Those who know me best are fully aware of the Genome's background. In that remote and isolated land that biographers will undoubtedly call my childhood, I was immersed in a world where unchanging sameness was the ideal. And yet, I stood apart from the local fauna in that I talked and behaved as if I'd had thousands of strange and rare experiences. All from reading books, of course. I traveled through space and time simply by turning the page.
I still do it today.
That childhood of mine fathered a man who is not afraid of poverty of any kind; not financial, not thought, not curiosity. What does frighten me is boredom.
This morning as I completed the usual chores and drove the usual Ocean Highway to get to my usual Globally Grown, Carolina Roasted, I began to feel a little agitated. The day was bright and clear and no appointments were scheduled but that sameness that can sometimes feel comforting didn't feel that way this morning. It felt a little too near boredom.
And so I decided to turn the page. Instead of taking the usual drive-through, I decided to park and ankle into the cafe under my own power. Who could have imagined the excitement waiting inside?
'Good morning,' she said as I neared the stand-here spot. 'The usual?'
'Yes, please,' I said, and then as I pulled at my clinging shirt, 'It's getting hot out there.'
'You want this chilled?' she said.
I waved a hand back and forth to dismiss the suggestion of iced coffee and then, thinking about keeping the pages turning, I said, 'The recent renovations make the cafe look bigger and more inviting. I think I'll sit for a while and write.'
'You're a writer? What do you write fiction or non?'
'Well,' I said and then inserted a theatrical pause to better give the question some thought and determine which direction I wanted the conversation to take.
'I write travel articles,' I said, 'but only to make my life seem relevant....' I paused again to add just a touch of tension and I raised an eyebrow, which is a French technique intended to spike the other's attention.
She raised a brace of eyebrows, making me aware that she too was attuned to the French conversational nuances. And she added a slight nod as if to say, I get it. I believe the raising and nodding were done in concert with a moue. Is the word, moue; where one pouts slightly to indicate a thoughtful comparison of possible alternatives?
Then, feeling that I had found an empathetic audience, I delivered the punchline, 'but I blog for fun.'
'Oh,' she said.
I'd hoped for a bit more interest but realized that my intro was to blame--too weak. So I added more explanation.
'I try to find humor in everyday affairs,' I said, 'and then exaggerate the humor to make a more interesting story. Sometimes I throw in a dragon or a few elves if the subject can handle it. I think of it as fictionalizing my life. Makes me feel like the main character in my own novel and helps me to cope with a mood disorder.'
Her face lit up. I mean, it didn't light up like the dawn of a new day; but her eyes twinkled and she smiled as if she'd just had a juicy idea.
'If you're looking for humor in everyday events, have I got something for you,' she said. Then looking at the male half of the coffee sketch she said, 'Tell Genome about your traffic accident.' And then for clarification, she said, 'He tangled with a kayak in a traffic accident yesterday.'
I stared at her with no little amazement. Had I understood her correctly? Surely not. I searched the database for an automobile with a name that rhymes with kayak. It was a bust. Cadillac came to mind but not close enough. I turned to speak to the star witness.
'Did she say kayak? I said.
'That's right,' he said.
She wasn't by any chance thinking of kayak car rentals or kayak hotel accomodations?
'Nope, it was a kayak alright,' he said. 'Crushed the side of my car and broke all the windows. I have a photo on my phone.'
And he did have a photo on his phone; lots of them; and when he spoke of crushed and broken, he was spot on.
'Holy hell!' That's what I said even though I realize the term makes no sense; still, I'm certain that I've heard others use the expression in similar circumstances and so I keep it in my list of spur-of-the-moment exclamations.
'I'll bet you're going tell me it was one of those whitewater paddlers,' I said. 'I've done my share of kayaking. In fact, I once wrote an article for Carolina Roads Magazine on kayaking the Intracoastal Waterway. And I can assure you, those white-water kayaking addicts will take every unnecessary risk that happens to wander by. And they do it just for the fun of it!'
'No white water,' he said. 'In fact, there was no water anywhere near the accident.'
'Hell's bells!' I said and I'm aware that I did it again; using a term that makes no logical sense but, in my defense, I simply use the language, I don't put this stuff in the writers' guide.
'Isn't it enough that we must deal with all the cabbage-heads who run red traffic lights on Ocean Highway without having to watch for kayaks on the road too?' I said and I remember shaking my head as if to imply, What is this world coming to?'
'Was he fully insured? Did you get all his info?' I asked.
'He just paddled away,' he said. 'The investigating officer reported it as hit and paddle.' But he had a twinkle in his eye when he said it.
'Wait a minute,' I said, recognizing the twinkle for what it was. 'That's a good line. Wish I'd thought of it. But I'm beginning to feel that I'm missing out on the pertinent details. Before we get too far along with this story, begin with the beginning and spare no detail, no matter how small. I'll bet you hold me spellbound.'
'Actually, the kayak was in the bed of a pickup truck,' he said, 'and the guy was backing out of a parking space.'
'You mean to tell me that he was using that kayak like the rostrum or if you prefer, battering ram, on an ancient Roman war galley? That's surely illegal even in Brunswick County where almost anything goes.'
He shrugged.
'But now I understand how the accident happened. I hope the repairs work out to your satisfaction. But why it's called a truck bed is still a mystery to me. I mean what do beds have to do with trucks anyway?'
And so you see how this page-turning technique can pay off big time, under the right conditions. It's often the only tool you need to avoid boredom.
Speaking of the right conditions, don't ignore the fact that the above took place near the steaming needful, the frothed best of the roaster's art, the brimming cup of Jah's Mercy. It often happens that way. I believe it has something to do with the Universe looking out for our best interests.
