so we wouldn't have to work during school. After five in Boom Town was when we had the most fun. It was great shooting staples into the balloons the girls wandered around selling. Three or four balloons would pop all at one time and the girls would stop, look around, then wander on off like it was a normal part of the day. We also had contests to see who could shoot a cricket into a crowd with the most finesse. One evening we really got bored and shot flaming crickets into the air like an ugly fireworks display. We did get really bored in Boom Town. The flaming cricket caper almost cost us our jobs though so we decided to grow up a bit.  

You know, these memories are just the tip of the iceberg. Six Flags was a great place to work. Sadly, most of the really funny stuff that happened out there needs to stay in my memories. I never did anything I'm ashamed of but boy oh boy the opportunities were sure available. If I told some of the things done by some employees, there might be litigation problems. I personally avoided anything unsavory to the point of earning the nickname "The Christer" which I didn't appreciate at all. It was hard work staying as good as my mama wanted and still be accepted by the crowd I worked with. When I get to heaven my mama is going to say, "You did good Rusty. You can't sing worth a lick* but you were a good boy."

*This is a set up for another story down the road.

I forgot to add a title....

Well doggone it, it's tough being in such demand. Here I was trying to get some much deserved rest when all of a sudden I started getting harassing notes from all two of my followers saying they wanted another story. I've been stumped since wrapping things up on my glory days at Foodway Grocery Store. I was going to tell about meeting Debbie but she thought I should write about my job at Six Flags. I can't seem to get my ducks all sorted out on that set of stories because there are so many of them it's hard to get them lined up in a row. That part of my life started out on the unpleasant side anyway so I hesitate to go there. Maybe someday. So, what should I tell you about? The grandkids don't seem to mind if I tell them the same stories over and over but what do they know....they're kids. Adult, grownup readers want to hear new stories. I'm always afraid I'll tell the same story twice and there are just too many of them now to check each time. I don't think I've told this story but stop me if you've heard it.....

There's a verse in the Bible, Ecclesiastes 10:18 to be exact, that reads, "Because of laziness the building decays, and through idleness of hands the house leaks". I can sit here and attest to the fact that the writer of Ecclesiastes knew what he was talking about. I've been moving around a little easier lately and taking stock of how things stand around me. I don't use profanity, but if I did I could describe things much more colorfully. I'm not going to bore any of you with my past health woes. Just accept the truth from me when I say I lost the ability to do much of anything at all. I'm improving slowly and as I improve I try to check on things that have gone without maintenance way too long. Did you know that if you left gas in your lawnmower two years ago it probably won't start right away? Did you know that if you leave batteries in a flashlight for too long they grow into a spooky mess best thrown away? Did you know that it's important to clean out the overflow tube on the AC on a regular basis? As you can see, even immobile and out of harms way for nearly two years, I was able to learn many, many new things. I am happy to pass on more valuable homeowner knowledge to anyone who asks. Anybody? Anyone? No questions? Okay then, let's get on with the story.

Everyone has a favorite time, song, smell, activity or something that brings back the warmth and glow of good times past. Times when the sun shined just a little brighter, the breeze was a bit more refreshing and there were no problems. Life was just good. Those are the times we miss the most. For me of course the time frame has to be the 50's through the 70's. No one, and I mean NO ONE can argue that those years gave us the best music ever recorded. Detroit gave us the best metal for the money vehicles, whether you loved GM, Ford, or Chrysler. Those times cannot be reproduced. Those of us lucky enough to grow up in that era have the memories...wonderful memories....and all it takes is a bit of a song or an old classic rolling down the street to start those memories whirling. 

My second car, but the first car I actually bought for myself was a 1959 Chevy Impala hardtop....cream colored with a bronze colored interior. It looked like something you would want to drop a spoon into to have a taste. It was beautiful....well, except for those teardrop taillights, oh, and those massive fins coming off the back of it.....and well, it needed new tires, the tailpipe was rusted off, the muffler was non existent, and someone had evidently driven it into the salt water of the Gulf of Mexico because every little unpainted surface was rusting and spreading like a cancer. I used to spend my weekends cutting out rust, patching up as only a sixteen year old can, and spray painting with anything on the sales rack that came close to the right color. I loved that car.

After I met the woman I wound up marrying, I bought a 1967 Pontiac Tempest, seafoam green, black interior, deep dish chrome reversed wheels and baby moons. This was a high class automobile. Oh sure, if I had shopped I could have bought the GTO version for close to the same price, and sure, there were lots of Chevy Malibu's for sale....again, for the same price, but doggone it I saw this Tempest sitting in the owners driveway and I had to have it. I nearly fell over when he told me the price. It was a good $400 less than anything else in that range and it was beautiful. I didn't even hesitate giving the guy some earnest money to hold it til the next day. I rushed home and told my dad I had found a new car and I was buying it. He asked if I wanted him to go with me to look it over. I told him "no". I didn't want to risk his finding something wrong with it. The next day I could barely make it through my classes before getting over there to pay for that car. Sure enough, the guy had kept his word and not sold it to anyone else. It was going to be mine!! I paid the guy, left my old Chevy sitting in the street in front of his house, and drove my prize home. Later, my brother Glenn rode over with me to get the Chevy. That Pontiac was indeed a beautiful car. Why they don't paint cars seafoam green anymore is a quandary to me. Yes, it was beautiful.....and I proudly owned it for two whole days before I started smelling something odd....kind of like antifreeze on a hot engine block....hmmm. After another day of driving I started seeing steam coming out around the hood when I would stop at a light. It was then that I decided I really should look under the hood and see what was going on. I wasn't an idiot. I knew it wasn't smart to try to open a radiator cap when the engine was hot so I waited a good two minutes before trying. When that radiator cap came loose steam and burning hot water shot all over the place. I was lucky I didn't get burned but I didn't feel that lucky at the time. What a mess. 

After cleaning up all that antifreeze on the block of the engine, on the frame of the car, on the hood of the car, and the fenders of the car, then all the driveway, and the blue jeans which were all the clothing salvageable I was able to simply put a new thermostat on the block and all was well....til the next time. The next time I started smelling the familiar antifreeze smell I had a carload of passengers with me and we were driving down Main Street in Fort Worth. I judicially kept my worries to myself thinking I would take care of it as soon as I got back to Hurst. Unfortunately the Pontiac didn't get my memo and started blowing steam right in front of the Tarrant County Courthouse. I drove over to the side of the street and thought I would find another bad thermostat but no.....no, no, no....nothing so simple. The entire bottom of the radiator had fallen off the car and was laying in the road in front of the courthouse. Now I don't mind your criticism of my lack of intelligence in picking out a car. I don't mind your ridicule in my penchant for buying lemons, but do not let me hear anything out of any of you when I tell you what I did. I gently closed the hood of the car, climbed back in and drove off....yes, all the way to Hurst. I told everyone to ignore the burning smell. It was something I would take care of when I got it home. We made it home. I don't know how we were able to do that other than it was a really cold windy day and maybe that saved the motor til we got to Hurst. 

Detroit did make stouter cars back then. If any of us ever tries that with one of these newer cars, well except for the electric ones, the motor will be ruined almost instantly. So don't do it. There's no need. Today we have Uber. I finally learned how to shop for cars after a while. The secret is in always buying new cars with a long warranty. That seems to work for us. I have helped both the boys pick out used cars to buy during high school and college and as I sit here patting myself on the back I can think of only one lemon bought by either of them. I'll let them try to figure out which car I'm talking about but let me say this in all sincerity, I tried to talk said son from buying said lemon but, "he had to have it". Worst piece of junk to ever grace the lot at the used section of the dealership but it really did look good. 

Where Do We Go From Here?....

Well, let me see.....my plan had been to move directly from my exciting life at Foodway to my really exciting life at Six Flags and then on to college. Debbie informed me this was a bad idea for two reasons. First of all, nobody wants to hear my life story....it's just not that interesting. She's right of course. The second reason continuing on to Six Flags is a bad idea is she thinks I should tell a little about our own life together. Not sure there's much interest there either. Trust me, I have some great stories to tell about working at Six Flags. Some of them are even stories that can be repeated in print, however, I will follow Debbie's suggestion and start telling a little bit about our own story. I will return to Six Flags someday. After all, I know you will all want to hear about launching crickets at the balloon girls, our daily "fart" jokes, and my favorite encounter with a little boy named Herny. See, that was good times. I'll come back to it someday.

Before I leave my childhood behind though, I wanted to pass on a memory I recovered while chasing the Snickers thief down Pipeline Road in the last story. It's not a knee slapper but I like it...and it's my blog so there. To set the story up I need to explain a little about my mom. My mom was not a driver. As far as I can remember, I was in the car with her three times while growing up. The first time is only remembered because my big sister, Cindy, has told us about it several times over the years. Mama had decided to try out my dad's 1950 Chevy with a standard transmission. She managed to get stuck on a hill and rolled backward more than forward for an uncomfortable amount of time and gear grinding. My sister patted me on the head and advised me to not worry, mama would make it eventually. According to Cindy, her words were exactly, "Don't worry baby Dussel. Uze mama will make it up the hill." I'm pretty sure I wasn't the least bit worried about it. The second occasion was when our next door neighbor, Sherry M had missed her school bus. She asked my mom if she would take her to the high school so she wouldn't be late. My mom didn't want to try but she loved the neighbors as much as I adored the much older Sherry. She loaded us all up in the Chevy and started out on the longest and scariest trip to Bell High School any of us will ever experience. All of us kids in back were screaming, Sherry and her mom were in the front seat, wide-eyed, pale as ghosts, holding on to anything they could grab, and moaning quietly while praying their respective souls out. My mom was yelling at us kids to quiet down so she could concentrate and not hit any of the oncoming cars. This was while driving on a two lane blacktop later known as Pipeline Road, with drainage ditches on each side and very little room for error if a random driver came along foolishly challenging my mom for the road. She only drove into the ditch one time that day but I lost count of the poor souls who left the road to avoid being hit by some derelict, pea green Chevy driven by a mad woman. Mama only tried driving one more time after that. We all wanted to go to a Halloween party at our church. The church was about six blocks away and it looked easy enough because Pipeline Road had been widened and repaved and my dad had just bought a shiny new Pontiac with one of those newfangled automatic transmissions. She got us to the church but we were all so traumatized by the ride we couldn't enjoy ourselves. She absolutely refused to drive home. We sat around for the longest time trying to figure out what to do. We could walk home of course but how were we going to get that new Pontiac back home before our dad got off work? Eventually she asked one of the high school boys to drive the car home for us. As far as I know, mama never drove again. I'll explain that my dad worked night shift occasionally and car-pooled, leaving the car just sitting there as a temptation to a non-driver. Had he known....whew!

All of the above is to explain why so many of my stories involve walking, riding my trusty old candy apple red Western Flyer bicycle, or bumming rides from my aunt Cricket. Mama should have learned how to drive when she was growing up. All her sisters and brothers were accomplished drivers...all of them, and there were a lot. I can only figure since she was the baby sister of the herd, she was pampered and didn't have to do anything she didn't really want to do. Learning to drive was almost as bad as going to school, which was something else she didn't want to do. Anyway, this is my explanation of why we were stuck at home most of the time. One of those times was a bitterly cold and windy day. We had all been wanting to try out the new Dairy Kreme (not to be confused with the more popular and highly successful Dairy Queen. Hurst was small. A major concern like Dairy Queen wasn't interested in investing in our little wide spot in the road. Luckily for us one brave entrepreneur was willing to try us out with the lesser known Dairy Kreme). He built it on Pipeline Road right next to where the city was about to install Mary Drive. I think he must have been advised his was a good spot because Mary Drive was eventually going to lead to the first city park Hurst ever built. Although the location was only about a mile from our house, to get there you either had to drive on the dreaded Pipeline Road or walk down our street, past the woods, over the creek, and through someone's pasture. As our family discussion focused on greasy hamburgers and fries, we begged mama to drive us over to the Dairy Kreme. Daddy was at work and the Pontiac was just sitting there innocently waiting for a driver but after our hair raising trip to the church building earlier in the year, we didn't argue too much when mama said, "Absolutely not!" I valiantly offered to ride my bike down Pipeline to get to the DK. My mom wouldn't allow that because she was afraid some crazed driver would run off the road and hit me. Not to give up on a hamburger, I offered to walk over for the treat. The wind was blowing, snow was threatening, and I could imagine bears living in those woods but I did want that hamburger. Mama finally agreed as long as Cindy went with me. Cindy didn't really want to make the trip but she enjoyed a good burger as much as the rest of us so we put on our coats, put the exact amount of money we needed in my coat pocket, and off we went.

When we finally made it to the pasture the wind was blowing so hard we had to lean into it. Our simple little "I live in Texas, I don't need a heavy coat" coats weren't blocking the wind at all. We were freezing...but we could see the Dairy Kreme through our tear filled eyes. We got to the shop and it felt like heaven when we walked in...smelled like heaven too I might add. We ordered six hamburgers and three orders of fries to go. Then we sat down on bar stools to wait and discussed the merits of soft serve ice cream being good even in the winter. It was five cents for a cone and we decided that if we had counted wrong and had a nickel left over, we would treat ourselves to a shared cone when we left. The counter lady finally brought the burgers and fries out and told us what our total was. I pulled out all the money we had put together and dumped it on the counter. She counted out all the crumpled bills and change...then she counted it again. Finally she looked up and told us we were 5 cents short. We couldn't leave with our food unless we had another nickel. Of course we didn't. I told her if she would let us go I would bring her a nickel right after I got home with the food. She said no. I guess I didn't look honest. So I left Cindy sitting at the counter and started back home for another nickel. Mama wasn't too happy about it when I walked in the door without the burgers. I thought she was mad at me but she explained she was upset with the lady at the counter. She just knew she had counted out the exact amount we needed but she gave me another nickel and I headed back out into the cold, grey afternoon. I was about frozen when I walked into the store the second time.  I was ready to slap that nickel on the counter and show my disdain to the stingy old lady but when I saw Cindy sitting at the counter finishing up a 5 cent soft serve ice cream cone I forgot all about my grievance with the store and concentrated on anger for my big sister. I asked her how she came about being able to buy that ice cream when we didn't have enough to pay for our food. I was thinking all kinds of evil things about lying, theft, and corruption in the sibling unit. She explained to me that right after I left to get another nickel, the counter lady got to feeling guilty about sending me back out. She felt sorry for Cindy...for Cindy mind you...because she had to sit and wait for me to walk one mile home and one mile back in freezing weather for lack of a silly nickel....so she gave Cindy an ice cream cone to enjoy while she waited. I've never understood why she just didn't give us the cotton-picking nickel we needed to pay our bill. But, and this is a big but, those hamburgers were just about the best we ever ate when we finally got home with them. Of course they were cold....and soggy from sitting on the counter all that time, but man oh man, they did taste good.

Okay, let me get to a story about Debbie and me......would you look at the time. I guess I better quit before you all start yawning and regretting this little trip down memory lane with me. I promise, next time I'll start out with, "Does anyone know that pretty little Debbie Tatom who just started coming to our church?"

Okay, Let's Wrap This Up....(part three)

If you'll remember from the previous story, we had just waved bye-bye to Buford and Ken as they went on to bigger and better opportunities after high school and the offer of a fascinating career at Foodway Grocery Store. The last I heard of them Ken had taken a job at a machine shop working a metal lathe and Buford got drafted. Their continued stories were probably much better than this one but this is the one you're stuck with reading.

With both the experienced guys gone, management had to rely on the up and coming leaders from the sack boy ranks. My friend, Rick, and I showed the most promising of the lot so we were each promoted to part-time checker and full-time stocker. We were given brand new price tag maker thingies, and new feather dusters, which we proudly displayed in our back pockets. We took our new roles seriously and never goofed off when management was watching. We remembered the plight of the sack boy and never gave any of them a hard time when we were called up to the front because too many customers were trying to checkout at once. Things were rocking along great. We loved our jobs, management loved us, and the sack boys all respected us and did as they were told. We never once, ever, lined a timid little inexperienced sack boy up to catch all the boxes being unloaded at the back....well, okay, we did it once but only for fun....and we stopped after just a few minutes. We did not demand this sack boy sneak out and steal deodorant for us after unloading a truck. We selected ours from the bent and damaged basket like the honorable guys we were...and, we selected it ourselves before we started unloading the truck. We did not share it with the timid little sack boy however. Some things need to be learned by experience.

Rick and I were serious about our stocking responsibilities. We would walk the store, particularly during a busy day, to make sure shelves were stocked and floors were clear of clutter. One day the produce department announced a day long sale to celebrate the upcoming Thanksgiving Holiday. The department was hit hard with shoppers so around six in the evening we were asked to check it out to make sure it was still in good shape. Mr. Rejas, the produce manager, was almost in shock. He was a skinny little guy who had survived a grueling escape from Cuba in the early 60's and was left with chronic malnutrition and nervous ticks. He had run from back room to display areas all day restocking and hadn't had a minute to stop for lunch. He couldn't even keep the floors swept. There was a lull in traffic in that area so we convinced him to take a break while we restocked and straightened up for him. What a couple of swell guys we were! We got busy while he was gone and started cleaning things up. I started at one end while Rick worked from the other. While working along Rick yelled at me, "Hey Mihills, take a look at this rotten tomato I found. Want me to throw it at you...hahaha?" We laughed and went back to work then all of a sudden I got hit in the leg by said tomato. I grabbed a handful of grapes and peppered him soundly. He in turn grabbed a Granny Smith apple and launched it at my head. His aim was terrible though and flew way over my head, way over the top of the first set of shelves, and directly into the cash drawer as it opened on register one. The checker, who was a nervous sort herself, calmly made change, handed it to the customer, closed the cash drawer and walked off the job. She was a nice lady. I hated it but you have to admit, it was funny and worthy of mention in the overall history of Foodway. I did not know how applesauce was made until I sneaked over and opened that cash drawer to clean it up. Wow! That's all I can say....wow! No one ever reported the incident and we certainly didn't volunteer any information when the three managers discussed just what it was that had made sweet, nervous Clara walk off the job without a word. On a positive note, when Mr. Rejas got back to his department he found it stocked, cleaned, and unmanned by the two boys he had left in charge.

During this transition from sack boy to very important top guy, I struggled with the social aspect of my life. I had commandeered the old Hoopie as my own and was told if I was going to drive it I had to pay to insure it. That seemed fair until I actually started paying for it. Teenage boys are considered high risk drivers so the insurance premium is kin to highway robbery. It took a good chunk of my paycheck to cover it and the gas I used up....another cost I was allowed to cover. I was left with a few dollars in my pocket each week and rarely enough to entertain the ladies, of which I was still stuck on one. I also never had time to schedule my driving test so I went a whole semester before getting a break to go and fail my test twice. On my third attempt I aced the test...sort of. Anyway, I finally had a car, license, insurance, and on average, five dollars in my pocket. I was a rich man. I got up my nerve to ask out the girl of my dreams, Francine.......and she said, "I don't think so." I took it bad and slouched around in a dark depression for a long, long time. If I remember right it was at least a week before I snapped out of it and called another girl, Carrie Lou, up for a date. She had told me once before if I ever got a car I could ask her out. My call went like this, "Hi Carrie Lou, this is Russell....Mihills....Russell Mihills from school....oh good. You do remember me. Hey, I got a car!" "You got a car?" she replied. I said yes I had indeed taken ownership of a car. Her next words were, "Pick me up Friday at seven." I said okay and immediately started worrying about how I was going to pick her up at seven when I always worked til nine on Friday nights. I wasn't about to blow this though so I went to the manager, the nice one who was truly in charge, and explained my situation. He would let me off at six as long as I didn't make a habit of asking. He was a great guy. I really hated it when he got promoted and left our location. He was replaced by "Sarge" who is a whole different story in itself. I might come back to him someday. Life was definitely going my way.

One summer day around dusk, Rick and I were taking a break outside. While there, all of a sudden the front door of the store slammed open and a guy darted out running for all he was worth. The night manager was right behind them and when he saw us he yelled "Stop that guy!" Well before I go any further with this let me ask you, if your boss ran out chasing a customer yelling STOP THAT GUY, what would you assume? Well, we assumed the store had just been robbed. We took off after that guy as fast as our apron clad bodies would take us. We chased him all across the parking lot. He was headed east toward the park. He ran past CA's Restaurant as it was filling up with customers and weaved in and out of confused hungry people. We were right on his tail. He ran across the road and through the drive-through car wash. We never let up our chase. As he headed for the park we knew he would have to get back up to Pipeline Road to go over the bridge or risk falling while running along the creek bed. When we saw he had chosen the creek bed, Rick yelled that he would circle around and box him in at the bridge. I continued to chase the guy down the creek and under the bridge. Rick wasn't there to stop the guy. He got tied up waiting for a break in the traffic on Pipeline Road. I was losing steam and eventually gave up. Rick and I huffed and puffed our way back to Foodway expecting the police to be there. We were going to look like heroes. There were no police cars with flashing lights. There wasn't even a night manager frantically wringing his hands over worry about us. We made it back into the store and heard the night manager say, "What in the XXXX were you two doing?" We couldn't believe it. We were trying to save the store's money. He told us the guy wasn't stealing money! "Where did we get the idea he was robbing the store?" he asked while starting to laugh. Well, well, we thought....uh, we figured....we don't know. He told us, "I was at my desk and looked up in time to see this guy sneak a candy bar into his pocket. When he saw me, he bolted. I was just trying to stop him. Good grief guys, this is Hurst, not New York City!" You know, as I think back on it, I just bet that guy never gave another thought to stealing a candy bar. If he got to craving a Snickers, he probably paid for it or just walked away hungry.

Oh, the stories about my life at Foodway could go on and on but seriously, don't we all have something better to do? I'll stop without telling about the near death experience in the breakroom, or the summer day the girl in the yellow bikini strolled in to do her shopping. I won't go into any detail about the whole jalapeno right out of the can eating contest. Maybe someday. Thanks for allowing me to tell you some of what made me who I am. Some of these experiences may help to explain some of my Pom Pom Hat Shop stories....if I ever start telling them. 

Where Were We?.....(part 2)

Let's see, in last week's episode the spiffy young college kids were racing down the mountain road when they realized the bridge was washed out! Too late to stop, they plunged.....oh wait, that's a different cliff hanger. Oh yeah, our young hero was realizing the little "hoopie" his dad had bought for all the kids to learn to drive in might possibly be something of a collector's item so no more crashing it into other old wrecks when the brakes failed! That was probably the first major lesson I learned during my tenure at Foodway. Of course the very first thing I learned was to never put the eggs in the sack first. That was such a no-brainer I don't even count it as a learned lesson.

I learned another valuable lesson shortly after going to work at Foodway. In fact, I learned it within about thirty minutes into my first shift. That lesson was 'rank has it's privileges'. The people with rank above me were two clowns who were seniors in high school. One I'll call Buford. Buford was an idiot and took great pride in his idiocy. I'm sure he practiced his down home Texas accent at night until it was perfected. He never let a word slip out of his mouth unless it was fouled in some way with crudeness. He was definitely a proud Texas boy. The other kid I'll call Barbie Ken. Okay, I'll just call him Ken because I'll get tired of writing Barbie Ken over and over but in your mind's eye picture Barbie's perfect boyfriend Ken and you will get a glimpse of how this guy saw himself. I do admit Ken was a darn good-looking guy but sadly he knew it better than anyone else. 

These guys had advanced up the corporate ladder from sack boy, to fill-in cashier, to full fledged stocker....complete with the fancy price stamper thingy in one back pocket and a feather duster proudly sticking out of the other back pocket. Occasionally Buford and Ken would be called to the front to help run a register or sack groceries. They did not like this and they always let the lowly sackers know about it. They made life miserable for us during and after this rudeness shown to them. As all of you know, I'm just about the nicest guy in the world so I never let any of this misery get to me. I let it slide right off my shoulders. I did not let it build up inside where it became a hideous growth of pulsating hate...really...no really.

One Saturday not long after I started at Foodway the store was packed and the front was going crazy. The manager kept calling Buford and Ken to help up front and every time he did those boys got more and more sadistic in their paybacks. I had one customer who must have been having a big party because it was all I could do to load all her groceries onto the cart to haul them out to her car. I was having a fit because of the weight even though Buford had graciously helped me load the cart up. Remember me telling you about the hill? The hill was a problem when the cart was heavy. This lady walked out to a little light blue Ford and popped the trunk. I started to load her groceries and looked up to see the cart heading down the hill toward Pipeline Road. I ran after it and grabbed it but because Buford had hung her pack of Pepsi's out on the edge of the cart, when the cart stopped the Pepsi's kept going. Twelve bottles of Pepsi went in twelve different directions. I impressed myself with my speed in catching all of them and getting them back in the little cardboard crate. As I politely put them in her trunk she told me I could just get in there and get her another 12-pack. As I pushed the cart and the ruined Pepsi's up to the front door I saw Buford and Ken laughing their miserable little heads off.

My head swelled with pride the day Buford asked the assistant manager if Mihills could help them unload the stock truck. This was a job only the top guys got to do so I felt I finally measured up. The assistant manager (who I had to use all kinds of restraint to not refer to as the Ass Man) agreed to let me help. I didn't know he was in on their sadistic plan. The truck came in and the rollers were set up. I thought it odd that the rollers didn't extend all the way through the backroom but stopped about ten feet in. Buford and Ken were stationed at the end of the rollers and I was assigned further into the backroom. Looking back I should have been able to figure out what was about to happen. Two guys unloading a truck and throwing the boxes to one guy, and a little guy at that, was not going to work out well. Two minutes into the operation I figured out what was up but I refused to give in. I kept up with their best efforts to wear me down and I know it was only by the power of the pulsating hate mentioned above. I was feeding off of it and feeling no pain. By the time the truck was empty, all three of us were covered in sweat, stretched out on the floor, and trying to catch our breath. I felt good. I had burned off a lot of nasty energy. They were mad. Their idea of a good time had backfired on them. Finally, after Buford was able to talk he growled, "Mihills, get out there and get us some of that spray deodorant off the shelf and bring it to us." I went out there thinking I would get some Old Spice maybe, or something even better if I could find it but then.......then my world of reparations opened wide up! I grabbed the spray can and went back to where they were still resting. I tossed them the deodorant and Buford grabbed it mid-air, opened it up and sprayed it all over himself. Then he tossed it to Ken who politely only sprayed it on his underarms. Then wonder of wonder, Ken asked if I wanted to use any of it. I told him I was okay. About that time Buford figured out what I had brought them. Feminine Hygiene Deodorant!!! Buford actually laughed. Ken made me a promise. He told me I would pay dearly for my little trick.

One Saturday after hauling groceries out to a candy apple red Pontiac Catalina I was walking back in with a big smile on my face. The lady in the Catalina had been trying to convince me I needed to ask her daughter out on a date. I had never met her daughter but I imagined if mom had to drum up dates for her there might be a problem or two. Anyway, I was still wearing the smile when I heard someone ask me, "What are you so happy about?". It was a friendly question and I recognized the voice. It was Francine. She was standing at the register with her mom waiting for Ken to finish ringing up her groceries. I finished up sacking for them and was all happy and all....you know, wagging tail, jumping up and down...stuff like that. Ken picked up that this was the girl I was crazy about so he asked me, right in front of Francine and her mom, if she was my girlfriend. I didn't know what to say so I resorted to my fallback response of turning brilliant red and saying nothing. No one answered Ken's question so he answered it himself with, a sing-song, "Oh she is! Mihills has a girlfriend!" I carried their groceries out to the parking lot....to the little light blue Ford, and yes, there was a 12 pack of Pepsi's on the cart. I was very careful with those Pepsi's. When I got back inside the store Ken was waiting for me. He said, "Wow, you've got yourself a pretty girlfriend. Guess what. I'm going to take her away from you." I told him I didn't own her so he couldn't take her away from me. We were just good friends. He persisted, "No, Mihills, I can tell. You're crazy about that girl and that's why I'm going to take her away from you. Do you know why? Because of the deodorant thing, that's why." He took Francine out on a date a week later. Barbie Ken was a jerk.

Both Buford (wonder of wonders) and Ken graduated from high school a few months later and went their separate ways. Better jobs, higher wages, draft board....that sort of thing. Anyway, life at Foodway got much better for me and all of us junior guys....because we weren't the junior guys any more. We were top dogs! We were going to get to make life miserable for a whole herd of new nerds coming in. The thing is, the guys I sacked groceries with and I were just too nice to do that to anyone. Foodway was about to enjoy some good times. Tune in next week for the final episode to see what, if anything happened with good old Francine and hear the amazing tale of theft at the store and hair-raising chase scene....I can't wait!!!

Let Me First Say....(part one)

 ....I am married to the most wonderful woman in the whole world. We've been married for over 52 years, which means we got married in grade school. Not really of course but we were young. Couples tended to do that back then. Now they put it off until they're out of school, out of college, out in the work force, out of touch with lots of eligible partners. Oh sure, waiting til you're out of college to marry is a good idea and I highly recommend it. I was a junior in college when Debbie and I married and I remained a junior for the next twenty-five years before graduating with a bachelor's degree, just after my oldest son's college graduation and just before my youngest son's. But this isn't a story about marriage or a poorly managed college education. I just wanted to get it out there in front that I AM HAPPILY MARRIED to the love of my life before I start talking about my first "girlfriend". Actually, the story is more about my first job but the girlfriend enters into the picture so to save any discomfort when my editor (Debbie) proofreads the story I just want to say one more time I am married to the woman of my life, my wife.....enough said.

The day I stopped being a wayward, carefree teenager was the day my mom came home from shopping at the Foodway grocery store down the street from our house. She came into my room where I was busy daydreaming and told me if I wanted to go to work I should put on a white shirt and get down to Foodway. I said, "Okay". She said, "Right now, I told the manager you're on your way." Well, thank you mama...I didn't know if I was pleased or put out with her but I didn't have time to think about it because my mom was holding my white shirt for me to change into and my older sister, Cindy was standing there waiting to drive me down there...with a silly looking grin on her face I might add.

Did I mention all this took place on a Friday night? No? Of course not. It wouldn't matter to anyone who never worked in a grocery store but to those of us who faced that Friday night and all day Saturday onslaught, thank you. I appreciate your sympathy. Back then there were laws on the Texas books called 
"Blue Laws". I don't know why they were called that. I don't know why they were there....I don't even know why the phrase "Texas books" is appropriate but all that aside the laws stated that no store other than an emergency type store could be open on a Sunday. We all just naturally assumed it was listed somewhere in the Bible, maybe in Leviticus. Sunday was a state moderated day off for everyone except police officers, doctors, nurses, firemen, and of course preachers who only had to work on that one day.

Because all the stores were closed on Sundays everyone who worked, and back then it was everyone who wanted to eat and have a place to live, had to get all their shopping done on Friday night or Saturday. Christmas shopping was especially chaotic but everyone seemed to love it. People didn't seem to get so grumpy and argumentative until they were allowed to shop 24/7. No downtime for anyone. Oops, I didn't mean to go there. Back to the story. 

As I was saying, my sister Cindy dropped me off at the front door of Foodway and drove off as fast as that Pontiac Bonneville would take her back home. I wondered about that later. Was I supposed to walk home? Anyway, I walked into a madhouse. The store was packed with shoppers trying to get their weekly groceries bought and paid for and the store was obviously shorthanded. My mom had told me to look for the guy in an apron, gold-rimmed glasses, and frayed look on his face. I was to boldly ask him for a job. I found the guy. He was sacking groceries for a customer as fast as he could. I did as my mom had instructed. My sales pitch went kind of like, "You don't want to hire anyone to work here, do you?" He didn't even have to take a breath before telling me to go to the office right behind him, grab an apron, and start sacking groceries on aisle five. I grabbed an apron but I didn't know how to put it on. I wandered over to aisle five and the cashier helped me with it and showed me how to put groceries into the bags without ruining most of them. She was a nice old lady. (Old...she was probably thirty.) I did okay that night and before I realized it the magic hour of nine came along and the store closed. 'Whew' I thought. I made it through that. I'm gonna go home and rest. I did not know I would also be mopping and waxing all the floors and helping restock the shelves before going home. Good grief, what had mama gotten me in to. Believe it or not, we were done and out of there by 9:30 and my dad was waiting for me in the parking lot. The bedraggled man who had put me to work was the night manager. He told me to come back in on Saturday morning at eight and the store manager would talk to me. He would either officially hire me or pay me for my time and send me home.

The next morning I was there before the store opened and met all the employees working that day. Everyone but the manager was smoking, drinking coffee, and laughing it up. The manager was sitting in his office with a serious look on his face. I nearly turned around and walked out but I did need to start working. I walked in and introduced myself. I was surprised at his friendliness and appreciation for my willingness to jump right in and help the night before. The job was mine if I wanted it with a few stipulations. I had to have a car, no bicycles or reliance on parents, I had to show up clean shaven, white shirt, starched and ironed jeans or slacks, tie, polished shoes....and the most important part, he had to see and approve my report card at the end of each six weeks. Anything worse than a "C" and I would be fired on the spot. Out of all those stipulations the only one that worried me was, "had to have a car...no reliance on parents". I kind of had a car. My dad had bought an old car for Cindy and me to learn to drive in but so far we hadn't done any "learning". I didn't have a license and I sure didn't have any insurance. I was definitely reliant on my parents....so I answered, "No problem, when do you want me to start?" He wanted me to start that day right after I completed the application.

Now that I'm engaged as an up and rising sack boy for Foodway Grocery Store, I'll explain why I felt I really needed to get a job when I had no expenses in life. It was girls....isn't that always the case. It all comes down to girls. In my case it was just one girl. Before I was old enough or had any right to "fall in love" I fell head over heels for a girl a year younger than me. I had nothing of interest to present to this girl. I had no money. I couldn't drive. I was too young and stupid to have any imagination....but I fell "in love" anyway. Even though this girl, who I'll call....Francine, yeah Francine...even though Francine was younger than me, she had her drivers license, she had friends and a social life, and she even had a partially developed personality. As I desperately tried to interest Francine in being interested in me, I floundered because I had no means of transportation other than riding her around on the handlebars of my bike, I didn't have any money to take her out on a date, and I didn't have enough imagination to even know how to plan a date. I was still a stupid little boy without a clue. As an example, on her birthday I found out she had mentioned she was crazy about a Ford Thunderbird she really liked down at Helm-Lary Ford in Hurst. Old romantic me hopped on my reliable Western Flyer and rode over to take a look at the Thunderbird. Then I went to the hobby shop and spent one of my first paychecks on a model of that same Thunderbird, along with the matching paint. On Francine's birthday, when everyone else was giving her cards, flowers, and perfume I gave her the Thunderbird. I was impressed. She was not. Neither was anyone else at that party.

Dumb old me was learning fast about life. Not too sure I wanted to learn it. I had it pretty good as a dummy but I had to grow up. I talked to my dad and told him about the requirement the store manager had for me to drive myself to work. He, of course didn't act like he had a bit of sympathy for my rushing into adulthood but he told me I could take the Hoopie (our '53 Studebaker) to work and back....no other driving around. No joy riding! I'll find out! You know I will! I was overjoyed. I had a car to drive to work. Now all I had to do was avoid getting a ticket for driving without a license, having insurance, and as I found out later, not having a title to the car....different story. I wasn't too worried. The store was less than four blocks straight down one residential street so I felt safe. I felt like a king the first day I pulled into the Foodway parking lot driving my own car. Did I mention Foodway was located on a very steep hill? Probably not. Well, Foodway was located on a very steep hill which would normally be a mundane detail* but in this story it's good to know that on that day as I proudly wheeled into the parking lot the brakes on the Hoopie failed. Absolutely no brakes and no way to stop. Thinking like the adult I had magically become, I looked for the oldest car in the parking lot and ran into it. That stopped it, mission accomplished. Very minor damage and the owner couldn't have cared less. In fact, I had to point out the damage to him. The Hoopie already had a dent in the front so all was well. When I got my first break that night I called my dad to report the brakes and true to form he reminded me it wasn't his fault I was in such an all-fired hurry to grow up and I could figure out for myself how to fix those brakes. Naturally though, by the time my break was over I looked out to see my dad out under that old car fixing those brakes. 

The very first Saturday I had to work I drove off a little before eight and as I was pulling up to the intersection where the store was located I saw flashing lights come on behind me. I hadn't been speeding. I had been driving carefully....what had I done? How did he know I didn't have a drivers license?? I stopped just inside the store parking lot and waited for the strong arm of the law to ruin my life. I still remember the officer adjusting his belt and holster as he slowly walked up to the car, looking at it like it might be stolen. I rolled my window down and tried to not seem nervous...failing miserably. He looked down at me for a second, removed his sunglasses and said, "Son, any chance you might want to sell me this car?" I would have given it to him if it had really been mine but it belonged to my dad of course. I told him so and he wanted to make sure I told him if the car ever went up or sale. It's been nearly sixty years now and that old car still hasn't gone up for sale. However, that was my first hint that I might be driving a collectible and it made me a little more thoughtful of how I would stop it the next time the brakes failed.

I've got a lot more to say about my history at Foodway Grocery Store. It was a wonderful experience despite the pitfalls. I'll tell you about the pitfalls and more about good old Francine in the next installment.

*Editors note: This mundane detail is important in part two of the story as well.