The dream came back and I managed to win.

I have had this recurring dream for years where somehow I save New York. How I save the city I never seem to know, but my pickup gets destroyed in the process.

Of course the mayor wants a big photo op and a big to-do.

I just want my pickup replaced. Just like the one that got destroyed.

Now my pickup is a 4 cylinder manual transmission basic model. It has roll up windows. I bought it that way because I like things that way. I like simple machinery.

I want my damned truck replaced and that is all I want. Just my damned 4 cylinder manual transmission small pickup.

Well, I am up on stage surrounded my the media as the mayor gives me the key to the city and they unveil this $125,000 behemoth.

I take one look at it and say in front of God and everybody, "I don't want that damned thing. I just want my little pickup replaced with what I had."

The mayor looks stunned and I blow up again. "I told you specifically I didn't want some monster truck. I can't afford to run it, insure it or keep it in repairs. I'm a simple fuckin' sailor and I am what I am. Keep that stupid behemoth. I'll walk home."

The mayor loses it and calls me an ingrate.

I shot back "If you had any understanding or any compassion at all for the basic working stiff you wouldn't be trying to palm off a white elephant like that on him. Some of us live responsibly."

With that I walk off and out the door.

Now it is an election year and his opponent chases me down and tells me to call a certain member of his staff which I do. We meet the following day and I describe my old truck to him and he takes careful notes.

Then my mouth runs away with me and I tell him about my favorite truck. The one I had in the good old days. 

It's about a month later and two weeks before the election when I get a call and I show up at the proper time and place.

The press is there and I have to listen to a bunch of bull$hit about this and that and what a great guy I am and finally they unveil the truck. I am stunned and tears run down my face.

It's a faded powder blue '62 Dodge step side with a slant six, a four speed manual transmission, a bench seat with a manual choke, and a throttle cable. There is a heater but no radio and a gun rack in the rear window. It has been totally rebuilt by some custom shop and is in brand new condition except it doesn't have the new car smell. It has the vague smell like someone spilled a beer in it about a week ago.

I pull the seat forward and there is a brand new sleeping bag folded in behind the seat. Then I look at the floor and see the mats are simply pieces of an old conveyor belt. I peel one up and lo and behold, there are holes carefully placed there suitable for dropping beer cans out. Instead of rust creating the holes they have obviously been carefully placed there by a craftsman.

Now the candidate is smiling big time because he knows he just belted one out of the park. He turns to me and confesses "I don't even know how to start this thing!"

I laugh and hop in and leave the door open so he can watch. I stamp on the gas pedal three times, pull the choke out all the way and turn the key. "Wagh wagh wagh VROOM!" says the truck as it lights off. It's running a little rough. I push the choke in about halfway and explain that it has to warm up a bit before I can take off. It smooths out as I slide the choke in halfway.

A few minutes later the temperature needle lifts off the peg. The choke goes in all the way. I take the candidate around the block and drop him off after giving him my thanks.

An hour or so later I am out of New York on an Interstate headed west. I pull out the throttle and listen to that Slant Six hum and smile all the way home. I am more than quite content.

While I do not drink and drive anymore I make an exception. I pull off the highway and buy a single beer and get back in the road again. I sip the beer and enjoy myself. When the beer is empty I reach down, lift the mat and drop the empty out onto the pavement where it rattles and bangs around. It came out from between the rear wheels of the pickup and any cop behind me just know I couldn't have thrown it out the window. The can just HAD to have either been on the road or been thrown out by the driver of the car ahead of me and been caught in his slipstream.

As I am enjoying myself watching the can rattle around through the rear view mirror I ask myself how many people are going to call me an idiot for not accepting the enormous behemoth and I laugh like hell. They don't have a clue. I am a simple man that likes simple things.

Maybe this will be the end of the recurring dream because this time I came out a BIG winner.


A month later on the news I hear where the candidate that gave me the truck won in a landslide.


To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY