How fast time races by. As impossible as it might seem, it was one year ago when our incredibly talented (I’m hoping for another year) editor asked me if I would be interested in writing a column for the prestigious Morgan Hill Times. Never one to pass a a new challenge, my response was a predictable, “Who me?”
Well, 26 columns later, here we are. And the question, “What in the world could I possibly write about that anyone would find interesting?,” has never really become an issue. Well, at least coming up with ideas has been easy. Seems there are many more subjects than one might imagine. As far as “interesting” goes, well, Lady M is still reading and giving me a thumbs up – most of the time, anyway.
A number of things happened to me just in the last two weeks, some good and some not so good. In the latter category was a highway experience that had Lady M and me vacillating from fear to anger as we drove on U.S. 101 a couple of days ago. Seems the idiot in front of us had something so important to text, probably to another idiot, that he couldn’t wait until he was off the freeway or got wherever he was going. At first we thought he was under the influence, but we realized he was just texting some earth-shattering message that just couldn’t wait. He swerved from one side of his lane to the other correcting his course only when alerted by the rumble of the Botts Dots as he was about to crash into the gasoline tanker next to him. Oh yeah, his speed varied from 40 to 80 mph! He was in lane three and I was concerned about trying to pass him on his right OR left. Finally, I went to the far right lane, got in front of him and said a prayer of thanks for our safe escape. We never got close enough to get his license number so, if he survived his trip, I guess he’ll just have to try to kill himself another day.
But what about a good thing. Well, there is a very kind and honest Morgan Hill citizen who renewed my faith in human goodness. Seems I dropped my wallet while getting gas. An hour after I returned home, the phone rang. It was “Don.” He was having lunch at Round Table Pizza in Morgan Hill and explained that he had found my wallet at the gas station. I hightailed it to meet him and his lovely wife who had a huge smile when they returned my collection of identification items and credit cards. Don refused to accept any reward for his troubles. I couldn’t even buy him a pizza! He was just glad to have been able to help me. What a nice guy.
I’m glad the sequence of events was crazy driver first followed by mister nice guy, otherwise I would probably still be expounding a string of expletives about “Mister Texter” instead of thinking so fondly of Don, the nice guy.
One thing, other than really nice people, that always makes me feel great is a well-designed practical joke. Lady M and I were taken in by one recently, pulled off by Morgan Hill’s A-number-one practitioner of such goings on. I can’t tell you who he is or much else, lest I spoil the chance for you to experience his creativity, other than to say that in my many decades I have never seen or heard of a better one. It joins my personal favorite from many years ago.
I was working in the desert testing rocket engines with a fun-loving group of test engineers. The drive from our living quarters to the test site was around 40 miles, each way. Although gasoline was cheap, so were we. Thus, mileage was always a topic of conversation.
One of our fellow engineers had purchased a new VW Bug and was constantly bragging about his incredible mileage. Well, the plot developed to regularly add gas to his gas tank. He would give us a daily report on how he reached 100, 120, even 150 MPG. After a few weeks of that, we began siphoning gas from his Bug. I’m sure that his mileage dropped to around 10 MPG, although, for some reason he stopped giving us his daily reports. This adding and siphoning practice went on for months and, as I remember, he never did figure out how or why the performance of his new German wonder was so erratic.
God, I love good practical jokes. Just remembering past ones and dreaming up new ones, makes me feel good even on days when I have to put up with idiots who try to kill themselves – and maybe Lady M and me – by texting when they drive. Please, for your own sake, as well as those around you, don’t text while you drive.
Henry “Hank” Miller is a retired rocket scientist, he has an interest in classic automobiles, good conversation, martinis and community affairs. Reach him at ha******@***il.com.
