Coffeehouse Chronicles: The Small World According to Sam One
- Marc & Bridget Saunders
- 2 days ago
- 6 min read
Whaddup, Chroniclers? Got yer cup? Good.
Well folks, the weekend's almost here, and tomorrow wraps up the second week of school. That realization hit me this week and reminded me that I needed to check in on my people.
When I say "my people," I’m talking about Linda and Chris. They're the folks on the front lines at the local high school, bravely standing between thousands of students, hundreds of
parents, and complete traffic chaos.
Every year it's the same thing. Parents spend two and a half months forgetting how to drive. Apparently summer vacation also erases all memory of drop-off procedures, traffic flow patterns, stop signs, and common sense.
Linda keeps telling me that she wants me to dig my old uniform out of mothballs, fire up the motorcycle, and park next to her in front of the school so people will behave.
The thing is, Linda and Chris don't really get a summer vacation. School security is a year-round deal. According to Linda, it usually takes a couple of weeks for everybody to reacclimate. The parents have to relearn traffic patterns, and the kids have to remember how the real world works.
Most of those kids have spent the summer sitting in basements staring at televisions, computer monitors, playing Roblox, Fortnite, and GTA 5. They come back to school and keep looking up in the sky asking, "What's that thing?"
Linda is apparently close to violating district uniform policy. She's considering replacing her security shirt with one that says:
"Relax, it's only the sun. It keeps us warm and helps generate vitamin D. It's good for you."
Speaking of people I hadn't checked in on recently, I got ahold of my good buddy Andy.
I realized I hadn't seen him once during the entire school year. My schedule never lined up with his. For years I was convinced Andy might actually be part vampire. I'd never see him during the day. I'd only spot him at night during football and basketball games, wearing those giant green Hulk hands while getting the student section fired up.
The only sunlight the man gets is during summer vacation when his better half drags him to her favorite location, a hotel pool in Kauai.
Life is rough for Andy.
Imagine being forced to sit beneath palm trees while drinking fruity pineapple drinks and watching beautiful Hawaiian sunsets.
Somehow he's managing to endure it.
Enjoy retirement, my friend.
Of course, not everyone is suffering as much as Andy.
Commander McCroc is currently in a state of distress because the money pit known as his RV needs new shoes.
Those of you familiar with RV ownership know tires rarely wear out. They simply age out. Especially when they're spending most of their lives parked on concrete.
Meanwhile, our pal Dot just got her RV.
We're excited.
She's annoyed.
Apparently she's discovered something none of us thought to mention. An RV isn't just an RV. It's basically a rolling house.
Who knew you'd need linens, dishes, bathroom supplies, kitchen supplies, and all the other things that magically appear inside a normal house?
Dot, that's the whole list. Congratulations. You now own a house with wheels.
The Commander's troubles don't stop at his complaints about the cost of new RV tires.
He's also whining about cigars.
According to him, he's only had two sticks today and has already declared it a four-stick day. Somehow, through a process known only to him, he has determined that it is my responsibility to make up the deficit.
He's demanded inspection rights to my herf. For those unfamiliar, that's a portable airtight cigar storage area.
Furthermore, any replacement cigars I provide must be of Davidoff quality, unless I happen to have Cuban cigars available.
As most of you know, Commander McCroc is quite the aficionado when it comes to both cigars and Crocs.
On another note, the department's little partner experiment has officially gone the way of the dodo bird.
Most of us suspected it would only last a few weeks and, sure enough, here we are.
HB and a few others have been asking whether I'm lonely now that I'm flying solo again.
Honestly, I'm doing alright.
But, to be honest, I am gonna miss Ed's off-key renditions of Tom Slick and George of the Jungle jingles.
In fact, as I was leaving the office today, I caught Ed sitting in the corner looking a little emotional. I could swear he was sniffling because he missed me.
Or maybe he had allergies.
I'm going with the first explanation.
Now speaking of people who have a slightly inflated opinion of themselves, let's talk about Sam One.
Sam One recently returned from Texas after regaling the locals with stories of his big-city exploits. Upon returning home, he discovered that all that fine dining and hospitality had apparently tightened things up a bit around the midsection. He felt his Class A’s getting a tiny bit snug.
So, naturally, he announced it was time to get back into his PT regimen.
Now, before you get too excited, Sam One's PT consists of riding his bike about a half block to the community pool.
Once there, he strips down to his red Speedos with his LBPD sergeant's stripes embroidered on the side and proceeds to swim three laps.
Now Sam One doesn't define laps the same way the rest of humanity does.
For Sam One, one trip across the pool is a lap. One trip back is another lap.
By the time he completes his third lap, he's hanging onto the side of the pool like a man who just crossed the English Channel.
Somehow he drags himself out, strikes a pose, puffs out his chest, admires his reflection in the lifeguard office window, and begins the long journey back to the locker room.
After his shower, he jumps on his bike for the half-block ride home. According to Sam One, it's uphill both directions. I'm not sure how he gets that calculation, but again, Sam One.
But this time he gets interrupted.
"Hey, young fella!"
Now Sam One is in his sixties, but he still enjoys hearing somebody call him a young fella.
He turns around.
"Me?"
"Yep. Come here."
Sitting next to a chain-link fence is an older gentleman who appears to be looking for somebody to talk to.
The gentleman begins telling Sam One that he grew up in a little Southern California town that Sam One has probably never heard of.
Sam One immediately gets excited.
"Really? I'm from California too! What town?"
"Long Beach."
At that moment, Sam One nearly explodes.
This isn't just a coincidence. This is destiny.
As far as Sam One is concerned, everybody from Long Beach knows everybody from Long Beach.
"I spent a lot of time in Long Beach," he says. "Matter of fact, I'm pretty famous. I'm Sam One."
The gentleman looks at him.
"Nope."
Sam One blinks.
"Nope?"
"Nope."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm pretty sure."
This completely puzzles Sam One, who was operating under the assumption that everyone everywhere had at least heard of him.
So, naturally, he spent the next several minutes correcting the gentleman's unfortunate lack of knowledge by explaining all of the exploits of Sam One.
Afterward, Sam One raced home and sent a message to all his friends about the remarkable coincidence of meeting somebody from Long Beach.
What he failed to mention was that the gentleman probably graduated high school three years before Sam One was even born.
Still, Sam One was thrilled.
Some people in the group commented on what a social butterfly Sam One is.
Now I don't want to ruin anybody's image of him, but I talk to this guy just about every day.
Social butterfly?
Not even close.
Every time I hear from him, he's yelling at his phone, yelling at his computer, yelling at his television, yelling at his truck, yelling at his reloading machine, yelling at the neighbor's dogs, yelling because he misplaced another set of AirPods, or simply yelling at himself.
At this point, he owns multiple pairs of AirPods because he keeps losing one earbud from each set.
A social butterfly enjoys interacting with people.
Sam One is more like an irritated cicada.
But somehow this week he managed to strike up a conversation with a complete stranger, discuss Long Beach, introduce himself, tell the story of his life, and return home convinced he'd just experienced the smallest world imaginable.
And honestly, that's why we keep him around. He’s Sam One.
Well, Chroniclers, that's it for now.
Drink 'em if you got 'em.
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