The following is based on real events:
A couple of days ago, as I exited work, I noticed that my co-worker Jethro was ahead of me. His real name isn’t Jethro, but his demeanor certainly evokes the Jethro we all seem to know from the classic tv show. We jokingly refer to him as “The Wind,” because as is the case with wind, we can’t get him to stop blowing from his piehole. Whatever energy propels the elusive perpetual motion machine, I’m sure that Jethro’s mouth is powered by the same unseen force. I also joke that being in a room with him is akin to being trapped inside a confined space, given the likely and sudden drop of oxygen once he starts talking. (Unlike an airplane, our workplace doesn’t have drop-down oxygen supplies for emergencies.)
Jethro and I both typically arrive at work before the chickens arise and the vampires retire to their coffins, so we tend to park in the premium spots in the same parking lot. As Jethro and I were parked closely together, I suddenly decided to engage in tomfoolery, for which I attended school several years. (They don’t give out Tomfoolery Certificates to just anyone.) To be honest, the first thing that popped into my head was how awesome it would be to sneak up on him as he swung his right leg into his car. I would then dart behind him and stick a syringe full of goofy juice into his neck, exactly as Dexter would do if he had been inclined to start murdering clowns or weirdos instead of killers.
I crouched and scampered along the middle row of parked vehicles. Jethro’s car was parked backward so I had to stop and press myself up against an SUV to hide. I knew I would have time because Jethro can’t help but to look at himself for a long, loving moment in any available mirror, presumably to check to see if any small animals had taken up residence in his hilarious face carpet. Obviously, though, even my silhouette is quite large. Based on that, I guess it’s more accurate to say I slumped lazily against the SUV. There was no “Mission Impossible” theme playing, although if such a tune were to exist, I think it would have been “Laughably Unlikely” to have been wafting through the air.
The idea of Dexter-ing Jethro made me laugh a little to myself. After a brief pause, I once again crouched and tried to half-jog like an injured bear across the open driveway where Jethro would be unable to see me as he drove out.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, an elderly gentleman was riding his massive scooter on the public sidewalk adjacent to the main road, uphill. He was rapidly approaching my location from the south.
Between me and the approaching (and invisible) elderly scooter rider, there was a small outbuilding, one which would provide me cover from the eyes of Jethro until such time as I was prepared to jump out with the intent to startle him.
“What Could Possibly Go Wrong?” should have been flashing in my head in bright colors at this point. Seeing as I live in Arkansas, though, it is my birthright to act without intelligence or thought when needed. It’s a right I exercise with great abandon and with zealous frequency. (It’s cheaper than taking vacations if you need to save a few dollars.)
(In case I didn’t mention it, Jethro drives exactly like Ray Charles would fly a plane, as several thousand angry bees attempted to sting him.)
As I darted past the corner of the outbuilding along the exit driveway, I looked up at the precise moment that the elderly gentleman on the scooter rocketed up to the point where the sidewalk and driveway intersect. He simultaneously hit the brakes, rocking to a full stop, with surprising force and threw up both arms, his face forming a large “O” of fear as I stopped dead in my tracks.
It turns out that from his point of view, a crazy bald man running as if he were wounded came around the corner of the building, laughing to himself, planning to attack him. I suppose I looked like a fat Charles Manson might have, if you electrified his underwear and offered him a two-second head start before you shot him.
I was sufficiently taken aback by the appearance of Scooter Man, so surprised that I began to do that nervous, overly-long babbling explanation common to situations in which you’re caught off guard, such as being Tom Cotton or surprised while drinking cow’s milk directly from the udder. I think my attempt to placate Scooter Man probably worsened his appraisal of the situation. I apologized as best as I could for scaring him. He had already started accelerating away, shaking his head in bewilderment, speculating if there were a mental ward nearby.
About that time, Jethro came around the corner, putting his window down, laughing at my attempt to startle him.
The next time, I am going to taser Jethro, so help me. Or myself -if I’m tempted to try to run or hide. And I need to borrow a syringe of goofy juice just in case.
PS: Photo is an artist’s rendering.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 