The Coke Boy

As a teenager in the summer months, I spent most of my evenings and weekends waitressing at a local coffee shop. Pouring coffee, taking orders and clearing tables left very little for joyful amusements.

Untill on hot day in July. A new table came in and the boss seated them near the window seat in a booth. It was a middle aged couple with a younger blond fellow about my age. Cute blond fellow at that.
I went over to their table to take the order. "Two B.L.T.'s, a cheeseburger and two coffee." the older gentlemen requested. I left the table to put the order in to the kitchen when the young blond fellow stopped me. "Can I get a pitcher of coke," he asked. I smiled a devilish grin and replied, "Of course."

I hurried into the kitchen with my order filled two cups of coffee and quickly drew a picture of a can of Coke A Cola on a slip of white paper and hurried back out to their table to deliver it.

I placed the coffees in front of the couple and with a shy smile placed the picture I drew in front of the blond fellow.

Well, he picked up the picture and laughed, he laughted so hard he almost cried. And with that, he said,"This is the finest pitcher of Coke he every had."

They ate and left shortly after.

Later that evening around closing the phone rang, I answered the call. "Is this the waitress that serves up a fine pitcher of coke he asked."

"Yes," I replied.

And so he asked me out for dinner the next evening.

We went out a couple times that summer, he was staying in town with his aunt and uncle for a few weeks. He was eighteen, I was sixteen.
It was one of those teenage summer romances.

Time flew bye, and he would be leaving to go back to college that fall. It was our last evening out. I got off work at three in the afternoon and packed a picnic lunch. He came to the resturant to pick me up and I left my car parked there.

I was sad and hurt that he had to go. He lived in B.C. too far to really keep in touch. During the picnic I had a little emotional fit over my broken heart and stormed away to walk back to my car.

When I arrived to the resturant to pick up my car, there on the hood of my car was an empty can of Coke. Undernealth it was a note, it read.

I met you by a picture of Coke, so by a can of Coke I do depart.

May You always Remember,
May I never forget.

Signed The Coke Boy.


And that is a true romatic tale of Coke A Cola in the summer of 1990.

Rushing For Nothing

Lately it seems like we are always rushing.
KIds hurry and eat your dinner.
Hurry and put on your shoes.
Hurry and tidy you rooms.
Hurry....
Hurry....
Hurry....
Why all this rushing through life?
If we slowed down would the world fall apart?
We sure act like rushing could be moment between life and dealth.
How silly?
If I think about it, maybe slowing down isn't so bad.
I might be late a little more often, but so be it, if I can have one more scoop of potaotes at dinner, sit on the toliet for an extra page of reading, apply two coats of shaving cream in the shower, or play two games of Crazy Eights with the kids. Life would seem a little more focused, and a heck of alot happier.

So I challenge all you folks to slow down, take it easy, and poke around alittle. You might even like it.

Zero or Hero

Growing up in a small northern town allowed for memorable times with some interesting folks. One fellow, in particular, etched himself into my soul with just a simple gesture. He was the man the whole town called "Zero".

As a child I would see him as my family and I would drive into town. He would often be walking along the bridge in the early morning, a green jacket and hood bundled around him. Where he was going or coming from no one knew.

Some thought he lived under the bridge, the crazy man. I was once told he was a wise and wealthy man in his youth, but he was brutally attacked, his tongue was cut out, and he was left for dead. He survived but with loss of speech and so he became a recluse. Of course as I grew older I realized much of this was hogwash, but curiosity about Zero still plagued my mind, for none really knew anything about him.

Once I started high school I would see him more and more. Sometimes he would be walking the streets carrying on a highly animated conversation in meaningless mono-syllables with an imaginary friend. More frequently I would see him with broom in hand sweeping so hard as if to wish he was sweeping the world away. Shovelling snow, picking up garbage, always in his signature green parka. He never spoke to anyone, but by gesturing with his broom or shovel, he was able to communicate offers to do clean-up work and the local businesses would pay him token amounts to do just that.

After I graduated I got a job working for highways. Early one morning I stopped at the convenience store to grab a coffee. Behind me in the line-up was Zero. Feeling light-hearted that day, I put down my money on the counter. "This is for two coffees ? mine and my friend behind me." I was running late so I just turned and smiled at Zero and quickly left.

Months passed and one afternoon I got together with some friends at the local coffee shop. We grabbed a window seat and there in the parking lot sweeping the world away was Zero. One of my friends commented that he was watching us. Zero suddenly paused from his sweeping and entered the coffee shop. He passed the counter and came straight to our table. Feeling a bit uneasy I smiled at him. He looked at me for a few moments, then nodded his head under the green hooded parka. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a dollar bill, pointed to my coffee and set the money on the table in front of me. Then he left.

One of my girlfriends commented, "See, that’s why they call him Zero." I never told them why he gave me the dollar. Perhaps I didn’t want to share our secret. But from that day forward, when I would pass him on the street, I would look up and smile, and under that green-hooded parka, with twinkling eyes, my friend would smile back.





This piece was on my Mother's blog last year, for those whom didn't have a chance to read it here it is again.

The Weedle on the Needle

Recently I found a children's book about Seattle and the Space Needle. So my question for you today, is what is on top of the space needle and how did it get there?