Crossing Nevada

May was so tired when she saw the pitiful little gas station out in the middle of the desert, that to her, after miles and miles of no gas, no food and no restroom, it was an oasis. In her mind's eye it had palm trees and enormous tents filled with soft rugs and fruits and delicacies of every description.

The reality was a dilapidated shack and two gas pumps out in front. In place of a handsome sheik, coming out of the screen door to pump her gas was a tall, thin guy of indeterminate age with no smile on his weather lined face. Both he and the stark scenery of Highway 50 seemed to say if you can't tough it out crossing Nevada then maybe you shouldn't be there.

"I guess you'll be wanting some gas," he said in a tone that didn't guarantee that there was any.  "I speck there's enough to fill your car, but just barely. A big truck came through here and almost pumped us dry."

"Yes, please and some food and your bathroom," May replied. She fervently hoped that there was enough gas. She couldn't spend the night in her car parked outside the filthy garage wondering where this strange man would be in the middle of the night.

"Outhouse is out back and you'll find some chips and sody inside, candy too if you're a mind."

She found the outhouse and was grateful in spite of the primitive services. She felt better with gas in her car and a Coke, some chips and two candy bars. When she paid him, he also softened slightly and wished her a good trip. He promised she would have enough gas to get to Utah. She'd still be in the desert, but a little closer to civilization. She sighed and then smiled. The moonscape of Nevada wasn't going to take her this time. She was on the road again.

If Bowls Could Speak

As the door closed lightly, there was an almost audible sigh throughout the apartment, and then, nearly imperceptible movements as all the objects woke from their daily slumber, ready at any moment to return to immobility if she should come back.

"Thank God she has to run errands or we'd never have a moment's peace!" said one of the white bowls. They were everyday worker bowls, proud of their spotless whiteness, their uniformity and their unassailable modernity. Of course, they were the ones she used the most, so they felt quite important.

Adele, the blue green pottery bowl who sat in the middle of the dining table, thought that she was the star of all the bowls. She nodded in agreement, "Yes, I needed some time off, some beauty rest. Being as elegant as I am all the time is exhausting and especially when I'm always the center of attention."

Leona, the silver filigree bowl on the desk, who was older than any of the others, had more money and a pedigree so distinguished that the white bowls and Adele had never even heard of it, laughed.

"You are very pretty, but somehow I doubt you would be worth a farthing at an estate sale, whereas I would be considered a treasure and very valuable.  I have been carefully placed in a predominate position on this 19th century mahoghany desk for a reason. I represent wealth and stability, not popularity."

The little silver bowls for sugar and cream on the armoire in the hallway began to giggle."Yes, Leona, you are the richest and most important. We will always be behind you, supporting you and making you shine. Thank heavens she remembers to polish us now and then. What's a farthing?"

The large green Mexican bowl with fluted edges like a pie, also quite old and bigger than the rest, spoke in a solemn and ponderous tone, "Por Dios! You must stop boasting! I was made by a peasant in Mexico and sold for a few pesos to her mother. I am the most humble of all, but, she puts me on the coffee table where everyone can see me. True beauty is in the eye of the beholder and never for sale!

The wooden salad bowl, alone in the high cupboard, was quite shy, so she only said, "I agree with Jorge. We should all get along."

The apples, bananas, sugar and cream applauded and said, "We love you all for holding us so tightly and so lovingly! Please don't fight anymore."

And they didn't, not for a week at least!

It's Just Criminal!

A street in a big city. A policeman walks up to a tough looking young lady who is standing over a dead body on the sidewalk.

P:  Hello, m'am. I'm Officer Davis. (he shows his badge) I need to talk to you about what happened. Were you a witness?

L: Yes, yes. I was right here. (cries and covers her face) Excuse me, I just feel so nervous and afraid. It was all so terrible.

P: Well, try to be calm and remember as carefully as you can what you saw. How long has he been laying here?

L: Well, can I just tell you something first?

P: Of course, I need all the facts.

L: It's lying, not laying.

P: What? Did somebody lie? Who?

L: No, no. It's that lying is an intransitive verb unlike laying which is transitive and has to have an object. You know, the chicken is laying eggs, but the man is lying in the street.

P: OK, OK. I hardly think that will help the investigation, but let's keep going. How long has he been LYING there? He sure don't look like he cares much about my grammar anyway. (laughs a little)

L: Doesn't.

P: Doesn't what?

L: He doesn't care. Third person present singular of the verb to do. You don't, but he doesn't.

P: You got me again. (trying to be patient) You're a smart one alright! Hey, is this guy Oriental?

L: Oriental! You can't say Oriental anymore! Oriental is for rugs, nowadays we say Asian for people.

P: Oh, wow, who knew? (starting to get a little annoyed)  OK, let's get down to business. Where are we at?

L: No, no! It's where are we, not where are we AT. You can't end a sentence with a preposition. What kind of training do they give you guys anyway?

P: Lady, you're not very helpful. Do you know this man? My partner said he's the same man who you gave a ride to earlier.

L: It's "the man to whom you gave a ride earlier". I know that's a little harder than some of this other stuff, but still you should know when to use who and whom! Wow, where did you go to school?

P: (stiffening a little) M'am, I will ask all the questions from now on. You should be worried about something besides my grammar. In fact, I just wrote down, "Their's something suspicious about the witness. Maybe she's the murderer!"

L: (Sneaks a look at his notebook.) I can't believe it. You didn't spell "there's" correctly. You've had a very weak background in English. How do you think it should be spelled?

P: (throws his hands in the air, dropping his notebook) That's it! I give up! No more questions. You are free to go. I'm going to try to forget I ever seen you.

L: Sorry I couldn't be more helpful. It's "saw", but don't worry about it, I won't report you! (She leaves smiling with a last scornful glance at the dead man.)