Okay, this may have nothing to do with medication or my depression or recovery, or with the breakup, or anything like that, but life does go on in other directions as well.
Earlier this week a sportswriter at my paper, a man of about 55 years old, named Jack, came by my desk and asked me did I own a blue VW Passat station wagon. I had never met Jack even though we both work on the 8th floor. I thought he was about to tell me that my headlights were on in the parking lot, or that he had just seen a band of hooligans run off with my rims, even though they are not so fancy. The story is much more interesting than that, though.

Jack said, “I know this is a little odd, but I have a friend whose birthday is on Thursday and she has always wanted a blue Passat wagon, and, ahem, you can say no to this and it will be fine with me, but, ahem, I was wondering if, since I am taking her to lunch for her birthday on Thursday, if I might drive your car to pick her up, as a lark of some sort. It would just be for a couple of hours and I will be careful and all of that, used to own a ’76 Superbeetle, am familiar with cars…”
I have always wished that I would obey original instincts in these situations, i.e. to say “fuck no, dude, I don’t even know you” but of course I do not obey these instincts ( a fact which caused a lawnmower to disappear at the hands of some homeless guys that I ‘lent’ it to back in Durham).
Instead, I said, “well you can, but I am having an alternator or battery problem right now and you have to jump the car off with a little device I keep in the hatch every time you crank the car.” I thought this would surely discourage him from this asinine plan. No, not Jack! He still jumped at the opportunity, so I gave in and told him he could take the car. I mean, I work with the guy. See him every day. Don’t really know him, but I know people who do and that would surely keep him from running off to Mexico with the car, or selling it to support a bad blow habit, right?
This morning I awoke and Jack had already e-mailed me to make sure everything was still a go. I wrote back saying sure, just to grab me in the office when he was ready. Around noon he comes over and we go down to the lot. I take him through the jump starting routine and he gets it. I throw the dozen or so empty packets of cigarettes into the back floorboard where the dozen or so empty Diet Coke cans live, and I let him sit behind the wheel. Thinking he is getting ready to take off, and since I have him cranked already, I tell him to have fun and ask how long he will be gone.
“What time do you leave the office?,” Jack asks.
“About 4 today probably.”
“I should be back by 3,” he says.
Then he turns the car off and I start thinking, “Jackass! Jackass! I just got the thing cranked for you.” I look at him and he says he needs to get a couple of things inside before he can leave. So we go back in and up the elevator and I give him the keys and get back to work.
Today was a busy day and so the time he was gone seemed to fly by. I looked up from the big museum project that I am working on, and saw that it was already 3:30. 3:30!?!?! Jack said he would be back by 3 PM. I started to panic a bit. I told my editor what was going on and he laughed and then became concerned. I was very concerned as well. I mean, what if Jack was having problems at home, had gone off his rocker a little bit, or gotten into some debt problems, maybe gambling debt, was planning to knock off a bank to get out of all of the trouble and needed a getaway car that couldn’t be traced back to him? What if he and the old lady were having problems, maybe she was planning to leave him, and so he was going to drive up to Spaghetti Junction to one of the bridges, a high one, and drive the car and himself onto afternoon I-285 traffic? What if he was heading for the border?
My mind was racing as my editor went around the Sports Department trying to hunt down a cell phone number that we might call to see what was going on.
“I don’t think Jack has one. If he does, he doesn’t give out the number.”
“I don’t see one on the list, a home number but no mobile number.”
Finally, an assistant editor managed to produce a number which I immediately dialed and… SHIT!… I immediately get voicemail without even a single ring. Oh God, he has surely headed off to Walhalla with the woman in my car. He’s convinced her it is his, and she has told him a while back that if he could get a blue VW Passat Wagon, she would elope to S.C. with him. What will I do? And he has my house keys as well! How will I get into my house if he doesn’t come back with the car? G still has keys, but she will think it is a ploy to try to get to see her if I call and ask can she come over to let me in. Is this guy really Jack? Maybe it is Jack’s evil twin and this is the thing he does. Maybe nice Jack, the one that everyone in sports seems to like has been murdered by this brother of his who is just out of prison, and now the brother is posing as Jack in the office, just waiting for the right moment to steal my car and go on another rampage.
YOU HAVE GOT TO STOP YOUR MIND FROM RACING WITH ALL OF THESE THOUGHTS. THERE IS SURELY A SIMPLE EXPLANATION FOR THESE THINGS AS YOU WILL FIND OUT SOON.
I was about to go off on another of the morbid fantasies while talking about it again with my editor, when I notice out the corner of my eye… it’s Jack! It’s now a little past 4PM, but at least he’s back. He tells me he is sorry for the delay. I ask him how it all went. I didn’t tell him of all of the thoughts I was having. I didn’t give in to the urge to jump up and pull away the rubber mask and reveal who he truly was. I just asked, “So how did it all go?”
“It went well, but because of this… I didn’t even take the car. When I got in I smelled the cigarette smoke and remembered that she hates cigarette smoke, so I didn’t take the car.”
You did what? You fucker! Would it have been so hard to have brought my keys back to me when you realized this? I can’t believe this… but instead:
“Well, if I buy a new blue VW Passat wagon I will make sure not to smoke in it, so that you will have more success when you borrow that one.” I was trying to sound snide, but I just can’t sound snide. I mean, a guy who could be hoodwinked into giving over the car keys for such a dubious reason as Jack’s just cannot be snide in a situation like this.
Jack said, “Thanks anyway. Thanks for allowing me to use it even if I didn’t actually use it. If you get a new one, let me know and I will buy the old one from you.” And off he went. Not back to his desk, but back to the elevator.
I was relieved for a few minutes, then…
Maybe he took the car and had it stripped. I know it is not a Porsche Boxter or anything, but surely there some chop shops taking in cars of this nature and vintage as well… What if he knows where I live… wait a minute, he does know where I live, I told him on the way down to the parking lot… he knows and he counted on having my house keys as well and even if my car is in one piece my guitar collection will surely be gone when I get home, if the house is even still standing… maybe he just went to my house to smell my underwear (I know it is odd, but the thought did flash for a brief second)… oh I am so disgusted at the thought of Jack smelling my underwear…
In the lot my car still sat in the same spot. All wheels and upholstery were intact. Still had to jump start the car but it otherwise worked perfectly. Drove home and all of the guitars were there, my underwear seemed to be undisturbed… the house still stood…
Was this a test? If so I think I passed, if only with a C. But, I don’t think I will ever be able to look at Jack the same again… this just went a little to far, and so did I… obviously.