I usually don’t reach out to advice columnists but something bogus happened to me last week. I was speeding on I-90 (I can’t drive 55!) when The Police pulled me over. You see, the sun was casting a glare on my windshield – making it hard for me to see. I thought if I drove faster I could get away from it.
The Police told me to get out of my car. I went up to one of the officers and told him, “there’s a little black spot on the sun today.” He said, “don’t stand, don’t stand so close to me!” Naturally, I obeyed.
All of a sudden A Flock of Seagulls from Edgewater Park flew at me while The Police reviewed my driver’s license and registration. And I ran, I ran so far away. I just ran, I ran all night and day.
I lost the seagulls and wandered the streets of Tremont. You could imagine how hungry I was. Luckily, Sokolowski’s was open. I ordered pierogi and a slice of coconut cream pie. I met a girl there named Eileen. She asked me what I did. I told her everything I don’t do and she said, “you don’t drink, you don’t smoke, what do you do?” I said, “Come on Eileen!” I was not in the mood for stupid questions.
I ditched Eileen by telling her my number was 8675309. I went outside. On Literary Road a lady dressed in white was sitting at a desk in her driveway.
“You there, come quickly!” she said.
“Look into my microscope and tell me if you see an amoeba or a paramecium.”
“Just do an old lady a favor and look into the microscope, please?”
When I looked into the microscope an intense flash of light pierced my retina and knocked me off my feet. She blinded me with science! I woke up three hours later. My velcro wallet and my money were gone.
My head felt as light as 99 luftballoons. I needed to get to Dollar Bank to withdraw some money. I saw a man eating a bucket of chicken across the street.
“Excuse me sir, can you tell me where the nearest Dollar Bank is?”
“East 9th and St. Clair, at the Galleria.”
He seemed friendly. I was grateful for the location he provided, but I was a long way from the Galleria.
“Thanks for your help, Mr. –?”
“Mister’s the name. Nice to meet you!”
“Your name is Mr. Mister?”
“That’s right. My father, and his father, and his father before him were real gentlemen.”
“Well that’s mighty decent of you sharing that information with me, Mr. Mister.”
“Are you alright, son?”
I explained everything that had happened. Mr. Mister was sympathetic. I could tell that he wanted to do something for me but I knew that he had little means. He handed me the bucket of chicken. Inside were some crumbs and a few bones.
“Take these broken wings and learn to fly again, learn to live so free.”
“When we hear the voices sing, the book of love will open up and let us in.”
“Take these broken wings.”
I gave him his bucket back. And I ran, I ran so far away. I just ran, I ran all night and day.
I ran over the Cuyahoga River across the Hope Memorial Bridge. I ran to Public Square and sat down on a bench. I drifted to sleep. I awoke to the sound of pigeons eating bread at my feet. A little man with floppy dark hair in a politician’s suit was seated beside me.
“I hear the secrets that you keep when you’re talking in your sleep,” said the little man with a warm smile.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying to me, dude.”
“The name’s Dennis. I used to be a big deal around here. And I think you better come clean with The Police!”
Like that, Dennis was gone. Suddenly a couple of my high school buddies named Clarence and Jackson appeared from nowhere.
“Boy, I haven’t seen you guys in years!” I cried.
“Man, you haven’t changed one bit!” said Clarence.
“I see you’re still wearing parachute pants,” said Jackson.
“Yeah, I’m a little behind with the times.”
“What you doin’ downtown?” asked Clarence.
“It’s kind of embarrassing. Clarence, can you give me a ride?”
“Striking out? Well count me in. I’m gonna stand right by your side through thick and thin. Ain’t no doubt, gonna win. A walk through hell ain’t bad compared to where we’ve been. Oh you can depend on me…over and over…over and over. Know that I intend to be the one who always makes you laugh until you cry. And you can call on me until the day you die. Years may come and go. Here’s one thing I know, all my life you’re a friend of mine!”
“Oh shut the hell up and LET’S GO!”
Clarence and Jackson took me home. Which brings me to you, Gabby. How do I get my Chevette from the impound and apologize to The Police for running out on them?
Stuck in the 80s
Dear Stuck in the 80s,
I regret to inform you that Gabby wrote her last column 12 years ago. I’m guessing right about the time you were commiserating over Jessie’s Girl. My advice for you is to shed the Members Only jacket and go see the new Mel Gibson movie, Braveheart. If that doesn’t do it, there’s always the O.J. Simpson trial which is heating up. Of course who can think of having so much fun when Y2K is right around the corner. Seriously man, it’s time to raise the roof and do something with your life! Call that Eileen girl you met at Sokolowski’s and take her to a baseball game. Man, that Albert Belle can hit!
Still Partying Like It’s 1999