The Birth of Something Great

I feel like my hands will short the mic from holding onto it so tight as if it were a gun. The man across from me seems to be playing the negotiator with his calm slow movements towards me. I really don’t want to cry in front of nearly 4,500 people especially if this is recorded. The broad built man with the deep raspy voice wearing the wireless mic headset comes closer to me. I can barely maintain eye contact feeling so inadequate to speak up.

               “So tell me Richard, why do you want to kill yourself?” He asks confidently while moving steadily in. His eyes never leave mine. The room is so still, the air is stagnant – not a movement or sound as if it was all vacuumed out.

               “Look…I just can’t…” I fail to maintain my composure and start to crash. Wishing that somehow I could just disappear right there.

               “You came here because you DID want to change!” The motivational speaker stands there with his coaching voice giving comfort but with stern lips.

               “No…it’s over…I don’t know what I want in life…” I say with weakness. Inside I know just what to say but can’t gather the reasoning to get it out.

               “Don’t lie to me, you know that deep down you have something to give back. You’re not going to quit, you know that you won’t let yourself quit.”

               “I’m…useless…I can think of so many reasons…” I stop there now fully consumed in my emotions unable to navigate through my words and just fold over and give up. Why did I come here?

               “I can think of so many reasons of why you shouldn’t do it. First off…” He pauses and starts to smile at me, “…you’re a very handsome man…has anyone ever told you that?” I look up with a grin and start to laugh. This is ridiculous, this man is paid to say these things all so that he can accrue enough readers and up his publicity. He doesn’t care how I really feel. I shouldn’t have come here. What a waste of my –

               “Second, you’re a person who possesses the strength to enter in a room of over 5,000 people to MAKE A STAND AND END THIS PAIN…I know you’ve had these thoughts for years, right? If it’s anything I went through, you’ve probably stayed awake for endless hours at night contemplating the quickest, painless way out because you felt that you had no place in the world and that you were never heard and weren’t taken seriously. You’ve probably looked at your peers around you supposedly taking off with life as you were supposedly left behind and that you were still that child who still walks and acts like one inside…haven’t you?”

I stand there motionless but have the courage to look right back at him in the eyes. Suddenly I see that he is in tears as well. Now standing in front of me, he looks down at me (he is a very tall person),

               “In fact, you’re probably so tied up in your own self-criticisms and inner judgments, that its sometimes hard to breathe…and that you would do the world a favor by slipping quietly out the back door…so not to disturb anyone…” We are both in tears. His hands rest on my shoulders,

               “Well…let me tell you what I see in front of me today. I see raw courage – in the flesh. I see so much strength and honesty. You see, we are all creatures of habit and comfort and will take the easy road out 99.999 percent of the time. But you, Richard are not taking that easy road – NO, you have had enough and are changing your life – RIGHT NOW.” He points downward with intent to emphasize the ‘right now’ part.

               “Richard, look around you.” I take a quick glance over to see others with damp eyes and are seated in motionless awe. Are they compassionate? They sure do look like it.

               “Do you believe that no one cares about you? If you do…you’re wrong. I’m not a gambling man, but I would take that to Vegas and you and I could split the winnings.” Some laughter follows as I find myself cracking a smile.

               “Richard, you are too hard on yourself. And just like you and the rest of the world, we have this nagging voice in our heads – not like we’re actually hearing things, but more like its our own voice telling us that we are not good enough, we’ll never make it, we’re too fat, we weren’t supposed to win – whatever it tells us, we believe it. The only thing you need to do with this nagging voice is to STOP BELIEVING IT." He steps back for a moment, "I don't know what it is, but I feel like you have a great mission ahead of you in life. You were meant to be a beacon to those around you who need your help, what would you like to do in your life. I know there is a masterpiece of some sort you would like to build, what is it?."

I stand there for a good while thinking about it, then suddenly my world is better. How could I not see this before? Of course. I have always wanted to help others who are in my shoes and to give back. I never saw it until now. A burden has been lifted. I put the mic up to my mouth, "I want to create a university that helps people with problems like mine."    

Rocko's Killing Machine (Part Halo/Gummo Night)

Rocko’s Killing Machine is

Max = Drums

Riley = Rhythm Guitar

Charlie = Bass

Tom = Lead Guitar/Vox

Jake = Keyboard/Everything else

Josh = Extra buddy

Ted = Extra buddy

Carl = Extra buddy

Matt = Extra buddy

“THIS ISN’T ART!” Ted shouts out for everyone to hear as we watch this absurd movie that Riley wanted to show us. Laughter follows after Ted’s critique. Personally I don’t get what is going on here. So far we’ve seen a man in a rabbit suit smoking while crouched down on an overpass bridge while an old lady sings a folk song, and then these kids are trying to work out in someone’s basement while their mom comes down and starts to sing to them about how a tornado killed the people that used to live in that house all while she is wearing an eye patch, and then there is random footage of house cats…yeah I have no idea what is going on.

          “This movie makes me want to kill myself,” Matt says in a mild manner.

          “KILL YOURSELF THEN!” Riley blurts out to Matt very much peeved. Some are laughing in the room. “SHUT UP! I can’t hear it!” Someone else calls out.

          “There’s nothing to hear,” Another says followed by some snickering.

          “OK, that’s it. Let’s go back to Halo, c’mon. My house, my rules.” Josh says as gets up about to turn it off.

          “HEY! It’s almost over!” Riley says sharply while folding his arms.

          “Over? Nobody gets this movie but you.” Josh says as he hits the eject button followed by the lights coming back on.

          “I’ll fight you for it,” Riley stands up now.

          “Dude, hands down you know I can kick your ass. C’mon let’s just play some Halo,” Josh says with a reasoning tone. Riley disregards by trying to lean into him which of course is never a good thing, Josh is pretty built on top of being over six foot. Plus, he has Irish blood. He can definitely throw a mean left hook, but luckily for Riley's sake, he is really level headed.

          “C’mon Riley! Don’t start what you can’t finish!” Charlie shouts out. Riley is in a hold by Josh. They at first block the TV then work their way over to the side of the room with grunts and wheezing. Meanwhile, I lean in to turn on the machine and uncoil the controllers and the rest of us begin the game. Some playing start to lean in abruptly as if trying to dodge other characters in the game.

          “YOU’RE AN IDIOT!” Shouts Carl

          “You’re the one who died,” Charlie laughs at him.

          “Hey did a Mark get a new motorcycle?” Someone asks.

          “What do you need that for when a normal bike will do?” Jake asks

          “Well it’s not that new,” I clarify then continue, “You have to kickstart it, that’s cool I guess,” Music comes on in the background.

          “Story of the Year! I love these guys! WHOA IN THE SHADOWS…”

More grunting continues with the lights flashing as a lamp gets kicked over.

          “C’mon Josh! Just knock him out already!” Charlie yells as she dies in the game.  

Travels with Ultra Blue (Part Granparents' Visit)

I pulled my bike onto the sidewalk. Took a moment to stretch and came to the grips of reality having reached the peak of my journey. I stepped to the porch and knocked on the metal screen door. The lights were off, it was still quiet. The knocks were deafening in contrast to the silence. I thought in complete horror, “What if this wasn’t even their house? What if they moved? What if I’m waking up an ex- convict? What if the bike croaked while being turned off? What if?” The living room lights came on, the door creaked open, “Marky, is that you?”

 “Yes, Grandma, I’m here.” She looked over my shoulder towards the bike and with a reluctant look asked if that was mine. I agreed. “Well, park it in our driveway around the back. There are people    out there who have stolen things.” I kick started it and it felt more alive – the bike. It was for some reason louder, touchier, and wilder. I parked the bike in their driveway then went inside through their backdoor. A dim faint light came from the hallway to a bedroom. There was a whisper, “Perez, its Mark, he’s here.” Grandma came back out to welcome me in.

“Here’s Grandpa,” she kindly whispered. Entering the room was a small glow from the nightstand alighting his small bedside table littered with rows of clear orange medication bottles, their labels foreign to my uneducated eye. My grandfather looked so worn and used. His eyes half open yet still glowing at me with kind humor. Much like a favorite shirt, worn over and over again, he portrayed that same faded wrinkled mortality. I reverently approached his bedside. He greeted me with a smile and a hug.

             “So good to see you.”

  “You too Grandpa.” I embraced the moment and felt I had reached the boon of the journey' until he asked,

“How did you get here?” Grandma jumped on the response,

           “He took his motorcycle Perez!” 

           “A WHAT?!” he then sputtered,

“I thought you took the bus, had I known you came on a bike I would’ve said ‘forget it, just send me a postcard.’” Now that that was out of the way we conversed about what was new with my parents, school, and life. In the middle of our conversations he would cough violently almost as if his inner facilities were mustering hard to clear all the excess saliva, mucus, and anything else that was clogging the pipes upward against the current through his throat and then his mouth and then into a Tupperware bowl. The whole process was painful to watch. He had lost all of his hair and was dying very quickly. His voice was gentle and weak. You’d have to lean forward to listen and speak up to talk. He eventually grew tired and Grandma excused us.

Rocko's Killing Machine (Part Garage)

Rocko’s Killing Machine is

Max = Drums

Riley = Rhythm Guitar

Charlie = Bass

Tom = Lead Guitar/Vox

Jake = Keyboard/Everything else

I sit there trying to concoct a rhythm on the snares for another song but it’s not coming out the way I want it to. “Hey where do I come in again when you do that…” Riley says as he stops himself while replaying the little piece that Tom made for him. Tom walks over to him with a pick in his mouth and takes his guitar from him with his head down. His flickering fingers possesses the strings and looks up giving me a dead stare while lost in his thoughts, trying to remember how it went. “Something like that, let’s take it back to the beginning. Charlie, start us off,”

She starts off with the bass strumming out the strings leading into something loud. Her part is like that rabbit trail that winds and turns into a dark tunnel in the forest and right when you go through the tunnel – YOU BECOME DINNER! AND IT’S TOO LATE TO RUN! That’s where we all come in blasting the music through the paper thin walls of Jake’s brother’s guesthouse. Tom shouts away at the mic with Riley as his backup, “DID YOU FORGET ALL THE PROMISES? DID YOU FORGET ALL THE PROMISES?”

We made a deal with his brother that we could use his flat on the weekends as long as we walked his dogs while he was away on business – and we didn’t leave a mess or break anything.

               “No, no, no stop, stop. Riley, you jumped in too soon.” Tom shouts as Riley holds out the instrument surprised and annoyed. “I jump into that one thing when Charlie finishes her deal. Just like we talked about.” Tom thinks about it, “Yes and no,” Riley steps away from the mic stand, “Well I thought it sounded better! Jake! Where you at?”

Jake sits there on the couch with a bowl of cereal watching cartoons, his hand goes up, “Present!” Riley joins him, “We’ve been at this song for like four hours. Can we work on the lineup we had originally?” He finishes as he snatches the remote, “This is the final showdown song! This will shut it down next week at the Robin's nest." Riley flicks through the channels.

               “But I thought the chester song was going to shut it down?" Riley counters. Charlie starts up another part to herself as Tom is yelling over her to Jake, “Let’s have you come in on the part at the end, then we’ll see how that sounds.” Charlie slowly quiets down as she looks at the television, “Hey they still have that show? This show was my religion, seriously.”

Jake looks confused, “What was this show?” Charlie smacks him on the head, “Where you locked up in a box dude? It’s that kangaroo cartoon. I remember this one, he buys this psycho vacuum cleaner and realizes that it has a mind of its own and it takes over the neighborhood. Classic.”

I finally figure out that one part and get going on what I wanted to do while shouting to myself with the beat, “Rocko’s killing machine! It was Rocko’s killing machine!” Suddenly I stop myself and notice everyone staring at me. “What?” I ask. All of them stand up as if they are witnessing a miracle, “That’s it, we finally have our name.”

"Please don't hit me."

“Its freezing out here,” I say to myself as a recent acquaintance and I are outside in the parking lot. “C’mon, just let it out. Say what you really want to say, stop messing around this time.” Carl dictates to me. Ok, I thought. I’m just going to say it. I get in a firm stance and take a step forward and then out comes, “Hello Mr. Thompson, I think that the company has been successful because of me and I could really benefit from seeing a promotion.” Carl stands back observant. “How was that? Good?” I ask with little confidence. “…What are you doing? I hate to sound mean, but it sounds like from what you told me earlier that most of your life, you've been a door mat, and it’s not just your job, it’s evident in life. You hold the door for everyone and settle, settle and settle. Look, the key to all this is to get mad. You need to stop worrying and start getting furious. How many accounts have you created for these guys? How many sick days have you EVER taken, none right? How many new employees have you trained?” I stand there buzzed by the amped up motivational speech. “More than anyone can count,” I say to him as he gets closer to my face, “Exactly! John, what is it that you want in life? Why are you so ‘stuck’? You know what you need to do, SO DO IT! You are an asset to this place, so stop being so passive.” Carl appears very emotional about this sort of thing. Honestly it all started as a friendly conversation with him and he asked me what it was that I do for work and forty minutes later, he’s suddenly become my ‘life coach’. “You aren’t going to hit me, are you?” I ask Carl to which he looks at me absurdly, “What? No!”

“Well it just feels like it because we’re in a parking lot at night and you're yelling and all and this sort of looks familiar from that one movie with Brad Pitt and that Ed guy.”

“John, you’re missing the point here! Stop thinking and start feeling! You know that deep down inside you deserve better, you have worked your butt off here and have devoted most of your functional years helping this company grow and how do they show for it? By giving you a new desk? That’s from what you told me earlier. No, no, no. These guys are playing you. You deserve a whole office with furniture, a freakin secretary, a new company car with a gas card – the works!” Carl turns away from me walking back to his car.

“Look, its easier said than done! I’m not like that. I am a quiet guy who just wants to do my job.” I say that while watching my cold breath in the night air. Carl stops in his tracks and returns back to me with a stern look. If he wanted to, he probably could kill me and hide my body. Next time (if there is a next time) I will think twice before griping to a complete stranger. “Just wants to do my job?” He repeats what I said in disgust while I go into flight mode, running away from him as he continues to shout at me, “You can have anything you want in this life, but you have to sacrifice something! You could continue down this path, but you are giving up the potential respect others could have for you! OR...or you could sacrifice your fears and gain growth and ownership to everything that you already should have been entitled to. And get off of that fence, I'm not going to attack you!”  

"It's not you, I just felt like climbing this, that's all!" I shout down to him while holding on for my dear life. "John, I'm not leaving until I hear what you need to say to your boss, from the heart!" He barks up to me. I stay there attached to the fence with the sharp pains in my fingers from the grips of the ice cold chain links. I close my eyes and start to shout, "Listen dammit! I’ve been working for you guys for the past 8 years, and I demand a raise and a promotion or else I’m walking out of here to someone who will pay me for what I’m really worth!" I open my eyes only to find him running towards his car and speeding out of the parking lot with two police cars chasing him with their lights and sirens.  

"Can't start a fire without a Spark!"

I’m tired. I’m weak, and have been extensively chewed out at work and I don’t feel like running. I just want to veg out and shower then pass out in bed. I think this to myself as I defiantly slip on my sneakers and decide to run anyways.

I scroll through my playlists followed by threading my headphones through my shirt so that the wire doesn’t catch. It’s currently 8:35 at night and I have a four miler ahead of me that I am previously committed to. So many problems and worries I am encircled with that give me logical reasons not to run right now. I should be solving them, but no time now that the first song has come on.

My left foot goes forward. I feel the music to my breathing and pace. This doesn’t feel so bad, I could do this all day as I’m already a block from my apartment. Crossing Evans Street, then Warren. My knee starts to bug me, no worries, I can make it. Crap, shin splints. This is really uncomfortable. The next song is more amped than the last one. I just need to keep going. Slow and steady.

The pain subsides as I maintain momentum. At this point, my breathing and movement are constant like that of a locomotive’s engine pulsating with power. Temple hill, this one is the mother of all hills in our town. This is going to suck. In spite of my weaknesses, I push through and give it hell with my head down. I quietly take it all in with gritting teeth. My quads are on fire and calves are doing overtime. I internalize all the bad things that have happened to me from today to a year ago. I contemplate my deficiencies and automatically map out solutions to them.

“How can I improve my relationship with my girlfriend?”

“How can I make sure that those stray dogs stop knocking over my trash cans in the alley?”

“What is the best way to organize our trend charts with the current software we are using at work?”

“How can I get more involved in my community?”

I made it up the hill. Still going strong. Yeah buddy. Lightning strikes. I flinch to the sound even over the music in my ears. Hail, wind, and downpour. I can barely see and with the added weight it’s starting to break my stride. Its all for me to overcome. More than halfway there with less than two miles to go. Small branches are knocked over in my path. All I can do is imagine them as life obstacles. I hurdle over the first one, “This one is for self-pity,” Another further up drops down now with the rain coming in sideways. “This one is for laziness,”. My street is coming up in the foggy distance past dotted red and green traffic lights. Mr. Collins and Springsteen are blasting as I race against the traffic lights before they turn red. I can feel myself being cheered on. I am the Frodo of my own journey and it all depends on me for how I shape my destiny. I can’t back down now, I must finish strong the whole way. I can’t give up, I can’t quit. The light turns yellow with me sprinting to the next stale green light. Almost home! I can do this! Why did I ever think that I couldn't?

I make it past the last light right before my apartment. The rain clouds depart from the skies and there is peace resting upon me as I bow to the ground winded and drenched. "I did it," I think to myself. "I did it,"       

Crescent Heights High, 1998

“Where’s your sister? I thought she was with you.” I ask my other near 18 year old daughter as she climbs into the passenger seat of the Aerostar. “She was at band practice! She should be over where the buses are.” Tammy replies as she slams the door. The traffic is never a breeze getting through the stop and go’s. I always get white knuckles when passing through worrying that some sporadic kid will run out from between the parked cars.

“Mum! Mum! Pull over here real quick!” Tammy shouts at me causing my heart to nearly leap out of my chest. I negotiate finding an open spot amidst the clogged mess of yellow buses and fellow vans. Her window rolls down followed by a loud ‘Hey Travis don’t forget my G string when you bring over the Gibson on Thursday!’ She falls back into her seat laughing with closed eyes. “Really?” I say to her, “Was that necessary to shout that for everyone to hear?” Tammy leans into me with a hard nudge, “Oh c’mon mum, we're not seven anymore, besides he knew what I meant!” I see Alicia standing there with her guitar case strapped to her back, talking with some other girls that I don’t remember seeing before. “What did she do to her hair?” Tammy asks glued to the window. “Who?” I ask. “Michelle! She changed it back to blue! I was supposed to change mine to blue!” Tammy says rather annoyed. “Whatever, she’s a --” I lay my horn down to get Alicia’s attention along with my hand waving her over. She glances at me confused then trails over to us. “And by the way, we don’t say that about others. How would you like it if someone said that to you?” I question Tammy. “I’d beat’em up.” She says as her face stays fixated outside.

The side door slides open with Alicia trying to get her things in. “Hurry up, you’re late!” Tammy calls out. “I was about to get on the bus. What’s going on, mum? Why are we being picked up?” Alicia asks. 

“I know, today is a little hectic. I actually need to drop you both off at your dad’s tonight instead of Friday.” Tammy sits up in her seat, “We’re going to dad’s tonight?” I glance over to her with a slight nod while cautiously going through the last school controlled intersection. “I have night classes this semester. Anyways I figure we’d stop by and grab dinner on the way. I don’t know what his plans were but I’d feel awful expecting him to feed you on such short notice.”

“Hey mum, guess what? Today Mr. Sherman said that law school would be my calling, I know its only a couple of months from graduation, but I was thinking Columbia.” Alicia says to me.

“Mr. Sherman is a class act pervert and he was probably hitting on you.” Tammy replies back.

“Shutup Tammy!”

“Ok, ok, you know what Tammy that’s not true. I’ve met him before and I actually think very highly of him.” I say to Tammy while watching my left turning on red.

Tammy laughs under her breath, “Mum, I heard him say you were hot once.”

“Just once?” I ask with mild disappointment.

Alicia leans in from the rear middle seat, “I hope dad doesn’t make us fold laundry all night in the basement while blasting Mike and the Mechanics.” Tammy laughs with a moan of pain, “Mum, you do realize that we were supposed to practice tonight and every other night up until Garage Warz? We only have a month left and we are nowhere near ready!” I crawl to a stop at a red light and try to sit back and breathe a little bit. “Well I just see you girls already as amazing artists!” Upon finishing that I am met with a hug from behind and a kiss on the cheek. Tammy rolls her eyes again, “Mum! Just because you are supposed to say that doesn't mean it's true!"

By the time I pull into the drive thru, the radio is cranked up with my daughters singing along to Sinead O’Connor. “Alright what do you girls want?” Tammy leans over me to get a closer look at the menu. “Aw mum, why didn’t we go to the one over at the Sunridge Mall, they give you more curly fries.” Alicia protests. I grab the steering wheel with one hand to turn back to her, “Well you will just have to deal with it. This one is on the way.”

"Mum, I'll have a number four." Alicia says in a more humble tone.

"The same but can I get a coffee with mine?" Tammy requests sitting back into her seat.

The drive thru lady hands us our food in exchange for a stack of toonies accompanied with a smiling thank you. "So we changed our band name...again." Alicia announces to me. "Ok," I say while pulling onto Edmonton Trail heading north trailing behind some light traffic. "Flunk," Tammy jumps in. "We're called Flunk now," 

"Oh," I give myself an adequate space of time to comprehend what and from whom this inspiration came from. "Well..." I go on to say something about the name, "...please don't 'flunk' senior high over this pursuit." I hear Alicia in the back nearly blow her drink through her nose with Tammy laughing, "Oh mum, thank you for being so cheesy," To which I reply a dry but warm 'you're welcome'.        

"The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Music!"

“Let’s start on this end of the table, Dan with the plan! Where are we at with the Indonesian accounts? When can we expect to ….”

Jack sits there counting how many people it will be before his boss gets to him. Do not confuse Jack for the slacker type. He is one who works for the ‘man’ and earns his pay. However, things have been falling out of favor for him recently. With all the good intentions and hard work he puts in, it just never seems to be sufficient enough to avoid what is about to take place.

               

               “No, no, no! That was not what we discussed in that meeting!”

Jack is now only three people away from his turn. He looks around the room in an attempt to find a quick exit. He remembered that the conference room they are in is only three floors below where a maintenance room is located which contains a roof access ladder. He then starts to speculate if 56 floors would be a quick and painless way to die. Jack was never one for pain. He loosens his tie. The bad news will have to be borne. He is next.

               “There is a discrepancy with this date! What? Wrong! Why are you crying? Just fix it! Here, here look at the calendar year and explain your thought...”

His hands start to perspire while they lay flat on the table with his eyes closed. This is it, goodbye. Suddenly his left pocket starts to vibrate.  He peels his head from off the table and reaches into his pocket only to find that his cell phone has a missed call. It is his wife, Emily. He sends her a message,

               

                Jack: Sorry babe, I’m getting burned right now. I will have to call you back, that is if I make it out alive.

               Emily: WE WON!!!!

               Jack: What? What do you mean?

               Emily: BABE WE WON THE LOTTERY!!!

               Jack: I’m in no mood for jokes! I will call you back! I love you.

               Emily: $93,000,000 IS NO JOKE!!!! IT’S ON THE NEWS!!! YOU FREAKIN GENIUS YOUR NUMBERS DID IT!!! GET HOME NOW!!! Oh and uh I love you too ;)

He sits frozen in his chair for a moment lost in his thoughts. Jack is right now a millionaire. He doesn’t even know how to react. His excitement hasn’t quite started just yet.

               “Jack who doesn’t know jack! Maybe if you didn’t text your girlfriend all the time, you could actually get something done! Why did you have the Malaysian shipment scheduled for –”

With that Jack stands up and starts singing an old show tune he heard growing up. His arms are wide open. He pushes his chair back and jumps on the large conference table and proceeds to waltz. He reaches down for his reports and tosses them up and basks in the showering debris.

               “JACK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? GET DOWN FROM THERE!!! ARE YOU INSANE?? SECURITY!! COME QUICK!! I KNEW WE SHOULD'VE HAD YOU DRUG TESTED!”

He does a back flip from off the edge of the table and continues with bravado at the conclusion of his song while at the doorway. The room is silent while he holds on to the last melody of the song and departs. The supervisor stands there with a mixture of mild disappointment and confusion. Someone from the table raises their hand, "Does this mean the meeting is over?"

"Where's Grandpa?"

He waits by the interstate sitting in a lawn chair flapping his gums talking to himself incoherently while rolling his cane across his lap. His knees are shaking with impatience as he watches the 60 mile an hour traffic roar past him. His straw hat blocks the sun from his beet red face, his charred dark skin however gives little contrast to his mocha colored sunglasses and brown blazer. "It's a good thing I wore this suit today, its gonna be a hot one.." He mutters to himself while continuing to move in his chair. A semi blares it's horn going by making him jump in his chair with his cane waving all over. He gives out a high pitched yelp.

His unsettled hand reaches into a cooler beside him and pulls out a Yoo-hoo. While taking it out, a few more cars blast their horns speeding past him. He jumps again making the drink spill over himself, "...they going too fast, umhmm." He says to himself as he attempts to drink the Yoo-hoo again. A swarm of sirens zoom down the interstate this time making him spew his drink out into the air. He starts to shout nonsense at the busy freeway as he gets out of his chair, knocking it over without the help of his cane. His shouts are drowned out by the speeding traffic. "I told you for the last time that you are going too fast!!!"

As he moves over the highway barrier, his hat flies off from the wind of the traffic. Several tires screech and trucks with their trailers slide laterally to avoid the crazy old man who is now in the middle of the interstate. His hands with his cane are waving in the air while shouting for them to slow down. "Old man get out of the road!" A driver shouts at him. "You're gonna get killed!" Another calls out diverting to the left of him slowly. "There are children playing here, SLOW IT DOWN!" The old man cries out manically. "Ain't no kids here grandpa!" A trucker shouts down at him and continues forward.

Many car horns go off at this time as the old man throws his cane at one of the car's windshield. "Easy old man!" A traffic chopper flies in overhead, swerving around the scene. "And that goes for you too! Keep it down! People are trying to sleep!" The old man curses at the helicopter above. "Its rush hour in the middle of the day, what are you doing?" Another disgruntled driver shouts at him. "C'mon! Get outta the way!" A series of state troopers are seen from the distance weaving in and out of the stopped traffic. "That's not for me!" The old man shouts as he clumsily runs back to the shoulder without his cane, followed by a couple of failed side jump attempts over the divider, and finally passing his knocked over chair and through the bushes to hide. The trooper pulls to the side shoulder only to get out and ask, "Where's grandpa?"