The Official Spokesman and the Conclusion-Jumper

Hick is working himself to the bone for no good reason. Why should he crawl around in swarf pits, take machines apart and put them back together, dangle high above the concrete floor on ladders and man-lifts while entwined in electrical wires which he assumes are un-live...when he could simply be the official spokesman for a company with something to hide? Not that Hick is crafty like a fox, or a silver-tongued talker. Or even evasive. Well, I'll concede that Hick attempts to be evasive. But he's no good at it. If his job depended on him being deliberately evasive, he would never win an Oscar.

This morning Hick left for work at the regular time, an hour before I arose. He works half days on Saturday, then meets The Pony at the bowling alley for the youth league. I called my mom to see how she and The Pony weathered the night, took a shower, wrote out some bills, paid for Genius's new semester books with an eCheck, and called Garage Door Springs R Us to see if they could solve my new carport predicament. They could not.

Just as I was packing up my cell phone to head to Walmart, I got a text from Hick: "I have a flat tire. I noticed it when I got to First Blacktop Road." Oh, dear. Had Hick been sitting in his $1000 Caravan for three hours, waiting for me to wake up and come help him? Surely not. He's smarter than that. In the very least, he would have no qualms about calling and waking me up the minute he needed a ride. So what was he up to now? This tire business could throw a monkey wrench into my plans. I called Hick. He didn't answer. Huh. You'd think he would still have his phone handy. Oh, well. I sent him a text back: "What do I need to do? Since you won't bother to answer your phone." Nothing. Deader than a doornail was my cell.

I started out the kitchen door. The house phone rang. I hurried back inside to grab it before the machine picked up. You'd think that Hick would have called me right back on the cell. The one I texted from not two minutes earlier. You see, around here, the cell only works outside or on the main floor. When I'm in my dark basement lair, cows could text me to say, "Quit dancing. We're coming home." And I'd never know. Once I'm in the basement, my cell phone ceases existence. I only answer the house phone. So it should have been obvious to Hick that I was either out about town, or within arm's reach of my cell.

Anyhoo, I grabbed that house phone, and one of the most inane conversations of all time this week commenced.

"Why didn't you pick up?"

"I guess my phone was still on silent. I was in a meeting."

"You texted me from a meeting. Then got my text. How could you not know I was calling?"

"I'm not in a meeting."

"Where are you? What do I need to do about your tire?"

"I'm at work."

"How will you get home?"

"Drive."

"Driving on a flat ruins the tire."

"I KNOW that."

"Well, what are you going to do about your tire?"

"I'll get it fixed."

"Do you have a spare?"

"I don't know. I might."

"Well, how are you getting it fixed?"

"I'll take it off and get it looked at."

"What about The Pony? Do I need to get him from bowling?"

"No. I'll get him at bowling."

"You're getting your tire fixed."

"I don't have to do it TODAY."

"But how are you getting to bowling?"

"I'm driving."

"You can't drive on a flat tire!"

"I KNOW that!"

"But your tire is flat!"

"Yeah. On my van. In the garage. I drove The Pony's truck."

"Then why did you text me about your flat tire?"

"Just to let you know."

You'd think, perhaps, that Hick might have let me know from the beginning that he came back and got The Pony's truck, and that eventually he was going to need a tire repair or new tire. But that's not the way Hick's communication skills are wired. He's going to keep this up until I totally disregard any communique that others immune to his ways might see as vital. In simpler times, Hick might have been the boy who cried wolf, only to explain to the villagers that he was merely showing them he knew what to do in case of an attack emergency.

Hick. The man who called flat.