lostnotfound

I picked up my check at the bjj school last night and started driving home before I realized I didn't rememeber where I'd put it.

It was 10:30 and I'd been up since 6. I was so tired, by this point, that it was a chore to reconstruct the evening's events. I turned off the highway and went back to the school, to see if I'd left it there. I cursed myself. I checked the trunk of my car. It was difficult checking the front -- the interior light went out and the replacements bulbs I bought were the wrong size. So I pulled up into the light of the doorway and found nothing. Pockets, check. Hood, check. I used my cellphone and toured the parking lot, wondering if I'd put it on my car roof.

Nothing. It was getting late. I hadn't had time to eat dinner yet and I had to get up at five-thirty the next day.

*

I arrived at work early and picked up the paperwork for the day's runs, which would take me from Somerville to Lancaster to Ayer to Salem, with stops in between.

As I got into the truck, Billy ran over. "Who's Natalie?" he yelled.

"Natalie? She works at the bjj school, why?"

"There's a note here from Natalie."

The check had been placed in an envelope, and Nat had written on it, asking me to stop to pick up an order of school tee-shirts, which are printed near the w. Apparently, I had wisely and unconsciously put the check in my pants last night, but my left rear pocket, which I never use and would never think to check.

I drove to the Bank of America atm and deposited it, getting an error message and the machine could neither return my check nor read it. The receipt instructed me to phone their claims department. I called and, after entering my social security number, card number, and pin, got to option that eventually sent my call to the appropriate department.

The recording began: "Bank of America is closed for Veteran's Day. Our regular hours are . . ."

*

When I got back to the warehouse, I was looking forward to eating the rest of my chicken curry. I made a batch on Sunday night. I could tell right away that someone had eaten part of it.

"Billy, thanks for leaving me part of my lunch," I said, without having to guess who took it.

"I couldn't resist!" he said. "It's the best chicken I've ever had. I couldn't resist
!"

Hard to get mad at old Billy. If he has only a single beer, he'll pour half in a glass for me. He gets my orders ready and keeps me on the road.

I heated what was left of my food in the microwave and ate it, with a fork, while driving. When I finished, I was still hungry. But I had to admit, Billy was right. It was damn good chicken.

*

The thermocouple appears to be installed correctly and we now have hot water. If it lasts, then I successfully fixed the water heater myself and will count it a victory against the week. Other minor victories this week: seeing my friends and students get promoted at the academy, fixing my mother's printer, cooking lunch good enough to steal.

Failures: persistent knee pain, 175 repair bill tab for Dufflebag's laptop, no word back on the job.

*

From my experience, the towns with the worst drivers are affluent or poor. Best to stick with the middle ground. In the richer towns, you get a lot of drivers who seem to willfully disregard road conditions. There's a pushiness to the style. In the poorer neighborhoods, like the area of Salem I passed through, once again, I encountered a sort of fog or blindness - if someone would speed up or slow down, I might be able to get into traffic, but it's as though I'm not there. No one would let me in. I had two cars pass me on a two way street while I was passing through a school zone, with warning lights blinking.

I might be reading more into this than the topic deserves, but the patterns are clear.

Recent experience shows that the car of choice for meatheads these days is a Dodge Charger, and the oranger the better. If someone is tailgating me and swerving while on the exit ramp, I'd give it about a one of four change to be a Charger.

So seems the view from the road.