Gentle heart, gentle words

At seven this morning, I went to McDonalds to read the paper and enjoy the usual: fifty cent senior coffee and a dollar Sausage McMuffin.  As I sat down, I saw that the guy in the booth next to me had a Hewlett-Packard carton and a small network computer on the table.

I asked him how he liked the computer. He told me that he had just opened the box and that the computer was okay, but he wouldn't suggest it for writing a long paper. I asked him a couple more questions and then sat down to eat and read. However, the guy kept on talking about the computer. He said he bought the small one because he didn't have the money for a laptop. He filled me in on his regular computer at home and that he didn't have Internet service. He said he thought that he had made a good decision. He again told me that he wouldn't suggest it for writing a long paper.

He soon became a bit irritating. I pick up a lot of conversations--this one was becoming strange, and I didn't want to know any more about this guy and his computer. I stopped responding and he finally he stopped talking. I could read and eat.

A few minutes went by before he made a cell phone call, talking loudly.

"Hi... I woke you up?

"I called to make sure you were up at seven fifteen--like you said.

"Well, that's what you asked me to do. I wouldn't wake you up if you hadn't asked me to wake you up.

"Yes, I did. Why? Are you surprised?

"Well, I asked you before I bought it. I wouldn't have bought it unless I had asked you first. 

"I can't return it now. Calm down.

"No, it's okay. We have a thousand dollar float on the credit card . I have a bill for a thousand, one for three hundred and one for eighteen for the car wash.

"No, that's seventeen-een--een--een and eighty cents, seventeen-een--een--een and eighty cents, seventeen-een--een--een and eighty cents.

"No, I'm not mocking you, it was seventeen-EEN-EEN-EEN and eighty cents for the car wash. You said eighty.

"Hey, I am not upset; I am not raising my voice. I speak with gentle heart and gentle words. You're the one who's yelling.

"The computer is nice; it sensed the wi-fi here and connected itself to the net.

"Wi-fi? Wi-fi is how the computer talks to the Internet. You don't understand anything about computers, do you?

"No, I'm not cutting you down. I just told the truth that you understand nothing about computers. Listen to me, I speak with gentle heart and words.

"I'm sounding like my father again? Get real, I am not my father, I never could stand the SOB.

"You don't want me to come home ever again? What does that mean?"

"Well, it's my house, too.

"I am not upset. You're the one who's upset. Breath deeply. One, two, three..."

The conversation continued. After ten more minutes, I realized that I hadn't read more than a paragraph. So, I picked up my stuff and moved to the othe side of McDonalds.

No escape. The conversation was just as loud--only everyone in the restaurant was now listening. After what seemed like hours, I got up and left--to read the paper at home. I guess I could have told him that he was talking too loud, but my street smarts told me that it was better just to leave.

The Purloined Skis

According to modern physics, there is a finite probability that one can just walk through a brick wall with out injury to the wall or the individual. That happened to me last Tuesday when I was skiing at Copper Mountain.

My friend Jim and I were skiing near the Timberline lift. After great runs on a perfect day with no lift lines, we decided to stop at the hutch at the base of the lift that was located half way up the mountain at 10,000 feet. We took off our skis and leaned them against a rack with at most 25 other pairs. We bought hot chocolate and set chatting at picnic table in the bright sun. We shared our granola bars with the gregarious Gray Jays.

Refreshed, we put our skis back on and rode up the lift. When we stopped part way down the run, I looked at my skis and noticed that they weren't mine! They were rentals from Christy Sports, but they were Solomon brand, not Rossingnol. I had taken someone elses' skis.

The hutch was a long way down the hill, a small speck between my ski tips. We raced down the hill; my best ski performance of the day. I imagined a guy coming back to put on his skis, only to find that they were gone. He certainly would be both confused and mad as hell.

We got back to the hutch quickly. I asked the people sitting at a table next to the ski rack if they had heard someone complaining about his skis being stolen. They all said no. I put the purloined skis back in the rack where I found them. I walked up the steps to the hutch and asked the guy running the concessions if anyone had complained about missing their skis. He told me he hadn't heard a thing.

I returned to the ski rack and put on the Rossingols I had started the day with. We skied down to the nearby lift and asked the operator if anyone had gone back up the lift with no skis on. The only way out of the area would be to ride up the lift to a higher one, and then ride down to the bottom. The operator said that no one had gotten on the lift without skiis.

So, I had unwittingly "borrowed" someone's rental skis that just happened to be Christy rentals that exactly fit my boots, took them to the top of the Timberline lift, skied back down, and then returned them where I had borrowed them.

We rode back up to the top and skied down to check at the hutch--the skis were still in the rack.

We returned to the top and skied back down to the hutch--the skis were gone--the guy never knew. I wonder what he would have said to me if he had found out that I was the one who stole his skis. I tried to find him, but I am not sure what I would have said.

Many have suggested that much of my life has unfolded this way. I unconsciously and luckily just happen to walk through walls with minimum injury. I lumber on and life is good.