Got this frum Ole Newt a few days ago.
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Which way is Oklahoma ?
My wife and I didn't have anything special planned for the recent Memorial Day holiday, so our weekend plans were pretty much the same as usual, with Saturday morning devoted to errands and such, followed by meeting for lunch at a local restaurant.
So there I stood at a local convenience store on Saturday morning, pumping gas and daydreaming while watching traffic pass on the nearby thoroughfare.
A fellow appearing to be somewhat disoriented walked up and interrupted my reverie, asking, “Which way is Oklahoma ? I asked the clerk in yonder and she seemed like she had no idea and told me to come out here and ask you.” "Can you tell me how to get to a road that will take me home to Oklahoma ?" he asked.
Poor old fellow, I thought, looking around the parking lot for the rundown vehicle he must've been driving. I pointed to the road in front of the store and suggested that he stay on it until he reached IH 45, about 15 miles or so west, then hang a right, and before he knew it, he'd be in Oklahoma .
"Well," he said matter-of-factly while pointing at his feet, "Since I'm a-hoofin’ it, it may take me a while."
He walked over near the entrance to the store and with a slight groan, hefted a heretofore unnoticed back pack. In the process of hefting the backpack he knocked his worn cap askew, revealing a nasty scar running through his gray hair from his forehead on the left side to behind his right ear.
Noticing me looking, he explained that it was from a wound he'd received a long time ago in Vietnam . He continued, “I spent a bunch of years in and out of the V.A. with this old wound until they finally told me there weren't nothin’ else they could do for me. Nowadays I just go down there when I run out of medicine and they look me over and give me some more.”
His tattered clothes had seen better days and he had probably a four-day beard, but the thing I most noticed was the despondent expression on his face, along with the forlorn look in his eyes.
I believe that’s why my heart went out to him. I had no idea of the reason for his pilgrimage home to Oklahoma , but I thought of the old adage: "A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.”
Initially, I considered offering to drive him at least as far north as Dallas, but time and prior commitments overrode my good intentions, so instead I asked how he was fixed for cash.
He made a feeble attempt at humor, saying something to the effect that if a bowel movement cost a nickel, he couldn’t afford to break wind, only he didn’t quite put it that way. In other words, he was flat broke.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled some cash from my money clip and handed it to the stranger. I don't feel like I'm struttin’ my own okra by telling y’all about this because I'm sure that in the same situation, there’s no doubt y’all would’ve done the same thing...That’s just the way we Southerners are.
The man was reluctant to take the money. He introduced himself as Byron Cullen and asked for my address, saying he’d repay me once he reached Oklahoma and got back on his feet. I told him not to worry and to just pass it on.
Although I can’t deny the thought that I might have been bamboozled crossed my mind, I've always believed in the old truism that what goes around comes around and was thinking of this as I drove away from the convenience store.
Later that day, I was crossing the parking lot at the restaurant where I was to meet my wife and noticed what appeared to be a folded $100 bill on the ground. I immediately bent down and picked it up, then eagerly opened the fold and inspected my lucky find. The front side of the bill was what appeared to be an authentic $100, however when I turned it over, this is what I saw:
“You can save $100 and more at Discount Dave’s Furniture Store!”
Laughing aloud, I thought, so this is how that old what goes around, comes around stuff works.
My wife enjoyed hearing about my encounter with the nomad at the convenience store over lunch and we shared a good laugh about my “goes around, comes around” $100 bill. I had a splendid day the rest of Saturday, and wished Byron, the itinerant veteran, a safe passage as he made his lonesome way back home to Oklahoma .
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It’s time to wrap this one up and put a (-30-) at the bottom of the page. I trust that you enjoyed the reading as much as I did the writing. Seriously, I hope you liked this piece. If you have time, ping me over an e-mail and give me your comments, good or bad. Hell’s bells, you don’t even have to comment on this piece if you’d rather not, anything is fair game...the economy, cold beer, pretty girls, fried green tomatoes, chicken snakes, fire ants, or whatever floats your boat.
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Which way is Oklahoma ?
My wife and I didn't have anything special planned for the recent Memorial Day holiday, so our weekend plans were pretty much the same as usual, with Saturday morning devoted to errands and such, followed by meeting for lunch at a local restaurant.
So there I stood at a local convenience store on Saturday morning, pumping gas and daydreaming while watching traffic pass on the nearby thoroughfare.
A fellow appearing to be somewhat disoriented walked up and interrupted my reverie, asking, “Which way is Oklahoma ? I asked the clerk in yonder and she seemed like she had no idea and told me to come out here and ask you.” "Can you tell me how to get to a road that will take me home to Oklahoma ?" he asked.
Poor old fellow, I thought, looking around the parking lot for the rundown vehicle he must've been driving. I pointed to the road in front of the store and suggested that he stay on it until he reached IH 45, about 15 miles or so west, then hang a right, and before he knew it, he'd be in Oklahoma .
"Well," he said matter-of-factly while pointing at his feet, "Since I'm a-hoofin’ it, it may take me a while."
He walked over near the entrance to the store and with a slight groan, hefted a heretofore unnoticed back pack. In the process of hefting the backpack he knocked his worn cap askew, revealing a nasty scar running through his gray hair from his forehead on the left side to behind his right ear.
Noticing me looking, he explained that it was from a wound he'd received a long time ago in Vietnam . He continued, “I spent a bunch of years in and out of the V.A. with this old wound until they finally told me there weren't nothin’ else they could do for me. Nowadays I just go down there when I run out of medicine and they look me over and give me some more.”
His tattered clothes had seen better days and he had probably a four-day beard, but the thing I most noticed was the despondent expression on his face, along with the forlorn look in his eyes.
I believe that’s why my heart went out to him. I had no idea of the reason for his pilgrimage home to Oklahoma , but I thought of the old adage: "A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.”
Initially, I considered offering to drive him at least as far north as Dallas, but time and prior commitments overrode my good intentions, so instead I asked how he was fixed for cash.
He made a feeble attempt at humor, saying something to the effect that if a bowel movement cost a nickel, he couldn’t afford to break wind, only he didn’t quite put it that way. In other words, he was flat broke.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled some cash from my money clip and handed it to the stranger. I don't feel like I'm struttin’ my own okra by telling y’all about this because I'm sure that in the same situation, there’s no doubt y’all would’ve done the same thing...That’s just the way we Southerners are.
The man was reluctant to take the money. He introduced himself as Byron Cullen and asked for my address, saying he’d repay me once he reached Oklahoma and got back on his feet. I told him not to worry and to just pass it on.
Although I can’t deny the thought that I might have been bamboozled crossed my mind, I've always believed in the old truism that what goes around comes around and was thinking of this as I drove away from the convenience store.
Later that day, I was crossing the parking lot at the restaurant where I was to meet my wife and noticed what appeared to be a folded $100 bill on the ground. I immediately bent down and picked it up, then eagerly opened the fold and inspected my lucky find. The front side of the bill was what appeared to be an authentic $100, however when I turned it over, this is what I saw:
“You can save $100 and more at Discount Dave’s Furniture Store!”
Laughing aloud, I thought, so this is how that old what goes around, comes around stuff works.
My wife enjoyed hearing about my encounter with the nomad at the convenience store over lunch and we shared a good laugh about my “goes around, comes around” $100 bill. I had a splendid day the rest of Saturday, and wished Byron, the itinerant veteran, a safe passage as he made his lonesome way back home to Oklahoma .
==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==*==
It’s time to wrap this one up and put a (-30-) at the bottom of the page. I trust that you enjoyed the reading as much as I did the writing. Seriously, I hope you liked this piece. If you have time, ping me over an e-mail and give me your comments, good or bad. Hell’s bells, you don’t even have to comment on this piece if you’d rather not, anything is fair game...the economy, cold beer, pretty girls, fried green tomatoes, chicken snakes, fire ants, or whatever floats your boat.
