Remember this car? Tim got the thing inspected Friday. He picked it up Friday evening, after he got off work. Now read the local police blotter entry:
Hit and run. Conewango Twp. Police reported that on Friday at 10:15 p.m. James Swick of Warren was driving a 2005 Dodge Caravan east on Jackson Run Rd. when he turned right onto Market Street. At the same time, police said, a white sports car, possibly a Ford Mustang, was traveling north in the southbound lane, in reverse, at a high rate of speed. Police reported the sports car then spun forward, struck the Dodge on the driver's side front bumper, and fled the scene traveling west on Jackson Run Rd. According to police, no major injuries were sustained and Swick was able to drive his vehicle from the scene. Police asked that any information regarding the suspect or the suspect's vehicle please contact the Conewango Twp. Police.
Cara and I had a good laugh when we read the paper. Tim? Not so amused. His 'new' vehicle is waiting for new front and rear bumper covers. (The previous owner ran it into a ditch.) He's half expecting local police to show up at our house with questions. I can tell you that at 10:15, Tim was in bed. So was I. Unfortunately (?) there are no witnesses to attest to that.
Yesterday was freight day at the store. It is a day to work hard, getting everything set out on the floor. The manager running the show is a hard, hard worker, and he was heaving around bags of dog food and bird seed like a weight lifter. I tried to keep up with him, but there was no way. Plus, I am a bit of a handicap since I have to ask 10,000 questions, not having figured out where everything in the store goes. But I also noted that I was not the only one with questions. All night long, the call went out across the aisles. "Hey? Jeremy?" "Jeremy!" Jeremy..." as we all darted about putting stuff away. At one point, I had to laugh. "Do you sometimes get sick of hearing your own name?" I asked. And he looked at me with the biggest grin on his face. "No comment," he replied. So we all worked together, quickly, almost at a dead run, sometimes. It is good to work hard, and I enjoy it, even though I was going through unsweetened ice tea, double lemon, at an enormous clip. At the end of it all, the manager apologized to me. "What for?" I asked, honestly confused. He felt that he was short with me. Brusque. Rushed. Too bossy maybe. He explained that he wanted to get the job done as quickly as possible. "Jeremy," I said. "You were working harder than any of us, but we were all working hard. We were all working fast. We all wanted to get done. I didn't think you were rude. I took no offense." And he grinned and hauled a pallet of dog food out back. I went back to work too. It really is a civil place to work.
Cara is home for a few days. She and Dylan will head out to San Francisco Saturday. Then she will be back and headed off to school. This summer has flown by so quickly, and I can scarcely believe that it August already. But, I'm making the most of it. We will have company in for a cookout today, and we will laugh hard and make memories.