Harmful If Swallowed (Entering Nicholas - part two)

My dad would drink Cutty at home but if he was out somewhere that served top shelf booze, there was only one drink of choice.

The Glenlivet.

The was a Mexican restaurant in Long Beach that our family went to all of the time and I can still see my dad sitting across from me performing his ritual with his first double.

He would carefully hold the drink to his lips and take a quick sip.

He would let out a satisfied sigh.

And in a strained voice (that was funny the first time I heard it), he would look at me and say "SMOOTH!"

When his drink was watered down by the melted ice, he would give both my and Number 2 sips of it when the waitress wasn't looking.

I think at 10 years old, I would have rather been drinking lighter fluid. But today, I'm going to order that same drink.

I'm not sure if it is a state law or anything but the next song comes on and it's another 80's hair band. This time, it's Ratt's "Round and Round" (what comes around goes around).

The bartender hasn't acknowledged me yet. She is busy setting up her workstation for the day.

She's also the best looking woman in here.

Very pretty face with just a little too much eye makeup. Her hair is pulled back into a short pony tail. She's got on a tight black shirt that is cut off at the shoulders.

I watch her for a bit as she ignores my existence. I can wait. I know that she'll eventually come my way.

She leaves the bar momentarily and heads to a back store room and I see why she's not on stage.

Her black jeans can't hide the fact that she may have been the inspiration for Sir Mix-a-lot's biggest hit.

Over and over in my head, I keep hearing "L.A. face with an Oakland booty." It finally gets drowned out by Bon Jovi's "You give love a bad name."

The bartender returns and is ready to take my order. She doesn't say anything to me. She just gives me a look that says "you have 3 seconds to tell me what drink you want."

I order a Glenlivet on the rocks and the bartender starts scanning her shelf looking for my order.

I'm distracted by her search and I don't see the butterface stripper heading my way. She puts her arm around me and asks me how things are going.

Great. Now I'm going to have glitter and stripper perfume on me. I think I'll call the Commander as soon as I leave just so she knows where I'm at and she doesn't ask me about it when I get home.

I show the butterface a face a $5 bill and she takes it with her other hand. She leans in and gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek that she drags all the way other to my ear so she can blow in it while she thanks me.

I just feel bad for her and this move had the opposite effect of what she was attempting.

It was an anti-boner move.

The butterface leaves me to hit up the other puds in the club and I turn my attention back to the bartender. She's finally found a bottle of Glenlivet.

But it is nearly empty.

There's maybe half a drink in there and she's not sure what she is going to do.

Out of nowhere, another woman approaches and she is excited. She's trying point something out to the bartender.

I hear an unmistakable French accent despite the fact that "Pour some sugar on me" by Def Leppard is on at an ear-splitting volume.

"Do you know whose drink that is? That is Mr. VW's drink! That is the drink that he always would order!"

I had thought that I would never see this woman again but here she was.

It's Frenchie.

I turn to Frenchie and the bartender and say, "I know that's Mr. VW's drink. That's why I ordered it."

VW

Entering Nicholas - part one

When I was in 8th grade, my dad pulled me out of school for a week to go on a business trip with him to Vegas.

It was the best.

We stayed at the Tropicana when it was the class of the strip. I spent all day at the pool with the wives that were on the trip and at night, we would all go to the shows.

I remember seeing Joan Rivers (back when she was funny) and the Smothers Brothers (who can still be funny) one night.

He also took me to a classic Vegas show complete with topless showgirls.

Probably not the best decision my dad made as a parent but I enjoyed it at the time and I was young enough to not be uncomfortable watching this nudity in front of him.

It's the memory that pops into my mind as I get out of the car and walk to the entrance of Nicholas, the strip club that my dad and his peers would visit after work (maybe even during work?).

There's a red velvet rope that is creating a queue for nobody in particular at the front door. There are two cars in the parking lot. I can hear the thumping of the bass coming from the sound system as I approach.

I'm not even inside and I can tell that this is going to be cheesey.

There's a podium at the entrance too. Is that for valet parking or to pay a cover charge? I'm not sure because it is unmanned.

I walk in and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

This place is smaller than I thought it would be. The DJ is to my immediate left. He is way too excited about this version of "Cherry Pie" by Warrant that he's playing.

Beyond the DJ booth is the stage and a pole. And when I say stage, I really mean about a 10 foot by 10 foot area that is maybe 12 inches above the floor of the club.

There's a stripper on stage still wearing her blue stripper dress that will be off by the drum solo.

I don't watch her for too long. She's what some (okay, me) might refer to as a butterface (as in, everything about her is good but her face). I feel kind of bad for her because she's up there giving her all for the four puds sitting in a strip club in the middle of the day. I put a $5 bill in my pocket just in case she comes by.

On one side of the stage is a series of booths. On the other side of the stage is the bar.

I head to the bar, pull out a stool, and wait for the bartender to turn in my direction.

VW

What's left at your desk?

Number 2 and I used to go to work with my dad all of the time on Saturdays.

We would run around and play with the phones while he tried to get some work done. Afterwards, he would take us to his favorite charbroiled hamburger joint for lunch.

But I hadn't ever been to where he worked for the last ten years.

It was a union hall in an industrial part of Los Angeles.

I was going to have to go there to pick up what he left behind because he retired with no notice and never went back.

I took the day off from work to do this. II had no idea how long a commute I was facing and while I had directions from mapquest.com, I was concerned that I might not be able to find it.

Spent most of the drive not thinking much about anything. It was one of those days when Stern decides to go past 11:00 a.m. with his broadcast and I listen until Fred starts with the plugs before switching over for the last of Jim Rome.

There are not too many cars on the road here. I'm getting a little paranoid because this really isn't a good part of town.

I find the union hall and it is much smaller than what I was expecting. Practically tiny.

I park in the 10-stall lot next door and head to the front door. I hope they're not closed for lunch.

The front door is covered in pro-union swag and is slightly cracked open.

I don't quite know how to describe this place other to say that it feels like a place that men come together. Like a locker room before a football team comes in and stinks it up.

There's a small window like a bank teller might use and a woman working at a desk behind it.

"May I help you?" she asks automatically.

"Yes. I'm VW."

She reacts like a disc bouncing off of the pegs in the Plinko! game on the Price is Right.

I can see each thought appear in her brain. It is written all over her face.

"Oh. OH! I am so sorry about your father."

"Thank you very much. I really appreciate that. I'm here to pick up anything that he might have left behind."

"Sure, sure. Um...I'm sorry. The other secretary has all of his belongings locked up and she's at lunch right now."

"I can wait. Is it okay if I do that?"

"Yes. I'll let her know that you are here the moment she gets back."

I walk around the lobby and find some recent job openings around Southern California. I also see a job posting for a position in my company. I didn't know we recruited here. It makes sense but it still makes me realize that it truly is a small world (after all).

I don't wait long before the other secretary returns. She opens the door and calls for me to follow her.

"I was so sorry to hear about Mr. VW. He was such a nice man."

I thank her but it's strange to hear her speak about my father so formally. Part of that is using first names is an integral piece of the company culture where I work.

She brings me a small box no larger than a shoe box.

"This is everything he left behind."

I thank her for it but I'm disappointed that it isn't more. I'm finding that every thing I come across has a little story to it and I want as many stories as possible.

"I also need to get your contact information. The union has a small death benefit that I would like to get for you and your brother."

That's nice. I wasn't expecting that. It will cover about 1/10th of the funeral but I'm not about to turn it down. I need to start paying that credit card soon.

I give her my information and she lets me know that it will take her about four weeks to get processed.

I thank her for her time and ask if she could make sure she lets all of the union members that came to my father's services how much it meant to my brother and I.

I walk out the door and head back to my car with the box of my dad's belongings.

I open the hatchback to put the box in....and instead I decide to open it now.

I need to know if I've found more treasures.

I open it up to find......receipts. Lots of them. Just like I found at his house.

The disappointment of the receipts is replaced when I find something that I can't explain.

It's a boxing award.

I read the inscription and it starts to make sense. A group presented this award to him for his contributions to a youth boxing club. It's seems strange that I didn't know this.

There are a couple of letters in the box labeled "personal" (I'll think about reading them later).

And then I find the treasure.

It's a handful of pictures of my dad that I have never seen before.

I flip through them quickly as sudden cloudburst of tears obscures my vision.

Why am I crying in parking lot in a scary part of LA?

I wipe away the tears and get in my car to leave. I'm feeling like a jackass right now and I hope nobody saw that show.

I pull away from the union hall and head back down the street that I drove in on.

I almost get out of the area before a business establishment catches my eye. I had heard the name of this particular enterprise on many occasions and had seen plenty of receipts from this place at my dad's.

It's where my dad and his friends hung out after work.

And instead of going back home, I found myself making the left turn into a new parking lot.

It was 12:30 p.m. and I was going to have a drink.

At my dad's favorite strip club.

VW

Another ER Christmas

(Please excuse this out of order story. I thought it was too good to wait for. VW)

My family has a pretty unusual Christmas tradition. It involves somebody taking a trip to the emergency room.

Typically, that somebody has been me. As a child, I had a pretty tough time with asthma. I don't have too many memories of these visits other than my Mom retelling them for the billionth time.

There was another time when my dad awoke on Christmas Eve to find me pinwheeling in the bathroom. After getting cleaned up, this led to another ER visit.

I do recall going to the emergency room on Christmas when I was a tweenager. A bloody nose lasted for several hours. Finally, I passed out from the blood loss as I was asking my Mom to go to the hospital.

I managed to avoid the ER for a while on Christmas but the Commander hasn't been that lucky.

Ten years ago, she was driving into work when she was t-boned by another driver that ran a red light.

As I sat with her that day, I realized that I was going to be proposing as soon as she was back on her feet.

It had been a while since we had the opportunity to have another ER Christmas. I shouldn't have been surprised that we were going to have one this year.

This time, it was for the Chicken.

We have been passing around a cold here for the last week and the Chicken was the last one to get it. Unfortunately, it went right to her ears and she developed a painful ear infection.

We were visiting my Mom and her husband in San Diego on Christmas Day when it became apparent to the Commander and I that Christmas was prematurely over due to the Chicken's ears.

We scooped her up and left our presents behind (Number 2 was there and he was going to bring them to us tomorrow) and headed to the urgent care facility near our house.

Unfortunately, urgent care was closed and the emergency room was our only option. I quickly scanned the parking lot and felt like we might be able to get in and out quickly as there were not many cars in the lot.

There were only three groups of people in there ahead of us and I had a chance to scope things out while the Commander checked the Chicken in. There was a young couple sitting across from me that both wore pained expressions. I couldn't tell if both were hurt or if they were both that annoyed because the Chicken was screaming so much.

There was a lady sitting next to me with her shoe off. Looks like she sprained her ankle.

And there was an entire family sitting in front of me. They all shared the same mournful expression.

The Commander returned to where I was sitting and we passed the Chicken back and forth like Cal Bears return team scoring that amazing touchdown against Stanford. The Chicken wasn't happy with being with her mom and even more unhappy to be with her dad.

A nurse came to get the Chicken's vitals and the Commander took her in,

There's a football game on in the lobby. The Vikings are getting eliminated from the playoffs. Today's Times is sitting next to me and start thumbing through articles.

I also figure out what is going on with the family sitting across from me.

There's a mom with a bad mom hairstyle. She's probably in her mid-forties.

The grandma is there. She still has her apron on. It looks like they came her in a hurry.

Grandpa is there and on his cell phone (downright flaunting the ban of use in here).

There are two teenagers here too. A boy and a girl.

The boy looks like every other blond haired kid from the rich part of Orange. He doesn't look sad for the right reason. He looks like he's sad because his Christmas just went to shit.

The girl is crying. She's the older sibling. She's wearing clothes that she's really not old enough to be wearing. A tight black turtleneck sweater with equally tight jeans that disappear into a pair of brown cowboy boots that must be awkward to wear.

She is the only one crying.

The door that the Commander and the Chicken went into opens and two men come out.

One man is crying and wiping tears away with a wash cloth from home. The other is holding the older man's shoulders.

They both approach their family.

I pick up a paper and try to read an article but the story unfolding in front of me is more interesting. All of the players fall into place.

Grandma has just died. Grandpa and their only son have returned to the emergency room lobby. The in-laws have been waiting with their daughter and her two children.

The two grandfather's leave together. The widower just wants to go home and be alone. He is sobbing.

The son looks...relieved. This wasn't a sudden death. He tells his wife that his mom just wanted to make it through Sunday and she almost did. He has some additional paperwork to fill out and returns to the desk.

The teenage girl explodes in tears. She's mad that she didn't get to see her grandma before she passed. He parents wouldn't let her.

I want to tell her that it is going to be okay. That the memories that she has of her living are more important that of the missing memory of her dying.

I hear the Chicken let out a howl in the other room. Two words, rectal thermometer.

The living grandma is now explaining to her sobbing granddaughter about the circle of life and I just want to yell at her.

She's seen the Lion King. She gets it. It just hurts right now.

Grandma changes the subject and asks if everyone had a chance to taste that meat she cooked because it sure was good.

The Commander and the Chicken return to the waiting room and it is my turn to hold the Chicken.

Once a bed opens up, we'll be in.

The dad returns to his family and they are talking about funeral arrangements. The Commander thinks it is weird but that was what we were doing immediately after our dad passed.

The Chicken arches her back and lets out another howl. They family across from us packs up to leave.

I make eye contact with the mother. She gives me a slight smile. I nod at her.

She knows what I'm going through and I know what they are going through.

A different nurse calls the Chicken's name and we all go into the emergency room together.

We pass by all of the people that we had been waiting with in the lobby. We also pass a bed that appears to be the current resting place for the dead grandma.

The Commander holds the Chicken while I'll hold her new Snoopy plush that Galaxy Girl just gave her.

I'm glad the only reason we are here is an ear infection.

VW

Treasure Hunt

As a result of cleaning out my dad's house, I have found quite a bit of treasure.

Nothing of monetary value mind you. Just artifacts from both my life and my dad's life.

I had a red file cabinet in my dad's garage that still contained the debris of my teenage years.

I wouldn't have opened up these memories if it wasn't for my dad's passing. And I can't tell you how funny some of these things are. So from time to time, I'll share with you some of these items.

The first is a note from a girl that I pissed off if some sort of strange and vague way. (All the spelling and grammar errors are hers).

It reads:

VW,

I'm sure you outgrew the notewriting "game" a few years ago, but I can't face you right now.

If you think it's childish throw it away right now and you'll never know why I'm mad at you.

There isn't just one reason I'm mad it's quite a few. For one, ever since Monday you haven't been talking to me, at least before I was mad.

(alot of girls think the same)

I guess I'm not actually mad as in angry, just something is telling me that I should be a little bit angry.

(that may sound stupid but it's true)

Another thing before I go on PUT THE BOOK DOWN FOR A WHILE!!

I hope you found out what you wanted to know even though I seriously doubt it!

PS Keep it away from Mitchell, Emmett, Star, ect, or I'll really have something to be angry about.

Love, Staci

I sat in my dad's garage trying to figure out when this note was given to me. From the other people mentioned in the note, it was probably from the summer of 1987 but I'm really not sure.

I'm not even sure I know who Staci is.

I'm left with a faded piece of construction paper and more questions that I just don't have answers to.

VW

What keeps me going...

I am constantly fighting the urge to say two simple words sum up how I feel 10 days after my father's death.

These words are...fuck it.

I want to give up. I want to not feel. I want to stay at home and watch Springer all day.

But I don't. It's not responsible and I have always been the responsible one.

It is a struggle. I feel like so many of the lessons that my dad taught me over the years didn't really get him anything.

Work hard and then you die.

I'm having trouble figuring out what the point of it all is.

I know that I need to get back into work. Get back into being a husband and a father. Get back to normal.

A new normal.

A different normal.

Monday comes and I unpack at my new cube. There's a welcome sign their from the two other Training Managers that I share this area with.

It says, "Welcome Home." It makes me cry (but that isn't too hard these days).

I don't know if that is a good thing or a bad thing. Is it home because I spend too much time here? Or is it home because I'm a part of something special at work.

I'm not really sure. It could go either way.

I start unpacking and I find another reminder of the friendships that I've made here at work.

Shortly after the Chicken was born, I told some people at work what my Mom did when she first saw the Chicken.

My Mom immediately unwrapped the blanket and checked all of the Chicken's fingers and toes.

"Mom, what are you doing?" I asked. "I told you already that she had all of her digits."

"Oh, I was just checking to see if she had web feet. It runs in our family, you know."

I didn't know that and (like the black godfather story) it entertained some of my friends to no end.

In fact, a couple co-workers took the time and effort to paper my cube with pictures of the Chicken but with duck feet instead of regular feet.

These pictures were put EVERYWHERE. They even told me that I would find more years later.

And now I'm unpacking after my second move in two years.

And I'm finding more pictures of the web-footed Chicken.

I spend all of Monday unpacking and getting ready for a class that I'm teaching on Tuesday.

I don't like the class very much. I don't know if I teach it very well. For the most part, I try to get through it without getting any of the content wrong.

I get asked if I'm ready to teach the class...if I'm ready to be in front of people.

I'm not but I recognize that I need to back into the swing of things.

The class ends up going very well. I get great feedback on the five-point Likert scale that we use for our class evaluation.

I leave the class feeling pretty good about my performance but I'm still a bit indifferent to being here at work.

Springer is still sounding good.

And then I get an email from one of the class participants:

VW,

I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for the work you do. I've had the pleasure of taking two classes with you as the instructor. In both classes I obtained a lot of knowledge about the resort and how to better myself as a Cast Member. I love the fact that you share the knowledge in a fun way and are not afraid to crack jokes. Many of the classes I have taken have been very dry and seem straight from the textbook. You, however bring a spark of excitement and energy to the content. It's nice to see that you KNOW what you are teaching. It is obvious that you understand what it is you are talking about and have done the work to make sure you can answer any questions that may come up. It doesn't come across as though you are reading it from the power point and making it up as you go. It shows that you have a knowledge of the subject and a passion for what you do. I look forward to having the opportunity to sit in on more of the classes you may teach.

Thank You Again,

A class participant

It finally hits me.

It's not work hard and then you die.

It's the impact that you can have on others that is what matters.

It is knowing that when you move to a new cube, somebody is there to welcome you.

It is knowing that when people like you, they are willing to go through the effort of pulling a prank on you that will last for years to come.

It is knowing that sharing a little knowledge can pay dividends that most of us will never see.

In my own way, I am making an impact.

And for right now, that is what keeps me going.

VW

Why I hate Dish Network or Early Termination

It was time to pull the plug.

Number 2 and I were ready to hire movers to get everything out of my dad's house and it was time to disconnect his Dish Network subscription.

During a break in the painting, I phoned their customer service line knowing that I was going to have to tell them that my dad was dead and that his viewing habits were going to be extremely curtailed.

It took a while to get past the customer service phone tree and to a live person.

"Thank you for calling Dish Network. May I have your account number?"

I read the account number to the customer service representative.

"Thank you very much, Mr. VW. How may I help you today?"

Here we go....

"I'm calling on behalf of my dad. He passed away a little over two weeks ago. This was his Dish Network account. I need to cancel it."

"Okay, Mr. VW. Why exactly are you wanting to cancel this service?"

No she didn't. She didn't just ask me that.

"My dad was the subscriber. He is now dead. He will no longer be watching TV."

"Okay, Mr. VW. Is there anyone else that can take over the contract?"

She's joking with me, right?

"No. My dad lived alone. He died alone. And now my brother and I are removing everything from his property."

"So neither you or your brother can take over the contract?"

I'm about to lose it.

"No. I'm with DirecTV. My brother doesn't want cable. And frankly, I'm not too impressed with Dish Network right now."

"Okay, Mr. VW. Unfortunately, your father did sign a one-year contact with us. Because you are ending the service prior to that one-year commitment, there is a $250 early termination fee."

"Well, I'm sorry that my father didn't live up to his end of the bargain, literally. But I can't believe that 9 days after I bury my father, Dish Network is going to ask me for $250 because we are canceling a service that nobody is left to watch."

There's a moment of silence on the phone and then I hear...

"I'm sorry, Mr. VW. I'm going to have to transfer you to a Dish Network representative that can help you with this situation. Please wait on the line.

I'm fuming outside when Number 2 stops and asks what I'm doing. I give him a look that he's seen time and time again.

Leave me alone.

He goes back into the house and I stay on hold listening to all of the great programming that Dish Network has to offer its' living subscribers.

A new customer service representative gets on the phone. Within minutes, she's agreed to waive the early termination fee. She just needs me to fax a copy of the death certificate. Unlike the other person I spoke to on the phone, she has at least an ounce of compassion for what I'm going through.

I take down her name and my confirmation number. I thank her for helping me out.

"Thank you for calling Dish Network," she says. "I'm sorry that you had some troubles today with us and I'm sorry for the loss of your father."

I feel the rage subside within me as the call ends.

VW

The Moondoggie and Tripper Show

If it is the weekend, I must be back at my dad's house.

Big Daddy gets there before I do on Saturday but only by a couple of minutes.

He goes through all of the rooms and maps out his plan of attack for the weekend. I silently follow his lead.

Number 2 isn't much help with this work. He hasn't said anything to me about it but it isn't too difficult to figure out.

He hates being in this house.

And I don't blame him.

He finally told me that he saw our dad on the floor the night that he died. I'm glad that I don't have that memory.

Big Daddy gets me started in one part of the house and he takes the other.

We paint for an hour or so before being interrupted.

It's time for the Moondoggie and Tripper show and they are starting to bug the crap out of Big Daddy.

It's not even noon and Moondoggie has the latest WT beer cracked open. Tripper has one too. Moondoggie has now stashed a 12 pack in my dad's refrigerator. I think Gidget has him on a limit of beers that he can drink in a day.

The start a running commentary on our work - like the two old geezer muppets from the Muppet Show.

I'm out of the room when Tripper busts out an incredible lie to Big Daddy.

Tripper tells him that his younger brother was a famous sitcom actor that had passed away last year and that is how he got the Mercedes that he drives.

It takes me about 2 seconds to google this claim and find out that he's full of shit.

I no longer want to finish everything in this house to get tenants in. I want to finish everything in this house so I never have to see Tripper again.

The only thing now that is bugging me more than Tripper are the shelves that he built in the kitchen when his ex-wife lived here.

I'm wrong. The shelves aren't bugging me. They are insulting me. It is a personal affront that these shelves exist.

The shelves must be removed and destroyed.

This house won't be right until that happens.

I ask Big Daddy about removing the shelves and he says we can put that on the list.

I ask him if it can go to the top of the list.

He's looking at me funny now. He tells the Commander later that I got really adamant and strange about the shelves.

He's right. I recognize that I am off kilter with these shelves. But even though I recognize that, they still need to go.

Big Daddy takes a look at them and in an instant has the shelves popped off. A moment later, we have the shelves in his truck ready to be disposed of.

Tripper comes by later and the first question from him is "What happened to my shelves?"

I want to scream at him.

There's nothing in here that is "yours."

Everything in here belonged to my dad.

Not you.

Dick.

And now, everything belongs to me and Number 2.

VW

Pennies from Heaven

I don't know what happens to you after you die.

Our nanny, Loopey, left me a copy of the Watchtower that explained death as like taking a really long nap.

As much as I enjoy a good nap, I'd be really disappointed if that is what the afterlife is like.

I'd like to think it is more like what Albert Brooks found in "Defending Your Life" or what Natalie Wood and Christopher Walken discovered in Brainstorm (where you jump around to the best memories of your life for eternity).

I was thinking about this when my Mom asked me a random question.

"VW, have you been finding pennies?"

I had to ask her to repeat the question. It made no sense to me. Why would she ask me about that?

She went on to explain.

"Every few years, Dear Abby runs a story about how when a loved one passes, those that are left behind find pennies all over the place. The story goes that the deceased put pennies near you to let you know that they are thinking about you and that they are okay."

"Okay, I've never heard that story. What's your point, Mom?"

"VW, I'm finding pennies everywhere. I'm finding them where they shouldn't be. I can't go anywhere without finding lots and lots of pennies."

Great. My mom is losing it. Call John Edwards. It's time for Crossing Over.

The pennies conversation ended and I forgot about it until I went to my car the next morning to go get a newspaper.

There were ten pennies in my driveway.

VW

Making the Band

Wanna know a secret?

Work is pretty easy when everyone is pretty uncomfortable talking to you.

At least...that's how it felt upon my return.

Nobody asked me to do anything.

Nobody needed my help.

People would stop by and say "Hey, I meant to call you" or "Are you doing okay?"

I felt kind of bad for these folks so I pretty much kept to myself and continued packing my belongings as I was moving to a new cube.

I ended up doing something weird for lunch. I drove out to Long Beach and ate at my dad's house. I told myself it was just so I could pick up the mail.

I still have no idea what I was doing there.

Before leaving Long Beach to head back to work, I found some rings that I hadn't noticed before. Three of them were pretty cheesy. The fourth was a simple gold band. I scooped them all up and put them in my pocket.

After work, I returned back to my house and my Mom was giving the Chicken a bath.

I typically empty my pockets and place their contents on a desk near the front door.

The gold band remained in my hand.

I took it to the bathroom and asked my Mom if she recognized it.

Her initial reaction to the band was pretty strange.

She went sheet white with her mouth agape to laughter in a matter of seconds.

"That's your father's wedding band!" she exclaimed.

I had thought it might be but I wasn't expecting this big of a deal about it.

"Why are you laughing, Mom?"

"Because when things were bad between the two of us, he had told me that he threw it into the ocean. I can't believe he still had it!"

I couldn't either. Why did he keep it? Why was it rattling around in his sock drawer? What was the point in keeping? And what made him tell my Mom that he threw it away?

It's funny to me that his attempt to hurt my Mom's feelings eventually backfired on him. In the end, my Mom now knows that he cared enough to hold on to the one remnant of their marriage and it was obvious to me that she appreciated it.

By keeping that band and leaving it somewhere where I could find it, he told me everything that I needed to know about how he felt about the marriage that brought myself and Number 2 into this world.

I think, for now, I'm going to hold on to that band.

VW

Back to Work

It starts like every other day starts at work.

Pull into the parking structure and park on the fifth floor.

Take the elevator down to ground level.

Scan my I.D. card at the Security station and show the card to the two Security guys.

Walk to the entrance of the office building.

Go up the stairs to my cube on the second floor.

But it isn't like any other day and not because it's my first day back at work in three weeks.

It's moving day.

I had recently joined a different team at work and I was trading my cube in for a cube about 100 feet away.

I just spent the last week packing everything at my Dad's house and on my return to work I find myself have to pack some more.

It is a mindless exercise to move and that's probably a good thing. I'm having difficulty focusing and while I'm glad to be back at work and back on a schedule, it all seems so pointless.

How is this going to become important to me again?

I got to work early to try to avoid any awkward conversations with people to start my day. It doesn't work.

As I grab a Coke from the break room, I run into that person that you sorta know but you don't really know. I can tell you who this person is and what she does but we've never really had any sort of conversation.

Why is the first real conversation that we are going to have be about the death of my father?

"VW, I was so sorry to hear about your father."

Shields up. Politely smile and thank her for the kind words.

"Do you know what happened?"

Yellow alert! Provide clinical details. Prepare for evasive maneuvers.

The person starts to tear up. She's on the verge of crying now.

"VW. I just wanted you to know that I was so very sorry." She starts to cry.

RED ALERT. ABORT COKE MISSION. MUMBLE A RESPONSE AND THEN LIGHT SPEED TO THE MEN'S ROOM.

I get to the rest room before anybody sees me and I have a chance to catch myself before I'm sobbing in a hallway.

I look at my pager. It's 7:58 a.m.

How the fuck am I going to do any work?

VW

In the pool

I saw the older lady sitting next to her attorney immediately after I walked into the courtroom.

I had one day left before I returned to work. I was going to spend it in jury duty. And this lady's fate was going to be decided by 12 of us that just walked into the room.

The Commander had asked me why I was going to go ahead with the jury duty.

"Call them. Your dad just died. I'm sure they can delay it."

I have to go to jury duty. My dad would've been pissed if I didn't...for any reason. I was going to be there today and it was partly for him.

Juror selection seems to begin the same way every time. With the judge saying, "Hey dumbasses! Just because you watch Law & Order and CSI doesn't mean that you are an expert it what goes on in my court room."

I want to yell "CHUNG GHUNG" after everything the judge says.

The older lady is pretty distraught. I wonder what kind of case this is going to be. DUI? Shoplifting? Whatever it is, she is clearly upset and can barely hold it together.

The the judge tells us she's the plaintiff.

She suing a doctor for malpractice.

A cardiologist.

A cardiologist that she holds responsible for her husband's death from a heart attack.

I want to raise my hand and see if I can get on another case. No attorney is going to allow me to sit on this one.

I imagine what it will be like to have my number called and have to report to the juror box.

"Okay Mr. V.W. We just have a few questions for you. By the way, can you think of any reason why you shouldn't be on this jury?"

"Ummmm....my dad died 14 days ago of a massive heart attack?"

"Mr.. VW. The court thanks you and excuses you."

We spend the next four hours watching jury selection.

I never hear that question directed towards me.

I never get called.

I never have to say in a court of law in front of a roomful of strangers that my dad just died.

VW