Years ago when I had a real job—managing a fast food restaurant—okay, that might be an inaccurate characterization of a real job. Let me start over.

Years ago when I was managing a fast food restaurant, we went through about a three month period of changing the combination to the safe quite frequently—every few days it seemed. Actually, I think it averaged about once week.

This was due mainly to managers quitting, or getting fired as the case may be. Anytime someone stopped working there, who’d had the combination, we changed it. Normally, this was only an occasional occurrence but for some reason, we went through a lot of swing managers that summer.

As you can imagine, having to memorize a new combination so often was a little frustrating for some of the managers. According to the rules, no one was allowed to carry the combination on them and we did not post it anywhere in the store—for obvious reasons. So, it had to be memorized.

One morning, at about five o’clock, on my day off, I got a phone call. It seemed the swing manager who was opening the store, had forgotten the combination. It was almost time to open, people were waiting in the parking lot, and all of the tills were in the safe. I could have given her the combination over the phone but, that too, is against the rules—you never know who may be listening.

So, I got up, got dressed, and drove the five miles to town. By the time I arrived, I was all prepared to give the manager a lecture about how important it is to pay attention to these kinds of thing, and maybe offer a mnemonic device of some sort to help her remember in the future. But when I walked in the office, I immediately forgot about all of that.

Why? Well, because I noticed the safe was open. The door was closed but the lever was in the open position. All that needed to be done was to pull—the door would swing right open.

When I pointed this out, the manager was of course very embarrassed and apologized profusely for making me get out of bed and come in on my day off. But I wasn’t concerned with any of that. First, she would have needed the combination anyway, to run the shift, but more importantly, the safe had been left unlocked—all night.

A check of the schedule quickly determined which manager had closed the night before. (No, it wasn’t I, if that what anyone is thinking)! Later that day, I had a little chat with that manager. My goal was simply to remind him to double check everything before leaving the store, particularly the locks on the doors and maybe, just maybe, the safe. That would have been the end of it because (contrary to some people’s opinion) I’m really a nice and understanding guy. People make mistakes. As long it doesn’t become a pattern, I can deal with it.

But then, this not-so-bright manager spoke up. “I didn’t forget to lock the safe. I couldn’t remember the combination so I just left it unlocked for my shift. And then I left it that way for the opening manager in case she couldn’t remember the combination either.” Then the kicker: “But I pushed the door shut so nobody could tell if they broke in.”

My response? Well, let’s just say the safe combination had to be changed again. ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

I saw the sign. In fact, I saw all the signs. Speed Zone Ahead. Reduced Speed Ahead. Construction Zone. 50 MPH. And, although it irks me to no end to slow down, I did.

And apparently, I was the only one on the road that day who could read. No one else was the least bit fazed by the signs. I don’t even think most of them turned off their cruise. Me, I don’t like tickets.

As they all went zooming past, some frowned at me, some honked, others gave me wild hand gestures—at least one finger, anyway—and a few felt compelled to yell what I assume were obscenities—it’s nearly impossible to hear anything in a truck so I can’t be sure.

I did hear the sirens though, and saw the flashing lights coming up from behind. And then brake lights ahead.

My first thought was, “There’s no way the cops can pull over all of them.” (There must have been twenty or more vehicles). Then I realized the cops weren’t after the speeding motorists. They were on their way to the wreck. The wreck that blocked the road ahead of me.

Well, seeing that, I immediately took the exit. The exit that had evidently been built just for my convenience, and also the exit everyone in front of me had already passed. I drove alongside the freeway for a few blocks, and then got back on—bypassing the wreck in the process.

As for all those people in a hurry, the ones who passed me, well, they got to observe a crash site response first hand! I heard from other drivers that the show lasted about an hour before the police finally decided to let the traffic stuck behind the wreck turn around and go back to the exit. The drivers said I was really lucky I’d missed it.

Lucky? Really? Nope. All the signs were there. And I do know how to read! ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords, Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

First, the name makes no sense: it’s not a crab and not really grass either. What it is, is annoying for anyone trying to grow a nice lawn. It should be called Annoying Grass.

I’ve lived in my current house for 16 years and up until last summer hadn’t had much of a problem with crabgrass. Then, almost overnight, I noticed my “pristine” lawn was being overrun by the stuff.

I did some studying up on the weed and every place I looked said basically, the same thing: Don’t pull it. Pulling it will only re-seed the “grass” for next year. The best approach, the articles claimed, was to wait for the germination period the following spring and try to kill the crabgrass with an herbicide. If applied at the right time the weed killer/preventer will eliminate some of it but it was not effective once the crabgrass had started to grow. And, it further stated, once the grass reached about thirty percent of the lawn, you might as well take out everything and start over. Well that sounded promising, or not.

Since I’m stubborn, I decided I would pull it despite the warnings. My lawn was at thirty percent or better but I was convinced I could win this so-called unwinnable war. I started pulling. And pulling. By the end of the summer, I had big dirt patches in my lawn. But... No Crabgrass! Well, none that was visible anyway.

This last spring, I went to the store looking for a weed preventer. Something to kill all the little seeds I’d planted by pulling the Crabgrass. Instead, I found a product that claimed it would kill adult Crabgrass—along with preventing new growth. It also said it would eliminate all other types of weeds like; Dandelions and such, all without harming the real grass in the yard. I was a bit skeptical. And at twenty-five dollars, it was a little expensive—about twice what a normal weed and feed product would cost to do my lawn—but, I splurged. And then I started spraying.

I re-sprayed every few days. It took a few weeks to see any results. But as we got further into spring, I noticed there were absolutely no weeds in my lawn. Then, the start of the growing season for Crabgrass came with no sign of the Annoying Weed. I decided the stuff had worked. This is the best my lawn has looked in years!

I have noticed a few little sprigs sprouting up here and there. I pull them the moment I see them. Don’t need any more of that stuff. Or any other weeds: Dandelions, Milkweeds, Foxtails, clover, or thistles, which I’ve decided should all be called Crabgrass. They all ruin my grass and make me crabby. ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

U-haul on the side of the road—on its side, unattached to any other vehicle—the contents scattered all along the shoulder. Smashed boxes, broken lamps and other fixtures, and some very wrinkled clothing, decorated the right of way. Not positive, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how those trailers were designed to be used. At least that’s not the way I’ve done it. Just doesn’t seem that efficient to me.

I considered stopping to offer my enlightening bit of wisdom but I doubt the people standing around with a lost look on their faces were interested in my advice. I guess I could have helped pick things up but with the two officers and wrecker there, they probably had enough hands. So, I kept driving. Besides, it was a bit windy. More than a bit, really.

Welcome to my world—The Columbia River Gorge, Home of the Great Wind. The wrecked U-haul was just the latest casualty. It happens a lot. It’s been known to blow loaded semi’s off the road and loaded boxcars of the tracks. The wind blows almost every day, although some days are worse than others. This day was a particularly strong windy day—even by our standards.

Five hours later, when I came back by, the U-haul was still there. The trailer had been set back on its wheels and reattached to the pickup. The family’s belongings that had been randomly strewn down the side of the highway appeared to have been shoved back into the trailer. The doors were lashed together with a ratcheting strap.

Leaving on my second trip of the night, I again passed the spot where the wreck had happened and this time they were gone. But a few miles down the road, I saw them again. The driver was apparently now a little gun shy. He was driving on the shoulder about 10 mph. At first I thought that might be due to the trailer being damaged but as I approached, the guy pulled off the road into the dirt and stopped. Once I’d gone by, he steered back onto the freeway.

A couple of days later, I talked to one of the officers who had responded to the wreck and found out why the driver was so squeamish when I passed him. Apparently, a passing semi is what caused the U-haul to turn over. He said he’d been fighting a side wind, steering into it hard just to keep going straight. When the semi pulled alongside, there was a sudden stop of the wind. He corrected his steering—just in time for the semi to move on past—and the wind to hit again. He’d been caught steering the same way the wind was blowing. When he tried to correct it again, he went a little too fast and the trailer protested by turning over.

“Technically,” the deputy said, “the accident was due to an inexperienced driver not paying attention.

“Did you give him a ticket?” I asked.

The deputy rolled his eyes. “I’m not that cruel. The poor guy had just had most of his belongings destroyed.”

That made sense. It was good to know the deputy wasn’t completely heartless.

“Besides,” he added. “It was way too windy to stay out there any longer than I had to.” ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.