East Dallas Times

By Bruce Felps

Yeah, yeah, I know I was supposed to regale readers with more tales of Harry Gibson and East Dallas back in the day.

Recent events, though, conspired against me, although I have a few snippets in my pocket left over from last week’s visit if this week’s word count cooperates. Don’t count on it.

Anyway, the reason I didn’t make it to Harry’s front porch tonight — or most any place late this week for that matter — is that I’ve been afraid to drive. It’s not a case of ochophobia, but I’ll get to the reason in a minute.

Food, food, everywhere and not a crumb to eat

Black Tuesday started off well enough with a lunch  — OK, I am not an early riser but my days really don’t start with lunch; it’s just the bad part of this particular day started with lunch — at a usually favorite neighborhood restaurant. I met with a guy who I would want on my side in any fight — Vince Murchison, who heads up the J.L. Long SBDM team.

We ordered at the counter, found a table, and starting chatting. Cool guy who really keeps Dallas ISD on its toes. Then, we realized we placed the order, like, 45 minutes earlier and the only whiff of food came from that delivered to other parties.

He asked for a salad and I ordered a burger, and he joked that his would be hot and mine would be cold when finally served. Turned out to be no joke. They’d forgotten us.

To add insult to ignominy, my burger, which I asked to be cooked “medium,” arrived closer to cremated. I ate half and asked for a go-box. Hey, I’m poor. I’ll eat most anything. OK, not that.

As we left, I said something along the lines of, “Ya know, this is a good place. Anybody can have a bad day.”

Oh, sour irony.

Aw, crap

The restaurant sits immediately west of a traffic-lighted intersection on my way back home, um, to my office. As I pulled out of the parking lot the light turned red, forcing me to stop and face a Dallas police squad.

The light turned green, and I took care to accelerate slowly, not busting the speed limit. Yeah, I’m paranoid that way. Not because of my Speed Racer ways but for reasons that will become quite evident within a few words.

I glanced in the rear-view mirror to see the cop turning left, I hoped, all the while thinking, “Oh, man, don’t turn around, don’t turn around, don’t turn … aw, crap.”

Grill, lights, action.

License and insurance, please

OK, I have a confession to make here, and the omnipresent “they” say confession is good for the soul. Let’s see if mine is redeemable.

I have an expired inspection sticker and an expired registration sticker. I’m not talking just a couple of weeks or a month or so. One expired at the end of January ’09, yes, ’09, and the other at the end of October ’08. I know, I know, I was asking for it. I’m just glad that doesn’t trigger a “shoot-on-sight” order.

Like I said, though, I’m poor and thought I couldn’t afford the 60 and 40 bucks to get them renewed. Cost me a lot more now because Karma said, “dumbass,” and Karma was right … it always is. And I still gotta pay the inspection and registration fees, so all the more fool me.

Still, though, I’ve driven countless times since the first expiration and passed cop after cop with no ramifications. Thought it might be no big deal unless I got popped for speeding or something, and then they’d tack it on.

Ol’ dopey me.

Getting street legal

So, as they say in comedy, as in life, timing is everything.

I didn’t drive the balance of Tuesday or yesterday, and the only place I drove today was to the bank because I received a financial windfall, for me anyway, that will allow me to pay for registration and inspection tomorrow morning, where I will go before lunch, so, yeah, I’ll be awake, and don’t expect much in the way of new stories until the afternoon.

I just hope I don’t get pulled over on the way to the inspection station.

“Don’t turn around …”

Bruce Felps owns and operates East Dallas Times. “They” said it’s good for the soul, not redemption, dude. You’re on your own.