Everything was going along pretty well until I stole Joe’s car.
That sort of thing can change a relationship.
Joe lives upstairs at Sloppy Joe’s Bar and Grill. The food there is good, so we used to hang out together fairly regularly.
Not to say that Joe’s all that special. I’ve stolen lots of people’s cars, not just his. Joe’s was just the last one left. The others I’d already sold online. I thought of myself as an entrepreneur with a nifty website and a spot for comments and everything.
But then Tuesday happened. You know how you feel when you really want certain things to go well? And your head tells you they probably won’t? But your heart says maybe there’s a chance, but not really? Tuesday was that day for me.
And then to top the whole thing off, when I was at his place this afternoon, I spilled salt all over the tablecloth.
See, after I had my big eureka moment, to wrap up my old life, I thought I’d leave the house, fill up Joe’s gas tank, meet him here, have lunch, return his car, and feel better. Make up for Tuesday’s miseries.
So away I went. But first I had to go back inside to get my wallet. Then I discovered I didn’t have the car keys in my coat pocket. So back in again. Turned out they were in my pants pocket. Then I didn’t have my iPhone, so I turned around and discovered it beside the half a cookie I’d left on the kitchen counter.
In honour of the occasion I wore my old white shirt, stiff from the closet, and my best Sunday shoes. It had been years since I’d worn either and now the shoes pinched and squeaked.
The dirt roads from my place to Sloppy Joes were, well, sloppy with mud and puddles and places where the brakes wouldn’t work all that well. Joe wasn’t a guy for regular maintenance.
When I got there, I sat down and ordered. “A sloppy joe, extra cheese, and a double order of fries.” Waiting, I played with the saltshaker, seeing if I could unscrew the top one-handed. Just before the salt all dumped out, life’s possibilities seemed endless.
Joe came down soon, looked at the salt pile on the table, frowned, sat down, and ordered lunch. I told him I’d stolen his car, he yelled at me, his lunch arrived, I handed him the keys, he yelled again and stalked off, car keys in hand. Left me with the bill, two cold lunches, and a server tapping her foot. Patience is in short supply at Sloppy Joes Bar and Grill.
This evening, as I officially began my new life, the boys asked me what I’d learned. I said, “If you’re going to go around returning a car you stole, and telling the truth, and doing the right thing and all that, remember to wear comfortable shoes. It’s a long walk home.”
