Riddle me this.....

How many Auto Zone workers does it take to change a light bulb? In east Texas, the answer is three. The first poor bloke to ‘help’ me, Ron, took a bold approach to making conversation as he struggled to remove the dead taillight bulb.

‘You know, this is why you get married. So your husband can do these things for you’. I somehow resisted the urge to slam the trunk on his head.

‘Nope, actually, that’s why I’m paying you to do it.’  Brian, the power-tripping manager was breathing down the neck of Todd, the only employee who was actually working on fixing my taillight. Todd finished up and asked if I needed my fluids and tires checked before I hit the road. I thanked him, but informed him I’d checked it all yesterday.

‘By yourself?......’ I thought I heard Ron say, quietly.

You can take the tennis pro off court, but she will still demonstrate a great one-handed backhand when tossing tortillas off a bridge. While waiting on UPS to deliver my JetBoil backpacking stove to Caidon’s doorstep, we decided to kill time before I left town. We bought two 24-packs of Mission flour rounds and headed to MLK bridge in downtown Waco. The objective is to fling the tortillas from the bridge with the perfect amount of lift and velocity to land it flat on a lone pillar in the middle of the river. About 20 tortillas in, things started getting technical and, of course competitive. My heart sank time and time again as I watched my failed attempts sail down to the water only to be instantly destroyed by dozens of  ducks whose quacks seemed to taunt me for sucking. 

‘Caidon, I think it’s a wrist motion, right? So we’ve got to transfer the weight forward and flick the wrist at the last second. Am I doing it? Which way is the wind blowing? The taco size works better than the fajita size. Do we have more taco ones? AAAHHHH, close! Dammit! I need another.  THIS IS THE LAST ONE?! Ok, I’ve got this……………………………………………………………………..……. shit’.  

The next stop was a short one, visiting a friend who has more patience and wisdom than I might ever achieve. Over Texican food we talked tennis, jobs, Tour de Polka, and relationships. I told stories of my days as a promo girl and of working in the psychiatric penitentiary last summer (as an intern, not a patient, mind you).  Right before we parted ways, he offered me a bit of advice.

‘Don’t ever sell yourself short, Darrah. You have a lot to offer this world. Own it.’ Those were beautiful words that offered me immense encouragement while asking nothing in return. Beautiful. He put cash in my palm and insisted that I use it for the benefit of Tour de Polkahontas.

‘That’s completely unnecessary,’ I assured him. ‘But I promise I will use it for something awesome’. The search is on.