One Man Gathers What Another Man Spills

I used to be a big fan of garage sales and flea markets. As a child, I used to love going with my grandpa to the weekly cattle auction which was always preceded by a swap meet. Some of the farmers would fix up old appliances and farm implements, but mostly it was just old junk. Of course my 10-year-old eyes lacked the experience to know the difference between a bargain and a burden, so one time I bought 2 bald tires, a washing machine and broken television for seventy five cents. My grandpa yelled at me and ended up paying the scrap dealer a few dollars to haul it all away. I was sent to the car to learn my lesson, which was the undeniable fact that grandpa was totally loco passing up the huge bargain. Looking back, that was the moment that I actually began my pursuit of the American dream, the accumulation of unlimited stuff. Forty years, three kids and several moves later, I found myself on the other end of the spectrum, and began trying to rid myself of all the stuff in my life. I wish I could say it was a spiritual quest or self improvement plan, but the truth is, I finally just ran out room.

This process was accelerated by the recent decision to put in new floors. We had to move all of the old furniture out of the house and suddenly became aware of how ugly and stupid many of our treasures were sitting in the carport and how disgusting it would be to put them on our beautiful new floors. Most of the decisions were easy; some were a little more complicated. Our biggest dilemma was the old couch/hide-a-bed. It weighed about 25,000 lbs. and the cushions had become soiled to the point where the dry cleaners said “Sorry, we tried but failed.” After even the local mission said “No thanks,” we called the landfill and they said that the regular garbage truck would pick it up if we could get it out to the street. This brought up a whole new set of issues, the first being the fact that while I hated abusing the landfill, I hated having the couch in my carport even more. Secondly, I knew that the lady at the landfill, while convincing enough on the phone, had no real control over what the crews actually did on their route. Our trash day is Saturday, and if they decided to pass on the maroon, striped monster it would be Tuesday before we could take it to the landfill. We don’t spend a lot of time worrying about what the neighbors think, but it seemed kind of tacky to force everyone to experience a Sanford and Son moment every time they passed by. Joel and Lori were leaving for Austin Friday afternoon, so I grudgingly agreed to put it on the street and this where the miracle begins.

After hauling the couch out, Joel took a long look at his old, 7-headed, hydra lamp that seemed so cool in junior high and decided it had to go as well. As he set it by the couch, we noticed how it looked like an actual, tasteless, living room display. We thought it would be funny to add a junky end table beside it and placed an old magazine on the table along with a broken remote control. We stuck an old bicycle on the other side and our “room to go” package was completed. What started as a joke instantly became a clever marketing scheme, and by the time we made it back to the carport, the lamp was gone. I then saw a white Cherokee slow down for a look before moving on. By the time I got inside the house, a Malibu was parked in my driveway and the driver was running his hand over the end table, checking out the finish. He then popped his trunk and began making room for the new addition. As he placed the table into the trunk, the Cherokee circled back and after a brief conference, pulled into the neighbor’s driveway. Some money was exchanged, the men shook hands and the Cherokee driver took the table out of the Malibu and placed it in his own. When I checked back an hour later, the couch and bicycle had disappeared as well. Rarely have I experienced such a satisfying, multi layered experience.It was truly win-win. In one August afternoon, through an act of simple selflessness, we:

A) Improved our living quarters.

B) Saved the environment.

C) Stimulated the local economy and created jobs.

D) Created a spirit of community that transcended race and socioeconomic barriers.

E) Began to explore the possibilities of running for public office.

Women are from Venus: Men are from Mars: Douche bags drive Saturns in the left lane

One of the many elements that unites us as Americans is the earnest belief that our own local drivers are the worst in the world. Maslow identified this on his hierarchy of needs and labeled it Communal Bitching. He ranked it between Physiological/Safety which means basic food and shelter and Technological which includes cable, internet and cellular access with unlimited free texting. Having travelled a bit about our fair nation though, I believe that all drivers in all regions are equally awful but in unique and different ways. For instance, a New Englander will graciously signal, wave and then run you off the road, while the New Yorker generally honks and shoots the bird before doing the same thing. A few of our DFW subgroups include the less educated fundamentalists who believe turn signals are Satan’s tools and refuse to use them and the local racers who weave in and out of heavy traffic at high speeds. The latter group (Nasholes) appeared in the 90s shortly after the opening of Texas Motor Speedway. Each group holds their own special place on the road, as well as the ditch, and for the most part, we have learned to live with them much like one learns to live with a chronic medical condition like hemorrhoids or heartburn.

This weekend, however, we were introduced to a group we had never heard of. We left Grand Prairie about 11:00 AM to visit the kids in Galveston and ran into them just south of Corsicana. We first noted something amiss when I had to slam the brakes to avoid plowing into the Civic who was trying to avoid the SUV. Both lanes went from 80 to 35 in about 3 seconds and slowly creeped back up to 55. This lasted about 10 miles or so till we finally saw the late model Saturn in the left lane, completely oblivious to the 30 other cars and trucks passing her on the right. This happened 3 more times before we got to Houston, which by itself is not all that unusual anymore. What is unusual is that every one of the left lane parkers involved at least one Saturn (2 sedans, 1 sports model and another SUV). None of them looked particularly menacing or hateful either, just a bunch of ordinary dipsticks poking along at 50 or 60 in the left lane on a major, crowded freeway. It seemed like a strange coincidence, and we discounted any real conspiracy until our return trip. Just north of Conroe, we ran into another brake slamming bottleneck, and sure enough, a blue Saturn SUV was at the front of the pack in the left lane. This same SUV later passed me about 100 miles up the road. I was doing about 78 so he apparently discovered his gas pedal. And to be fair, he was in the left lane which I assume he never left.

So with all of this in mind, we thought it might be helpful to give all of our Saturn driving readers who want to be douche bags a quick refresher course for highway driving. First, pick a speed you are comfortable with between 55 and 60 and set your cruise control. Do not under any circumstances change your speed as this could use extra gas and make you part of the problem rather than the solution. Next, choose a nice, relaxing, totally hip CD like Neil Diamond or Barry Manilow and then breathe deeply from your diaphragm especially concentrating on your exhales. Now slowly move over into the left lane and feel yourself becoming one with the music and the endless ribbon of tarmac. You are not your body and your car is not a car and the road is not a road. You are the music and the road: the road is the music and you. Pay no attention to the other drivers for they are just part of the road and the music. Watch them flow around you on the right side in one continuous river of motion and sound. Feel the harmony of their horns as they blend into a symphony of the road. As they wave their one fingered greeting to you, think of a nice hot, soothing bath in your freshly tiled bathroom. Picture the medicine cabinet to your side and imagine the third row where the box with the pretty flowers resides. Open the box and inhale the aroma of the botanicals. Pay no attention to the other drivers, they do not matter, for you drive a Saturn in the left lane and are flowing with the traffic into the nice, pink bag and are truly one with the douche.