This Month's Story

“Paul, where is the bread?”

Everyone was glaring at me. I had been invited to join the Navy mailroom Christmas Party. The Mailroom Christmas Party food was always exceptional and I had worked hard to get them to invite me. But now I was both late for the party and had forgotten to bring the one thing they had asked me to bring: bread. I looked around and spotted a number of loaves in a basket on one of the tables.

“But you have bread,”

“That was brought by Agnes who said that you would forget. Paul, if you don’t bring at least one loaf of bread into this room, you don’t get anything to eat.”

This was from Carol, the head of the mailroom and I could see she meant it. Looking around the room, I could see similar commitments on the faces of the others in the room. I left, promising I would return with bread.

I was at the NASA test site and the nearest place to get bread was in Picayune, a small town about fifteen miles north of the site. I got in my Chevy Monte Carlo and started toward Picayune.

The Monte Carlo was a comfortable car, well broken in with two hundred and fifty thousand miles on the odometer (actually there were much more; the odometer cable had broken several months earlier). It had a large engine and I quickly covered the short distance to Picayune and got the loaf of bread.

However, just before picking up the bread, I passed the Picayune Ford dealership. There sitting in the lot, draped in large banners, was a silver 1989 Ford Ranger pickup with chrome wheels.

It was a heady sight.

As I bought the bread, all I could think about was that brand new 1989 silver Ranger. For years and years I had wanted a pickup truck and there sitting in that Ford car lot waiting for me was the pickup of my dreams.

I wanted that truck!

I decided to be rational about it and not be too hasty. I would just stop and take a look at it and see if I could get them to come down on the price and then think about it for a couple days.

I left the bakery and drove slowly back to the dealership. I drove by twice. The truck was still there. Finally, I pulled into the car lot and parked near the silver Ranger. I realized that my heart was pounding. Climbing out of the Monte Carlo, I began to look at the pickup more closely. It was a beautiful truck. In addition to the fancy chrome wheels, it had a black plastic bed liner, faux–wood dash and semi–bucket seats. The price was just a smidgen over $8,000.

“Howdy! Howdy! Ain’t she a beauty? I can have you drive her home today, no problem. And I’ll get you a good price on your Monte Carlo, too.”

I turned and looked at the salesman. He was almost a cartoon of a short, plump “good ol’boy.” He smiled as if he was as happy as I was that we had found this truck.

“I’ll take it,” I said before I could stop myself. “What do I have to do?”

About an hour later I was driving back to the NASA test site in my brand new truck and joined the mailroom Christmas Party. I still had final papers to sign and needed my wife, Stella, to sign with me. She also worked at the test site.

At the party, everyone was happy and we sang carols, but I was the happiest of all. Or I would be if I could convince Stella what I wanted for Christmas.

Later, Stella looked at the pickup and said a few hard words. But I could tell that she too liked the truck. So, it wasn’t too difficult to get her to go with me back to Picayune and together we signed the necessary papers.

Happy as a bee in a pot of honey, I then drove the pickup home to Waveland. (I found out later, they sold the Monte Carlo the next day.) Stella didn’t say much, but I could tell she was pleased as well.

It wasn’t till we got home that the trouble began.

When Stella sat down and went over the papers she found that, while we both had signed for a twelve–month loan on the pickup, the ownership papers were in my name!

She blew up!

She called the dealership and proceeded to tell them what they done and what they were going to have to do about it. One line I remember from the side of the phone conversation I could hear went, “What do you mean you didn’t think a lady would want to own a pickup truck!! Let me tell you…”

I wandered back to the driveway. The silver Ranger sat there like it belonged. I took the hose and washed some mud that had gotten on the tires. I walked around it and made sure everything was OK. It was. I wiped the windshield.

Stella came out storming.

“They say it will cost another fifty dollars to change the title! I won’t pay it”

“You’re right, honey, that’s a lot of money.”

She glared at me and then at the truck and went inside, slamming the door behind her.

Stella got a car later, a Chrysler New Yorker.

That’s all right.

I still like my 1990 silver Ford Ranger pickup with its chrome wheels and best of all, it’s all mine.