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The time away was a work-related trip to a major missions conference. I
sold books there as part of a team that set up book-of-the-day stations at
strategic locations. For our central base of operations, we used a locker
room as our ad hoc headquarters, and called it "the Batcave." This
wasn't just any old locker room, mind you! This was none other than the
locker room for the St. Louis Rams' Cheerleaders! As part of this book
team, I was given all kinds of access to the site, and (being an assistant
manager) I even had my very own key to the cheerleaders' locker room.
.
Don't worry; I didn't do anything foolish. There were no cheerleaders in that locker room any time we were there, and even if there were, I have too good a thing with my wife to put my marriage in jeapardy..
[continued...]
.
There was talk about seeing this trip as an ad hoc adventure. My adventure began before even making it to the bus. For starters, I lost my itinerary. Then, on the drive to the bus, our minivan was doing a terrible job of keeping a good grip on the road, because of a thick coating of fresh, slippery snow. We lost traction on a side street, and slid into a ditch..
Stepping outside to assess the situation, I observed that we were just inches from a stop sign. We didn't hit it--thank the Lord! Maybe if I just move straight back enough... no good: landscaping pillars (like railroad ties) are jutting up from the ground behind me, and I couldn't possibly drive over them. It looks like I'm pinned for good and this slippery snow won't let me get out..
Just then, a red pickup drives up and offers to help. (Correction: the people inside the pickup offered to help. I didn't hear audible voices from motor vehicles.) These folks lived across the street from this ditch, and the lady said of her husband that he does this kind of stuff all the time. He tied a chain to our rear axle, and we were freed in less time than it took you to read this story. Well, almost..
One adventure down, what's next?.
[continued...]
.
Another adventure was an ad hoc journey to India. Not really--let's go back a bit. "Somebody" forgot to pack his deodorant, and had to go looking around downtown St. Louis for a convenience store. Along the way, he (I, that is) noticed an Indian restaurant. I have never eaten at an Indian restaurant..
That night, my crew asked for suggestions on a place to eat. I told them about the place that I found, and that it was just a little less than a mile away. We walked (in freezing temps) a little different than my first trip, and when I got to Olive Street, I wasn't sure whether to turn right or left. It would not have been of great consequence, except that we were cold and hungry. I chose to turn right. After two blocks, I realized that it was the wrong direction. We had to turn back. My companions started grumbling. You know what? It's not easy to reassure a crowd (3 + me) of ravenous men who are finally getting a nice dinner after working all day Saturday and Sunday. Anyhoo, we finally made it to the restaurant....
and it was closed..
[continued...]
.
My friends did not roast me on an ad hoc funeral pyre. They're so gracious! Let's go back to that convenience store. I couldn't find the deodorant with the shampoos and soaps. Instead, I found a sign that indicated that the deodorants are located behind the front registers, and see cashiers for assistance. What?!! That is so weird. The deodorant now has the behind-the-counter stigma of intimate or naughty things. "Um, yes... I'll have a newspaper and some Chiclets and... (mumbling) deodorant." The nervous customer is mortified as the clerk goes on the p.a. to get a price check on deodorant. Great--now the whole store knows that I'm interested in one of those behind-the-counter items! Catching a glance from an elderly gentleman, I instinctively offer a polite "how do." He just nods. I know what he's thinking... "Hello back, Mr. Stinky Pits!".
Glad to be back, now let's see what kind of mess waits for me at the desk...
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