Charles Keefer's Blog

I am so stupid

with one comment

I took my car to get washed today after a road trip that left me with love bug smears over everything.

I will leave where I took it for the wash unsaid.

They did a great job and I left a tip with the boss. “Here is a tip for the guys in the back,” I told, him and he thanked me.

My car was delivered to me by one of the guys from the back. He looked crestfallen when I didn’t press bills into his hand so I said “Make sure you get the tip I left with the other guy.”

“Next time, leave the tip with us,” he said. “That guy plays us. But thanks for telling us.”

I’ve felt insanely stupid before.

On one of the first assignments I had for a real newspaper after I got out of college, I was sent to a wreck on I-95 where someone died. I hadn’t been on a real news story before, much less one where mortality was involved.

I walked up to a Florida Highway Patrol trooper and asked “Was it someone important?” I didn’t want to miss it if it was a Congressman or something.

He looked at me like I was a cockroach and said “Everyone is important.”

Those are profound words.

If there is a lesson in this, I’m sure it is don’t be as stupid as I am.

Make sure your tips get to the people who earned them.

And the next time you see a player, keep as wide a birth as possible.

And, by the way, everyone is important.


Written by Charles Keefer

October 8, 2010 at 6:56 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

One Response

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  1. When I first got to The Post, Dan Gehringer was a features writer who could sling words with the best of ’em.

    He was well know at The Dayton Daily News, his previous paper, for taking out a new staff car to cover a flood. “I didn’t think the water was that deep,” he said, as he described bobbing off the road.

    Anyway, Dan, decided to quit The Post to write the Great American Novel. To keep beans on the plate, he took a job at the corner gas station. This was back in the days of full service, where the attendant would run out, pump your gas, check the air in your tires, check your fluids and even vacuum the car.

    A woman pulled up to the pumps with her windshield plastered with love bugs. Dan, of course, gave it his normal half-hearted effort and smeared more than he cleaned.

    The woman took one look at the mess and went storming off for the manager. When she started into her tirade, Dan raised a hand to slow the torrent of abuse and said, “Lady, no matter what you say, I’m not going to put a single one of those bugs back.”

    I don’t know if he ever wrote his novel, but his career as a pump jockey ended that day.


    October 8, 2010 at 7:06 pm

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