I HATE Being Right All The Time....

 

Two days ago, I repeated a tired joke about an old friend.  I wanted to touch base with him but only had an office number, and I couldn't get past his evil robo-secretary.  This made clear that he was a very busy man, maybe even busier and more important than he was planning to be when he went into practicing law.

The joke about him is this:  "He's such a shitty driver, I can't believe he's still alive after all this time."  This gem of wit dates from when we first knew each other.  He was the first driver I ever rode with who really scared me.  He was a leadfoot, usually more or less stoned when he drove his friends anywhere.  And he was an even worse driver under the influence, which is really saying something.  Most people, fearful of a drunk-driving charge, are verrrrrrry careful when they get behind the wheel knowing they're impaired.  Not this guy.  He floored it, laughing, being careful to take the corner on two wheels just to show you he didn't care if he died along with all his passengers.  Of course, scary or not, those are simply good times when you're a teenager.

I finally got fed up trying to get past the front desk at his work, and let it drop.  For, what, a year or two?  Quite a while, anyway.  You know how it is.  You get busy with other things and it slips your mind.

 But then I had some luck finding other people we both knew, and I took up my lance, got on my donkey and tilted at that windmill, I mean robo-secretary, again. 

I was stymied once more.

So I just got on Google two days ago, after making that joke again,  remembering again all the good times we had.  I immediately found a fresh photo of him.  I was pleased to see that he'd finally slimmed down the way he wanted -- the photo on his office website showed the same old tub of lard I knew in high school.  He was even smiling in this new photo, which is astounding.  It's not easy to get him to smile.

So I hit "visit page" to see what the occasion was for the posting of this trim, confident-looking, happy-seeming photo of my friend.  Promotion, maybe?   Did he follow in his dad's footsteps and successfully run for office? 

He was killed in a car crash.  His fault.  On a side street with a low speed limit, right near where we both grew up.  He rear-ended the other driver so hard that she was on life support at the time the article was written.  He was killed outright.  At least I hope so; one article I found on the accident said he died on Sunday, the day after the accident.

I still miss you, man.  Wherever you are, be happy.