I did not see that coming

I did not see that coming

Another beautiful day in Southern California. Sun was out, a few wispy clouds in the sky, light breeze. 72 degrees and I was spending some quality time with my son who was now a proud licensed driver and now owner of the families 1971 chevy pickup truck.

On our way, just me and my son to have a woofer, tweeter, boom box, thing professionally installed before he drove her proudly into the high school parking lot with music blasting so loud the windows would be shaking and doors rattling.

That’s not a 9/16-inch socket I yelled. And you’ll need the extension for the rachet also. That statement no more crossed over my lips when I heard the entire toolbox crashing into the asphalt parking lot of the grocery store we were broke down in.

If you have never heard the sound of a box full of tools slamming into the asphalt before, well it’s kind of a pretty sound, sort of like a big wind chime falling out of a tree. But there it was sliding across the pavement with a few words coming out of that young man, that I am pretty sure he didn’t learn from me.

I did not see that coming!

But there we were, luckily in the same shopping center was an auto parts store that we were able to get a new starter for the ‘ol girl, and I thought we were having a father – son moment. You know, working on a classic pickup truck together, let me show you how my dad showed me type of situation. I guess not. But we wrestled through it, and I nixed the woofer-tweeter-boom box deal after the outburst, and we settled for a very nice AM/FM cassette player/speaker package that we self-installed.

Well, the 45-minute drive back up the mountain was a little quitter than I thought it should have been, but men don’t need to be talking just because our eyes are open. When we pulled up the drive, I could have sworn that horse gave me a look like I can’t believe you brought that pickup back here. Oh well, we pulled her around back and threw it in park and I jumped out and looked up to the moon, as it was night by now, when I heard that pickup door slam hard enough to knock the starter out of the bottom of the motor. And that was followed with a “I hate this truck. You can have it back. I’m never going to drive this hunk of junk to school or let my friends see me in it.”

I did not see that coming!

So there the ‘ol gal sat. It might have been a year or so when I noticed it was rusting up some and I still had a soft spot in my heart for the truck. The memories of going down to the riverbed and gathering a load of river rock for landscaping when the transmission went out and all we had was reverse and drove several miles back home using the rear-view mirror. But where we lived was pretty rural and the folks that passed just waved like we just left the church parking lot. Or the time my buddy and I figured we would let the women drive while we sat on the newly installed bench seat in the back of the pickup bed enjoying the scenery. Apparently, that is illegal.

Well, it just so happened that I had a few gallons of parking lot striping paint that I picked up off one of our construction jobs. I think it was expired when the contractor gave it to me, but that stuff was the good old days paint that you could slap a brush full of it on a wet dog and it wouldn’t come off for a year. I had blue, yellow and a pretty good bunch of gray.

I looked at that pickup just rusting away and looked over at that paint and said to myself, yep. I have to protect that metal from rusting anymore, so I grabbed a paint brush and went to brushin. An hour or so later, Wa-la, metal protected, used up most of the old paint, and I can still see out the windows and the mirrors. The cab and top of the hood ended up gray, the sides and top of the cab ended up light bluish, and the yellow I didn’t really see where that fit in, so I just left that out. I’ll just leave her sit until my son comes back around and we complete the father-son restoration project.

I was working for a construction company in the city some 45 miles from the house and I can’t remember the exact circumstances that transpired with our vehicle situation, but it ended up that I was without transportation to get to work and back. I bet my wife can. but I do remember stepping out on the back porch and looking at that old pickup and thinking, man I do not want to drive that pickup into the city with this paint job. I could see the brush marks on that thing from 30 yards away in the twilight. I thought, no worries, I can’t remember the last time I even started her. The chances of it firing up are astronomical I figured. So, I meandered on down there, and kind of snuck up on her, pulled the key in and out a couple times to make sure it wasn’t rusted in the ignition switch, and slowly turned the key to the right and boom, that thing fired up like it had been driven every day.

I did not see that coming!

Great, just great. How am I going to get out of this one. Don’t get me wrong, I thank God for all my blessings, and right now a running vehicle is a big blessing, but I have to drive this through downtown. That means at most of the stop lights I will be looking over at Mercedes, there were a few newly released Tesla roadsters floating around, an occasional stretch limo heading off to the airport. I mean she ran like a top, The Peter Frampton cassette wasn't all that tinny sounding so it just had some fairly significant cosmetic issues you might say.

So, I swallowed my pride, and I boldly busted into town and wouldn’t you know that the very first light I came up to, I rolled up behind a couple suits in a car that looked like it was so polished that my parking lot paint wouldn’t even stick to it. I noticed the driver adjusting his rear-view mirror and started talking to his passenger, then they both turned around and stared in disbelief at first but then started busting up laughing. I just smiled and waved at them. What else could I do. We rolled through a couple more lights with those guys still very amused at what they were looking at when they changed lanes, and I rolled up next to them. They could hardly contain themselves when they read the yellow paint that I hand painted on the side of the pickup that said: PAINT and FAINT. ANY CAR ANY COLOR. FRANCHISES AVAILABLE.

They gestured to roll my window down and between them grabbing their sides in hysterical laughter they managed to yell out: WE DID NOT SEE THAT COMING.