Crazy Path

​Scene One – GLAZED DONUT – Heights Restaurant, Madison, Wisconsin, April 2019
 
French press, dark roast coffee nips my tongue. China cup clinks the saucer below. Brazil roast did she say? A barista brings a scone, butter, and cloth napkin. I dunk a blackberry, lime scone into my coffee and recall my first dunked donut. 

Dad, Uncle Wally and I sat on stools at a counter in Ace Diner at 50th and Bluemound Road in Milwaukee.  My feet dangled above the floor like tetherballs at the end of skinny ropes that swing in the wind at my playground. Dad and Uncle Wally submerged an end of one-half of their donuts into brown stained, steaming mugs of Joe. Hills Brother’s Coffee, the neon sign glowed in the early morning light above the counter.  I dunked a glazed donut into a glass of milk just like a man.
 
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Scene Two – DECEMBER SANDWICH – Greyhound Terminal, Milwaukee, Wisconsin August 1976
 
We sip vending machine coffee from Styrofoam cups. Scratched, Plexiglas windows fail to block late summer’s simmering heat. I finger a soft vending machine donut while we wait for my bus to Chicago. “I’ll save my treat to have with coffee at home.”
 
“I’ll get you a sandwich from the vending machine,” Dad says. “You’ll be hungry on the bus.”
 
He hands me a ham sandwich. December is stamped on the cellophane wrapper. “This sandwich is either old or quite fresh.”  
 

Scene Three – BAD CAR ORDER – Amtrak, Empire Builder westbound, January 2010
 
The conductor shouts into crisp morning air below my sleeper car window, “Bad car order. Bad car order.” 
 
We’re headed for Portland, Oregon. Or so we think.
 
“What the hell is a bad car order?” I yell.
 
Squinting in the early morning light, Minot, North Dakota, is barely visible on the sign above the station entrance. I grab my cellphone. Six o'clock in the morning and 30 degrees below zero is not good news for bad cars.
 
Thirty minutes later the conductor knocks on our bedroom door.  “We’re taking this car out of service. You and your wife will transfer to Greyhound for the remainder of your trip.”
 
“We don’t want to travel two days on Greyhound.” I step back from the door.  “We have first class tickets and want comparable service. We’ll move to another sleeper or coach on this train. And, what the hell is a bad car order?”
 
“All the other sleeping cars are going to Seattle and no Sleepers are available for Portland.”
 
“Then we’ll go to Seattle. Please find us accommodations on this train and kindly figure out how to get us to Portland after we arrive in Seattle.”
 
Thirty minutes later the conductor appears at our door. “You may have my bedroom, at the head of the train until I can find you a vacant sleeper to Seattle. On arrival in Seattle, you ‘ll transfer to the Surfliner in business class for the remainder of your trip to Portland. There’s instant coffee for you in my bedroom.”
 
We move to the conductor’s bedroom. Thirty minutes later he knocks on his door.  “I found you a bedroom to Seattle. You can move when you’re ready.”
 
The next day, our train makes an unscheduled stop. I glance at the snow covered Cascade Mountains with trepidation. I can’t see a train station, highways, homes or evidence of civilization. Thirty minutes pass and the conductor reappears.  He hands me two plastic wrapped ham sandwiches. “Sorry, the dining room is closed due to lack of power and the engineer is out of time.”
 
“What do you mean out of time?” I ask. 
 
“The engineer has to stop after twelve hours at the controls. Federal regulations. He’s out of time so we stopped to change the crew.”
 
“Why didn’t you stop sooner? There’s no crew here. All I see is snow covered mountains. I think we passed a town about an hour ago. Why didn’t you change the crew then?”
 
“We weren’t out of time an hour ago, but we’re out of time now.”
 
“Obviously, so how will you transfer the crew? I don’t see any roads.”
 
“Snowmobiles.”
 
“Snowmobiles? You’re kidding me.”
 
“Nope, the engineer wants to be paid for a full twelve-hour shift.”
 
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Scene Four – CRAZY PATH – Blast House Studios, Madison, Wisconsin, March 2019  

Friday night was such a bad scene.
Stood me up or so it would seem.
Stop the car the light just turned green.
What the hell does all of this mean?
 
       Somewhere in the distant past,
       Monkeys got a hallway pass.
       Chance to throw a forward pass,
       Life just took a crazy path.
 
Monday morning gave no warning.
Tuesday night was pure delight.
Placid, happy, or contrite,
What is left and what is right?
 
       Somewhere in the distant past,
       Monkeys got a hallway pass.
       Chance to throw a forward pass,
       Life just took a crazy path.
 
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Richard Wilberg, MS, PLCC, ACC 
Creativity Coach for Personal Fulfillment and Career Success
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