A Picture WOULD have been worth 2000 words

So often I sit here at the computer ready to blog without the foggiest notion of what I will write. However, today I knew by about 2:30 what I had to say. This story must be told. No one will appreciate it as much as my brother Jeff, but I hope all can benefit from this hopefully adequate narrative.

I should start by saying that in an ideal world I would not have had to write anything, a simple picture would do. The scene that my cousin and I saw will forever be etched in our beings, half way between our funny bone and our armpit.

I had my camera. I knew that I had to shoot this experience. But I had a strange feeling that I would not be able to take the picture.

My cousin and I were on a mission to find a larger computer monitor to sit upon my desk. My birthday was yesterday, and the Warden agreed this would be an appropriate gift for someone reaching MY age. (If my memory was better, I’d tell you what that age is.) She agreed that I needed a larger screen. So off we went to visit three office/electronics stores situated only blocks from each other. As we raced from store to store we squeezed my full-size pickup into tight parking spots close to the door. The middle store that we visited placed us next to destiny. Parked only inches from our passenger door (such that my cousin had to take advantage of his slender physique) was a rusty (make that extremely rusty) 1980s something Chevy Blazer with faded paint and balding tires (at least I can empathize with that part of the vehicle.) It would have made an ideal candidate for the TV show “Pimp My Ride.” As we walked past the front of that vehicle our jaws dropped as we noticed something that we hadn’t seen in years—A CLUB. You know the thing that was over advertised for years on those cheesy commercials. “Protect your vehicle from auto theft with the Club, accept no imitations.” I think I only saw ONE actually used on a vehicle, and that was on an expensive convertible (with its top down) parked on a city street downtown at night. But today we were in the middle of the tony suburb of Minnetonka, former home of basketball great Kevin Garnett. And it was in the middle of the day. The parking lot was well lit by the scorching sun, and besides almost no one was out shopping on such a lovely day. But there it was THE CLUB, small capital T, small capital M (trademark), on a vehicle whose value was probably less than that theft-deterrence device.

It is a shame. This picture is permanently etched in our minds and I only hope that all readers of this blog, but especially my brother, will be able to likewise store it for safe keeping.

I should have gone back to my truck immediately and taken the shot, but I didn’t. Instead, we went inside to look at the monitors, found none to my liking, and then quickly left the store. As we walked out the door we were relieved to see that the vintage SUV was still gracing the lot. I sprinted to my truck and reached into the back seat to grab my camera. But I got this sinking feeling, thinking to myself, “what if the owner shows up just as I take the picture?” I took the camera out of its case. And I started to move into position. Just then a middle-aged woman walked through the doors of the store. Could this be the owner, I thought. The lady moved our way and then stopped. Sure enough, she was waiting for us to squeeze back into my truck and pull out; giving her the room she needed to hop in her ride. With her standing there, I didn’t have the heart, or gall to take that very important picture.

In addition to having similar senses of humor and similar vibes as to what seems odd, we also came to the conclusion that we should not try to judge this individual and probe into why she would conduct herself in such an unusual fashion. We decided to let the issue drop and not make any more fun at her expense. Not knowing her situation or condition it would not be fair or right to laugh at her expense.

Besides, right after seeing her, these two long-haired blond dudes drove up behind us in a 1950s Chrysler convertible (top down of course). They were beach bums if ever we saw one. They looked like they had just stepped off of Malibu Beach and were looking for their surf boards. They shuffled toward the store like they were riding waves. We looked around waiting for throngs of bikini-clad co-eds to clamor toward these two. They left a pretty sweet car sitting in the lot unattended, and I think I still hear the gurgle of that car’s muscular engine. Go figure.