By W.T. WIMPY HIROTO
By Golly (BG) and by gosh (bg), there are two entities you can’t Google: My confounding partner “O” and a NSA arm of DMV that seems bent on crushing the driving spirit of WTH. A daunting and diverse duo.
My calendar and numerous interested converts keep reminding me to update the Phantom of Boyle Avenue, the elusive “Oh-bah-keh” – again – and again. Glad to oblige. By now, considering a more than two-year span, a mere recitation of times and dates no longer are important. There have been a couple of surprises recently.
First, a backward look at November 2013: There were only five “tap tap tap” episodes compared to a more frequent seven telephone rings; three of those after 6 a.m., the first time at such a late hour. Of the knocking interruptions, for the first time two were on my bedroom wall, not the door or hallway. [Aha, ye ghostbusters, now I can check with Apartment 213 neighbor to see if she heard anything: Nope, she was dead asleep at 12:12 on a Sunday and 3:22 on the Friday. Besides, alas, she is hard of hearing.]
“O” closed out December with a dozen visitations but whoa, all were “tap tap taps” with one definite eye-opening awakener being on my headboard; no more than a foot or so above a surprised noggin! [And did I mention, nary a single phone jingle. In an earlier column, I explained how a brand new phone has been installed to further investigate the land-line phenomena.]
January has been a mixed bag of fresh, new “Oh-bah-keh-sama” stories. After an awfully cheeky 10:45 a.m. (an unusually late time) telephone ring on the 3rd., there were two additional early morning calls and seven knocking incidents since. Herein lies an intriguing experience.
A way back in October, in a moment of weakness, I agreed to speak to a local seniors group. Don’t ask why. I write. I don’t talk. Obviously not J.D. Salinger in terms of writing, but trying to emulate as a recluse (and admirer of the young). Since I didn’t have to confront the group until January, no big deal, I thought. A lot can happen in four months, no? No. January happened.
Even though there were many in attendance who read The Rafu Shimpo, I decided a recount of my “O” experiences would be of interest to the rest of the gathering. Didn’t turn into a speaking disaster. Was quite pleased with the effort, actually. Again, being a neophyte at standing in front of an audience affords license to blow a line of two.
Relieved, more than somewhat, I returned to my abode after a pleasant meet & greet session with the congregants following the talk. Felt pretty good, if truth be told. But the minute the apartment door closed, a sudden ringing begins in my ears, along with pressure like when descending in an airplane. It was 3:38 p.m.
The ringing (tinnitus?) increased in concert with heightened pain. Rather than scurry to find my emergency Help! button (where did I put it?) to notify nursing staff, Jappo cool took hold and I sat on the bed to gather my wits rather than panic. Voila! At 3:46, eight (my favorite number) minutes later, everything returned to normal. No pain, no ringing, no nothing. Instead of concern, I felt a sense of comic relief. I was convinced it was “O” registering a level of displeasure [for the just-concluded presentation]. I was and am still certain it was so.
On a following Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, the first time in eons such a consecutive streak was posted, there were single knock-knock visits. No phone rings. Just two knocks each time. No ear popping or ear aches.
Nothing, absolutely zilch, nada ever since.
= * =
I’m too lazy to Google my past columns but I’m pretty sure I didn’t celebrate the occasion publicly when I finally got that elusive piece of plastic; the one with a photograph that makes you look like you’ve just been arrested.
Yeah, there it was in the mailbox. For whatever reason, sentimental I guess, I didn’t scissor the old license into oblivion. So finally there it was, the **third** official approval to traverse our highways and byways; an unbelievable trio in a period of only two and one half years!
Whoa, hold on there, Tonto. What’s that I see written in yon red line? “Expires 11/25/17”! Who in Hades has ever been issued a driver license (not driver’s) for four years? I’ve asked at least twenty people (and counting): Have you ever heard of a license renewal being issued for a four-year period? Thus far, no one.
But I refuse to allow them to incur any further denigration. When 2017 arrives, whenever that might be, I will refuse to apply for another renewal. No more aggravation. I’ll quit driving or continue into ’18 without official sanction.
What’re they gonna do, throw me in jail?
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W.T. Wimpy Hiroto can be reached at williamhiroto@att.net Opinions expressed in this column are not necessarily those of The Rafu Shimpo.