Treasure Hunt

An early Sunday morning drive takes us out to my aunt and uncle’s house. A fall chill in the air, leaves turning.  I can see my breath in the outside air, and make puffs like I’m a dragon.  My sister and I are once again antagonizing each other in the back seat of the Ford LTD station wagon.  Thankfully for Mom and Dad, it’s only a short ride across town, and up the winding drive.  As we open the door we are greeted with hugs and kisses, the smell of turkey with inside the bird stuffing, and the sweet smell of fresh pumpkin pie.  Two of them.  I think I could eat a whole one!

“There’s something for you somewhere in the garage....”, my Uncle says to me.  He let me go on my own because he says I'm a big boy now, out to the detached two car garage behind the house.  I run across the back yard, nearly squealing with anticipation.  Gloves fall to the ground, I'll pick them up later. 


A leaf rake tips over as I fling open the door, like a rusty accidental booby trap.  It startles me, and I lean it back against the shelves where it was before I bumped into it.  I look behind the fan of the rake, to see if my treasure was hidden there.  I’m looking for a small, palm sized box. Dank and musty, sawdust, old paint, the lawn tractor that was far too big for their yard. The smell of earth and chemicals.  Every tool ever manufactured.  Table saw, radial arm saw, band saw.  All the tools of the serious weekend craftsman.  Clutter everywhere from past and current projects.  Nothing for me around the table saw.  I contemplate turning it on, just to hear the high speed motor wind up to hum.  I’m not supposed to play with the tools, though. Nothing under the paint rags.  Is it behind the rusty cans of wood stain?  No.... I know, it’s under the seat of the lawn tractor!  No, not there, either.....  The sun cuts lines across the work bench through the square windows in the garage door.  I have to squint to see in this gray afternoon light.

Look at all these cool tools!  Three different sized ratchet handles, big tin snips, a dozen paint brushes of different sizes and shapes.  What does this thing do?  I’ll have to ask my uncle to show me. What is that?  Is that it?  Buried behind some baby food jars full of nuts and bolts, all sorted by size.  Yes, that’s it!  A crisp cardboard box, with bright yellow and navy blue paint, and a picture of a car on it!  I found it! I found it!  Which one is it? I carefully pull open the box end flap and remove the little diecast car.  It’s an orange dump truck, I LOVE IT.  I can’t wait to take it in the house and show it to Mom and Dad!

My orange dump truck will join the rest of my Matchbox cars, in my carrying case with the Ford GT40 on the front. It won't leave my hands even when it's time for pie, though.  I will cherish my treasure hunt cars forever.
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All these years later, and I'm fortunate enough to be an uncle now. I plan on sharing my love for pocket sized toys with my sweet little knucklehead nephews.  I’ll hide them around my place, and hopefully, they will enjoy the hunt as much as I did.  I still have those little metal cars......  I am also a proud collector of all tools, both power and manual.

Move Aside, I'm On A Mission

It’s really too early for this. If Mary Jo says I look like I have a bad case of the Mondays again, I may have to knock a couple teeth out.  Looks like someone beat me to it, though. Dentist much?  Get out of my way moron, I need to be on the elevator.  Just nod and look interested while Barry tells you about his weekend at home making sweet, sweet love to his wife that he calls The Human Vacuum Cleaner.  Yeah, funny story Barry.  I’m sure your wife would appreciate it, too.  Oh thank God the doors are open.  Sprint towards the bathroom and lock the door, so Barry doesn’t follow you in to crack jokes about how cold and deep the water is while I pee.


Crack the door open.  The coast is clear now.  All quiet, except for the cackling hen house laughter coming from H.R.  I seriously wish I was a ninja, and I could swiftly and silently move towards the break room right now.  Time for blood. Nectar of the Gods.  Mainlining caffeine would be the only other choice, but I’ll take a big cup of fresh coffee.  Boy, I need to wake the heck up. Oh sweet!  Leering Crazy Girl from the 5th floor is not here.  She gives me the willies.  No, literally; she gave me a wet willy while I was eating lunch and reading a book one afternoon. I cried silently at my desk after that.


I grab the flammable powdered creamer. (didja know it was flammable?  Try it out sometime.) My Hazelnut creamer was in the fridge last week, but somebody ganked it.  I turn to find an empty pot.  Well, it’s not completely empty, it’s got like an ounce of coffee left.  Who does that?  You couldn’t fit in the last ounce?  You couldn’t take a sip out of your cup and add the rest?  Why didn’t you make a fresh pot?!?  I look around, and there’s no sign of anyone.  Normally I can’t get away from these nimrods, but now? When it REALLY matters?  I can’t find a soul, let alone the jackass that couldn’t take the minute and a half it takes to make a fresh pot of coffee.  I’m a simple man, I can live without a lot.  But I’ll put an ice pick through your forehead if I find out that YOU were the one who screwed me over.  I mean, come on, people, it’s not like you actually have work to do or something.  I walk by your cubes, you’re playing farmland and sudoku all freaking day.  Put down your donut to free up your hand and MAKE A FRESH POT.