In time, no one will feel any urgency to drive themselves home after
the Super Bowl if they've been drinking. In time, we'll have
designated drivers and taxi cab logistics so well worked out, officers
of the law won't be on the alert for over the limit drivers after the
final touchdown, after the clock runs out. Tonight wasn't that night.
I was leaving the Old Homestead after the big game and I saw a couple
out front all agitated; they had waited for their taxi cab for more
than a half-hour. I bummed a Pall Mall off the gentleman, and I
learned about their bind. The two worked in a sewing factory on
Pontaluna, and had to arise from sleep at 4:00 AM. They had called to
reserve a cab at halftime but that wasn't helping any after the bars
disgorged. They seemed like a nice enough couple, so I offered them a
lift. It was only three or four miles straight down Grand Haven road.
In a way, they were neighbors. At least, we shared a local bar
together. Why allow them to grow impatient and risk becoming fodder
for the Muskegon County penal and legal system... They teased me a bit, asking if I had anything sharp on me. Sigh, I
didn't point it out, but in my arthritic state, either of them could
take me. She wanted to know if I was acting as an agent of a Christian
ministry, but no, unless it was religious to spend time getting to
know the community of the Old Homestead. In away, I explained, I was
paying it forward. A Jetta full of backpackers had given me a lift
from the airport to the Homie in November when it was growing cold.
She laughed when I called it the Homie, but how could that nickname be
new to her.. She and he dwelled together and took in sewing, but the
romance that had brought them to co-habitation now had dwindled to
business partnership and home sharing. So technically, I had picked up
a hot blond and yesterday's news, but it's creepy to think about this
in those terms. It was about making the Homie a home for the
neighborhood and, in a sense, respecting the law. There is a religious outreach in Muskegon that is better than a taxi
service. Last Call has an operations center on Sherman, and the
service sends out two drivers in one car, one to drive your car to
your house. The staff doesn't ask for donations and doesn't even
really preach. I stopped one night into their former headquarters in
the Fire Escape Cafe on Peck in Muskegon Heights. The leader passed on
my services, finding my faith too lukewarm by his standards. We didn't have far to go, so we talked about people who had tripped
the system, ending up in the drunk driver pipeline. For example, I
remember chatting with a stunningly beautiful woman who had walked on
foot to Alleyways in Roosevelt Park, MI, a veteran of Iraq. She had
arranged a ride home from the Brown Jug, but she thought it okay to
move her car to another lot. When the car slipped on black ice, the
officers patrolling that strip of Fruitport Road pulled her over and
Breathalized her. When she arrived to Alleyways on foot, she had just
left her Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. My new friend in the back seat
recalled a pull over in front of the Homie that lined up three police
cruisers and a tow truck. And then, we came to their driveway, shook
hands, and agreed to say hello next time at the joint. I was feeling restless, and so I drove south for the Rendezvous in
Grand Haven. When I reached Ferry Park on the south end of Grand Haven
Road, I saw the blue and red bubble lights flashing, and three cars
parked in the lot of the riverside park. It was a busy night for the
enforcement and the message had failed to reach all who shared the Big
Game tonight.
the Super Bowl if they've been drinking. In time, we'll have
designated drivers and taxi cab logistics so well worked out, officers
of the law won't be on the alert for over the limit drivers after the
final touchdown, after the clock runs out. Tonight wasn't that night.
I was leaving the Old Homestead after the big game and I saw a couple
out front all agitated; they had waited for their taxi cab for more
than a half-hour. I bummed a Pall Mall off the gentleman, and I
learned about their bind. The two worked in a sewing factory on
Pontaluna, and had to arise from sleep at 4:00 AM. They had called to
reserve a cab at halftime but that wasn't helping any after the bars
disgorged. They seemed like a nice enough couple, so I offered them a
lift. It was only three or four miles straight down Grand Haven road.
In a way, they were neighbors. At least, we shared a local bar
together. Why allow them to grow impatient and risk becoming fodder
for the Muskegon County penal and legal system... They teased me a bit, asking if I had anything sharp on me. Sigh, I
didn't point it out, but in my arthritic state, either of them could
take me. She wanted to know if I was acting as an agent of a Christian
ministry, but no, unless it was religious to spend time getting to
know the community of the Old Homestead. In away, I explained, I was
paying it forward. A Jetta full of backpackers had given me a lift
from the airport to the Homie in November when it was growing cold.
She laughed when I called it the Homie, but how could that nickname be
new to her.. She and he dwelled together and took in sewing, but the
romance that had brought them to co-habitation now had dwindled to
business partnership and home sharing. So technically, I had picked up
a hot blond and yesterday's news, but it's creepy to think about this
in those terms. It was about making the Homie a home for the
neighborhood and, in a sense, respecting the law. There is a religious outreach in Muskegon that is better than a taxi
service. Last Call has an operations center on Sherman, and the
service sends out two drivers in one car, one to drive your car to
your house. The staff doesn't ask for donations and doesn't even
really preach. I stopped one night into their former headquarters in
the Fire Escape Cafe on Peck in Muskegon Heights. The leader passed on
my services, finding my faith too lukewarm by his standards. We didn't have far to go, so we talked about people who had tripped
the system, ending up in the drunk driver pipeline. For example, I
remember chatting with a stunningly beautiful woman who had walked on
foot to Alleyways in Roosevelt Park, MI, a veteran of Iraq. She had
arranged a ride home from the Brown Jug, but she thought it okay to
move her car to another lot. When the car slipped on black ice, the
officers patrolling that strip of Fruitport Road pulled her over and
Breathalized her. When she arrived to Alleyways on foot, she had just
left her Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. My new friend in the back seat
recalled a pull over in front of the Homie that lined up three police
cruisers and a tow truck. And then, we came to their driveway, shook
hands, and agreed to say hello next time at the joint. I was feeling restless, and so I drove south for the Rendezvous in
Grand Haven. When I reached Ferry Park on the south end of Grand Haven
Road, I saw the blue and red bubble lights flashing, and three cars
parked in the lot of the riverside park. It was a busy night for the
enforcement and the message had failed to reach all who shared the Big
Game tonight.
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