Over the weekend, I was on the lookout.I had my eyes peeled, as the old expression goes, for something lighthearted to write about. I desperately needed to get back to what I enjoy most, …
Over the weekend, I was on the lookout.
I had my eyes peeled, as the old expression goes, for something lighthearted to write about.
I desperately needed to get back to what I enjoy most, which is trying to be funny.
Early yesterday afternoon, I had to run to the office downtown to pick up something. On the way there, I saw an unusual sight.
I saw a dog driving a car.
Bingo. Subject matter.
It was white with a pink tongue hanging to one side. It was a small dog. I think it was a poodle.
There he sat, paws at 10 and 2, looking bright-eyed straight through the windshield. He was as excited as he could be, and I don’t blame him. I love to drive, too.
Obviously, I am confident he was standing in the real human driver’s lap, and I just didn’t see the real human.
That’s probably because when I saw what looked like a dog driving a car, my eyes locked on it and I didn’t see anything else.
On one hand, I was disturbed to see a dog sitting in the driver’s seat with its paws on the wheel. I’m not a real big fan of people who hold their dogs in their laps while they’re driving; and I seem to be seeing more and more of it.
On the other hand, however, the dog seemed to be fully engaged in what he was doing. He was watching where he was going. He wasn’t looking down at his phone or trying to dip a French fry in ketchup.
I was excited to write the driving dog story until I realized that no matter how much I stretched it, I couldn’t get 600 words out of it.
I got what I came for at the office and was leaving when I ran into a couple who was down there looking around. We get lots of people down there looking around. This couple, however, seemed very interested.
We got on the subject of business in that area of town. They obviously had some entrepreneurial experience; and even better, they were looking for a possible location for a project they were brainstorming.
I took them inside and gave them the tour. We talked for several minutes. They were quite personable.
Later that afternoon, Kim and I went to get something to eat. While we were out, another acquaintance called to see if we could meet him to talk about a project he was thinking about doing.
We met him at the office and talked for 45 minutes or so.
When we got home, Kim and I talked about how strange it was that two random things like that happened on the same day.
Maybe we’re doing something right, we concluded. This positively must be the universe pulling in our direction.
Then she said, “Your shirt is on inside out.”
I have dressed myself for 50 years. Let’s just say for the sake of argument I wear two shirts a day.
That’s 36,500 times I’ve put on a shirt.
What are the odds that I would have two out-of-the-blue potentially important meetings on the day of the 36,501st shirt change?
They’re probably about the same as the odds of seeing a poodle driving a car.
(About the writer: Barry Currin is founder and president of White Oak Advertising and Public Relations, based in Cleveland. “Stories of a World Gone Mad” is published weekly. Email the writer at firstname.lastname@example.org.)
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