COLORADO LICENSE BUREAU

This has never happened before. I lost my drivers license. I don't know how it happened but I blame the dog. "Scooter, bad, bad dog! You won't be fed for the next six months."

That damned dog does it every time. Last week he forgot to buy toilet paper and now THIS.

This had caused me to spend an afternoon at the Colorado license bureau which is ironic because I'll be living in another state in another 7 days. I'd take my chances and go without a license but I have to drive through Utah next Sunday and I've heard how cruel their prisons are - second only to those in Guatemala.

Here at the license bureau they still use those paper "take a number" thingys. I got here a half hour ago and they were on #59. Let's see, they're now on #60. That's good news...things are moving faster than normal.

The facility is in a mall. Remember those things? Where I sit I have a great view of the women's clothing department at JC Penney. I think I see some of the wife's clothes that we sold at the garage sale last Saturday.

I wonder how much one of these other people in line would take to sell their number? A number in the low 60's would be a hot one right now...I'd go as high as a buck but, then again, I'm a big spender.

"Number 61, please". Now we're cooking.

When we lived in New Mexico the service at the license bureau was so slow that the state enlisted the help of a commercial firm. There was a catch...you had to pay an extra $5 for the service. "Do I hear $10?"

"Number 63, please."

"Number 64, please." Hmmm....nobody answered...the number holder must have split...wimp.

"Number 66, please." Wait, what happened to #65?

A guy just came in and sat next to me. He's #83. I feel for this guy as much as if he were a Somalian refugee. He'll probably miss out on the birth of two of his children while waiting in this line.

"Number 67, please. Another no-show.

"Number 68, please."

"Number 69, please." One of the state workers just got back from lunch and things are picking up a bit. Let's face it, three slow bureaucrats are better than two.

"Number 70, please."

Amazing how happy the workers are here. I'd be a little surly if I had thirty sets of eyes peering at me with extreme hatred. Hmmm, the worker who just came back from lunch is leaving on a potty break. She must have had a few beers.

All of a sudden #74 is called.

Hallelujah!

As I approach the cubicle the bureaucrat tells me "sorry, sir. We're only on #73. I hit the button twice by mistake. Stand over there, please."

Someone call Kevorkian.

Readers, enjoy your day.

THE DAY AFTER THE GARAGE SALE

Today as I look out over the 2500 feet of crabgrass that I call the backyard I cannot help but notice that all of the sale items are gone and are now part and parcel of other people's homes. Now the wife and I face the process of moving in the next week. Movers come on Wednesday, carpet cleaners come on Thursday, closing is Friday and we're outta here on Saturday. Will it be tough to leave our little mountain hamlet? I dare say probably not.

That was five minutes ago. Now I'm feeling rather melancholy about leaving. It's always tough to leave friends behind....but we'll meet so many new friends. It's tough to turn our backs on the biking and hiking trails that are so plentiful in the Rockies...but, the Olympic mountains offer equally enticing trails. We're a few hours west of Denver....we'll be a few hours west of Seattle. We'll miss cheering for the Broncos...we'll cheer for the Seahawks. Trout fishing here is outstanding...salmon fishing up there is outstanding.

Where we presently live there's a brewpub four blocks away...where we're moving - let's see, it's two miles away.

I'm beginning to think that this move isn't such a good idea.


Readers, enjoy your day.

GARAGE SALE DAY

The day has finally arrived. The day that the wife and I cleanse ourselves of the unwanted trash that we've collected over the past 30 years. Over those years we have seen these items many times around the house but have always said "let's keep them, we might use them." Well, we haven't. Now our house is full of garbage and it is being picked over by people who have been directed to our yard by the colorful neon signs promising fantastic deals. Many of the conversations among the buyers are saying "what is this thing", "I don't know but let's buy it; it's only a quarter and we might use it."

When asking how one manages to acquire so much crap, it is truly a function of success. The wife and I have been blessed over the years with good employment and good health. These have resulted in our being able to afford the Popiel's Pocket Fisherman, the Ginsu Knife Set, the Billybass and numerous Chia Pets.

Many of the people who have come to our garage sale today are of Hispanic heritage and, as new immigrants, are struggling to make ends meet. Thus, a garage sale represents an economical buying experience for them. Over the next thirty years, they, too, will acquire unwanted items and wonder why they bought them and what they should do with them. Eventually, they will have to have a garage sale and rid themselves of their excess stuff.

To them I say: welcome to the American dream.

Readers, enjoy your day.

FATHER'S DAY

When one goes to a do-it-yourself outlet, be it a neighborhood hardware store or big-box store, it's hard to miss the enticements for products that we should buy for dear old dad. In my trip to the big box outlet yesterday there were tags on various products that read "don't forget dad". In thinking about what my late father might have liked, the two-horsepower variable speed cordless drill with the rechargeable lithium battery caught my eye.

A few hours later I was at the health club and there were numerous ads and flyers detailing a father's day pedicure special for $45. I thought that that was a heck of an idea. Lets face it, on Mother's Day, any fool knows that it's not a good idea to buy mom pots and pans or anything else that smacks of "work". In that sense it seems strange that dads are fair game for products that keep dad's nose to the grindstone. The normally featured products seem to be tools and barbecue grills. What kind of statement are we making to our fathers if we buy such items as tools or barbecue grills? To me it says "yeah, dad you're terrific...now get up off your ass, fix the back door and then grill us some burgers".

If Pa were still alive, I would jump at the chance to do something for him that would say "dad, you are really special. Have a relaxing day and enjoy your pedicure."

I can picture him beaming with pride, knowing that his son really cared for him. He would take me to the side, away from the rest of the family, and thank me for the wonderful pedicure - something that he has never had before. Then he would tell me "the pedicure is a wonderful gift, but I really had my heart set on the two-horsepower variable speed cordless drill with the rechargeable lithium battery."

Thinking quickly I would then reply "I didn't get you the two-horsepower variable speed cordless drill with the rechargeable lithium battery because I heard that next year they will be introducing a three-horsepower model", to which he would reply:

"That's my boy."

Happy Father's Day, Pa. I miss you.

Readers, enjoy your Father's Day.