So I told you I would tell you a story yesterday, and here goes.
But before I do that, I interviewed at America’s Lender today. I knew something was up when the posting on Monster said “Sun Valley Loan”, and when I pulled up and asked, no one had heard of that place. I walk in the building, and I am greeted by a very pregnant cat. Classy. They stuck me in an interview room and left me waiting for 20 minutes, and in comes Nick. The title for the position I am interviewing for is “Loan Officer.” What does it turn out to be? High pressure phone sales for mortgages. Cheese and rice, people. I’m not gonna spend all day on the freakin phone tryna talk someone out of their life savings. When asked what my salary goals were, I said 30k. Aim low, right? “Oh you’ll need to make much more than that to stay employed here.” Okay, I don’t have a problem with more money. But taking it from an 85 year old widow? Yeah. I have a problem with that. Nick, the guy that interviewed me, wants me to call him back at 3:30 and try to sell him something as a demonstration of my skills. Keep waitin, Nick. I’ll get right on that.
Anyway, back to my original story. I used to be a youth minister for my local church. I did it for about 3 years, and I loved every second of it. I quit because I’m an idiot. That’s all you need to know for now. The Missus will confirm this though.
One day, we had a guy come to the church that was a couple years younger than me, and he needed some help. You see, the person who was giving him a place to live had said that he couldn’t live there anymore, and he didn’t have a job of his own. What he did have, surprisingly enough, was a lot of power tools in his car. Tools that he could use, he said, for any kind of work anyone needed for some cash.
You seeing it yet? Cause I didn’t.
I am a very trusting person. I took him to my house, and got him fixed up with some clothes and such, and the church put him up in a hotel in a nearby town for a week. While we were at the house, he looked at me and said, “Is that yours?” The item in reference was a 13 foot long surf rod, for catching really big fish. “Yes.” I replied, because it was indeed mine. “Do you just leave it out like that?” he asked. “Yeah, its a small town and we really don’t have to worry about theft. Besides I just paid 35 bucks for it. It’s not a very nice rig.” His response? “So you just leave it out?”
You seeing it yet? Cause I didn’t.
One day that week, I was down the street at a friend of mines house. We were outside doing something, and our wives were inside the house. As we stood there talking, a little black Pontiac Sunfire comes down the street. This Sunfire has a fishing pole sticking out of it. A big fishing pole. About 13 feet, if I had to guess it. What did I think? “Oh! Ol boy probably wants to borrow my pole, and I wasn’t there to ask! I’ll just head for the road and give him permission.” Yeah. That’s how trusting I am. It’s pathetic, really. So I head down to the road to give this guy permission to use something he’s already borrowed. The second I put my hand up to flag him down, he tramps on the gas, and flies around the corner.
You seeing it yet? Cause I finally did.
I ran, and made a huge mistake. At that point in The Missus’s and my lives, we owned a Mustang. Not a GT, but still, by all means, a fairly quick car. The other vehicle? My trusty 1995 Chevy 1500 with 4.3 liter V6 engine. A great truck, with one fault. It has a governor that causes the truck to cut out at 100 mph. Guess which vehicle I got in to pursue? Yep. My trusty truck. In hindsight, that was stupid. We get out on the highway, and we start a high speed chase. He is weaving around cars left AND right, and I’m racing down the highway to this tune. RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA click raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA click raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAA. You get the idea. I can’t go faster than 100 and everytime the governor kicks in, it slows me back to 90.
He got away, but I knew where his hotel room was. He wasn’t there. Smart move, douche. I talked to the manager of the hotel, and he was nice enough to let me into the room, to see if I could find any clues. What did we find? Around 764 beer cans, a half naked chick claiming to be his girlfriend, and one wicked pissed off pit bull. Oh yeah, and a bunch of power tools. Guess he dumped those so his car would run lighter if he encountered any trouble on his get away. The hotel manager kicked the girl and the dog out, and I didn’t hear from the guy until later that evening.
(sobbing) “Travis?””Yeah, man.””I’m so sorry I stole your pole. I’m gonna give it back. I just want you to forgive me first”(incredulously) “Really? Cause that was pretty stupid, and you could have gotten both of us killed.””I know, I know. I’m so sorry. Do you forgive me?””Yeah man, I forgive you.””Meet me at Albertson’s tonight, and I’ll have your pole.””Alright, I’ll see you there.”
You see it? Cause I didn’t.
He never showed. Where is my pole now? It’s on sale at a pawn shop in Muskogee. $15. I refuse to go buy it back. It’s a matter of principle. I thought about filing a police report, but geez. It’s $15. I did learn something worth a lot more than 15 bucks though. People are not always what they seem to be. And no matter how nice you are to someone, they still might bite you smooth in the ass.
Where are my fishing poles now? Right out in the open, in plain view of everyone. Let a man borrow your fishing pole, he catches fish for a day. Let a man steal your fishing pole, and he can get a couple of Big Macs, and maybe more “quality time” with the hooker staying in his hotel room.