He's Outta Here, With Three Strikes

Genius left for his summer internship with Garmin this morning.

He hit the long road to Olathe about an hour after his planned departure. Yesterday he loaded up his Mariner for the voyage. There was a slight hitch when his drafting desk wouldn't fit. Hick had the bright idea of strapping it to the top of the car, like deceased Aunt Edna in National Lampoon's Vacation. I was not on board with that plan, because all we needed was a gust of wind to lift that tempting flat piece of glass like an airplane wing, sending it through the windshield of the automobile following behind like a sideways guillotine. That possible crisis was avoided when, at the last minute, Genius decided to take it apart, and they finally got the top stowed away in the hold of the Mariner.

Genius had scheduled his exit for 7:00 a.m. We got up to see him off, only to see him instead emerge from his bedroom and set sail for the shower. Still, after only 30 minutes, he was out and chucking all the leftover bits of computer guts from the living room floor into his about-to-be-vacated bedroom. As with any lengthy excursion, Genius attempted to tie up loose ends. I forked over some travel cash, even though he said he had enough in his account. Genius met me in the kitchen while I was fetching his bankroll.

"Is this the right insurance card?" he asked while laying it on the cutting block for my inspection. Like he has a Rolodex full of insurance cards. What other insurance card could he possibly have? As far as I know, nobody else is carrying him as a dependent, though the folks at the IRS begged to differ last year at tax time.

"Did you want to take any food with you? I doubt you will want to go shopping after driving five hours and unloading your car. There's that sandwich stuff you wanted. It would travel okay."

"No. I don't think so." He went on loading his last-minute clothes on hangers. Packed his laptop. On a trip back into the house, he said, "I DID want to take that pizza." Let the record show that when Genius did the shopping for me on graduation Sunday, he grabbed a two-pack of DiGiorno Supreme pizzas. I suppose that's like a gourmet treat, after fighting with that Husky last summer over the last slice of his 88-cent Totinos.

"I can pack that soft-sided zip cooler that your dad got for free." Which I set about doing, wrapping the DiGiornos in a towel, sliding them into the cooler, and flattening out half a bag of ice that I found in the back of the freezer. Just a fit.

Genius loaded it into the car. He came back for hugs, then his dad walked him out. I sat down in the La-Z-Boy to watch him go up the driveway towing a little piece of my heart. Then it hit me. "WAIT! Pony! Do you think Genius meant the DiGiorno, or did he want that leftover Chef Boyardee from last night?"

"I don't know." How could I have forgotten that The Pony does not really care about helping people?

"Have they left yet? I hope I can get out there in time." I launched myself out of the La-Z-Boy and hurried to the front porch. Genius stood in the open door of his Mariner, telling Hick to send him the specs on the 3D printer at work, because he was curious. "Genius! Did you mean the DiGiorno, or last night's pizza?"

"Last night's."

"Wait, I'll get it. I packed the DiGiorno."

Genius brought the cooler in, and I grabbed his foil packet from the bottom shelf of Frig II. We unzipped the lid and found just the right amount of space for that treat.

"Now you have two DiGiornos and a fourth of a Chef Boyardee deep dish. That should last you until tomorrow."

"Yeah. I'll be fine." Off he went. I puttered around, watching Smart and Dumber try to take the cover off Poolio. More on that debacle another day. I threw up my hands in resignation when one of them wouldn't take my advice, and went back into the house through the laundry room, and into the kitchen.

THERE WAS GENIUS'S INSURANCE CARD, LAYING ON THE CUTTING BLOCK!

Oh, no! My almost-adult child was driving all the way across the state, and into another, hauling a sheet of glass that could decapitate him with a sudden stop, and he had NO HEALTH INSURANCE CARD! By now, an hour and a half had passed. I called Genius. He has a fancy schmancy sound system that he had installed in his Mariner, so he can talk to me through his radio. At least that's how I think it works. To me, that's cutting edge, but then I still live in the days of the tin-can-and-string phone system.

"Genius! I just found your insurance card laying on the cutting block! You don't have your insurance card! And the mail won't go out until Tuesday morning. You haven't even given me your address! What are we going to do? Can The Pony text you a picture of it?"

"Have him email it to me. I'll try not to have a major accident until I get my insurance card."

"Okay. But we don't even know for sure if you'll get your mail. Maybe I should send you a copy of both sides, then if you get that envelope, I'll mail you the real thing."

"Whatever. I can't hardly hear you. My GPS is talking. I need to make a turn."

"Okay. I'll have The Pony take a picture of your insurance card."

"All right. Oh, and on the way to town, I ran over a bunch of glass in the road on one of those blind hills by the cow lady's house. I came up over and didn't see it in time to go around. It was some kind of blue bottle. I stopped for gas as soon as I got to town, so I could look at my tires. I couldn't see anything. So if you go to town, look out for that glass."

"Okay. Be careful. If you need to get your tires fixed, I'll put some money in your account."

"I can't hear you. My GPS is talking again. I'll let you know when I get there."

Yeah. Just what we need, next to the sideways guillotine, is to replace any of the four tires we spent over $500 on last week when Genius got home.

At least he finally docked on the shores of Stonepost Lakeside, where Garmin is paying his rent for the summer. Surely nothing else can go wrong before he starts earning his keep on Tuesday...