Friday, July 21, 2006

I'm Ba..ack

The aliens assured me that they could take me to Tralfamagore and back and no one would know I was ever gone. Time travel or something like that. Never trust an alien.

But, hey, I'm back!

Eye Witness

All I wanted was a taco. But, of course, the taco store wants money for their tacos. So after I picked up my son (who also wanted tacos) at summer school, we went over to our local branch bank. We pull in the drive thru. As luck would have it, the very front lane.

Of course, when I pull in I'm doing what every other driver always does: I'm watching my mirrors so I don't smack them on the yellow pole. I'm not looking in the bank. My son, Eric, is. And he says, "Dad! Get out of here! They're being robbed!"

No kidding. I look inside and I see the window lady excitedly motioning for me to go with her eyes, and I see this guy behind the counter. I'm fairly certain that he didn't work there because the employees usually don't wear their panty hose on their heads.

So we get the Valhalla out of there. We loop around to the post office by the bank and tell some guy coming out to call the cops. We made his day. It's then that I see the robbers jump into a car at the side of the bank. It's also then that Eric says, "Chase 'em!"

So we did. I mean, when was the last time you chased any bank robbers? I didn't think so.

So here we go. We go ripping down the street about a block behind. They zip down this side street not too far from the bank, and we go zipping right after them. But when we go zipping around the corner, they've stopped. One of the guys is out of the car, and when he sees us, he takes off running. The other guy, the driver, just looks at me. Kinda that, "Well, what are ya gonna do?" look. But more like, "I don't care what you do." look.

So I'll tell you what we did. We kept going. After all, the bank is insured. Now I know what some of you might be saying: So are you. Which is true, but it's just not the same.

So there we are, going away from the robbers. And in my mirror I see the driver get out. He and the other guy then get in another vehicle across the street. So I whip a "U."

Long story short (too late), they got away. Mostly because...well, there was traffic. The sun was in my eyes. There was a hole in my glove.... OK, to speak the plain truth, that driver just flat scared me. My life was worth nothing to him, which is considerably less than what it's worth to me. And, of course, my son's life is worth even more than my own. (Isn't it great how you can make being a chicken shit sound noble?)

So we go back to the bank. The cops arrive. ("Keep your hands in sight and don't move until they're certain that we're not the robbers.") And three hours later, after talking to every cop on the force and the FBI guy, we still don't have any tacos.

So today, we're going to get our tacos. But this time I'm getting my cash at Harter House. I just hope like hell they're not going to be robbed today.