The Lawyer and his Big Gulp Buddy

We have a three-day weekend, so we’re really busy here. On top of that, my WORST CLIENT EVER is screwing up everything they touch. Everything.

***

Had to clarify something for THEBOY yesterday. He’s been listening to the Beatles in his room lately. He woke up singing, “She loves to, yeah yeah yeah.”

“Listen, son… that ain’t exactly correct…”

***

Cold and gross here. At least it’s Tex Mex night.

***

Long ago, when I was fresh out of college, I was scrambling to work in production. Often I’d take whatever gig came along, like blowing up balloons on a commercial shoot, or holding a boom mic for 4 hours. Not once did I turn a gig down. Can you blame me? All I wanted was to get my name out, start using whatever route I could into more complicated and satisfying work. Really.

***

So I got hired to be the driver for a notable Dallas attorney who shares my first name, Brian. His last name is something I hesitate to use here, though if you take the first letter of the first word in each sentence in the paragraph above, that’ll spell it out.

(I’m such a geek).

***

BL had a commercial shoot down in Fredericksburg. I was to pick him up at the airport and drive him down. Didn’t really have a bloody thing to do with making the commercial itself, but hey, it was a paycheck. Kelli had a fairly new Buick LeSabre that was a good road car, and perfectly suitable for the job.

***

I made up a sign with BL’s name on it and stood at the gate. His plane was late, naturally, and I could already see our commute time slipping away.

And as each person came off the plane, I tried to guess which one would be him. I’d never seen him before, so I was imagining a lawyer-lookin’ type. I’d rule them out in my head, one by one as they disboarded: No, no, no, maybe-but-nah-he-kept-walking…

And the FIRST one that found me thinking, Oh God not HIM oh PLEASE don’t let it be this guy… yeah. That was the one.

***

Black polyester slacks, Hawaiian shirt with several buttons undone tucked into them, gold chains over a furry chest, and portly.

“Good afternoon, Mr. [BL], I’ll be your driver today…”

He handed me his bag without a word and kept going.

***

Keeping up with him in the airport wasn’t easy. For a big guy he could MOVE.

***

At the car, he took a seat and I said, “Okay, we can listen to whatever music you’d like. There’s the radio, or I brought some tapes—“

“No music,” he said. He cracked open a paperback and started reading.

I was kind of thankful at that point.

***

We got on the freeway. At the first exit he blurted out, “You thirsty? I’m thirsty. Take me to that gas station down there.”

“Yessir.”

There was not a parking spot to be found, however. As we circled, he peered out the window at some women.

BL: “Uh oh. Lesbians.”

Me: “What? How do you know?”

BL: “I’ve got a special sense for it. I call it ‘lesbodar’.”

(Yes, he managed to screw up the old “gaydar” joke)

***

He finally instructed me to park in a handicapped spot, and said he’d pay if I got a ticket.

***

We went in, and I grabbed a bottle of water. BL grabbed a one-liter Pepsi and a family-size bag of chips, both of which he opened and proceeded to consume while waiting in line. He offered to buy me a soda.

Me: “No thanks, but this water will do. I haven’t eaten, and soda will just upset my stomach.”

BL: “Listen, if you want to make a million dollars, you’re going to have to expect an ulcer.”

***

We hit the road, and I was getting antsy about our travel time. He had his drink and snacks, and started chatting about whatever crossed his mind. He talked about how kids can really ruin the seats in a Mercedes. He blathered on and on, and though he gave off a high-tension vibe, he was nice enough.

***

I’m inclined to blame the wrong turn I took on his incessant chatter, in fact, but it was probably my own fault. Early in the drive to Fredericksburg there’s a Y in the road. I took the wrong fork.

I’d driven for nearly an hour before I realized it.

I started apologizing, and I drove about 90 as I doubled back. I made up the lost ground in remarkable time, and we were on schedule to possibly be not too terribly late.

***

There wasn’t a minute to spare, but my bladder was about to burst. I was having images of astronomer Tyco de Brahe, who died of complications that arose when he refused to excuse himself from a dinner party to pee.

I started apologizing some more, but I also didn’t offer a choice: “We’ve gotta pull over at this 7-11.”

Once inside, BL asked if I wanted something to drink. He’d had a liter of Pepsi, and in my Tyco-like state I decided to pass. He said, “Okay, I’ll just get a Big Gulp.”

***

The sign on the men’s room read, “Out of order.”

Aw crap.

This was a crisis, though. I pushed the door open to find an overflowed toilet and mop in a restroom with a couple inches of water on the floor.

I’m sorry. I am sorry, and I was sorry. I HAD TO GO.

So I went.

***

We got back in the car, and I resumed my apologies.

BL said, “Hey, relax. We’re cool. You’re my Big Gulp buddy, man.”

I appreciated the sentiment.

***

We got to the shoot. A tank was parked atop a crushed Porsche, and four attorneys from across the state took turns barking their dialogue from on top of it:

“Have you been in a car accident? Call me today!”

Four attorneys, four markets, one shoot.

BL went to change into his suit. He emerged very quickly. He climbed the tank, spent just a few minutes shooting and re-shooting his lines, climbed down and said, “Let’s go.”

I swear, I don’t think he had time to pee when he went to change. At this point we’d been together a couple hours, and he’d had a liter of Pepsi and a whole Big Gulp.

***

He checked his watch: “There’s a 5:30 flight I’d rather make if I can. Do your best to get me there. I’ll pay if you get a speeding ticket.”

***

We FLEW down the highway. He chatted here and there, asked my opinion about whether I thought his commercial would reach his market. I had no idea, but I said yes.

***

At the airport I fetched his bag from the trunk. He jammed a $20 bill in my hand and left without a word.

***

15 years later I’m scheduling BL’s spots on my station.

***

Time for lunch. Happy Friday.