#03984 is the winning number.

Oh, yeah. 03984

Rick answered the door bell with no expectations at all.  But when he saw the uniform he fought the urge to run, but this one wasn’t blue with a badge---just a postal worker holding out a UPS letter. 

Rick was told that this was a classified letter, First Class and it needed his signature on the green card to verify letter had been received. With shaking hands, Rick signed his name, taking the envelope.

Falling onto the stained couch, Rick cleared the beer cans and mirrors off the table in one sweep.  This is one serious letter, man.  Serious stinkin' serious.  Tearing the tab across cardboard, Rick pulled out a regular envelope.  Lookit!  My name typed ‘n everything!   

Return address was a local Ford Dealer.
  

Then the letter…a real honest letter, with stuff about an award, with his personal number—03984…honored to win his very own 2016 Mustang…Holy crap!  This is real….

My own Mustang?...Rick dropped his head between his knees, contemplating throwing up or passing out.  

Directions indicated prize winners… Winners?...were to check in by 2 pm today…Today?...to allow recipients time to tour the car lot filled with Mustangs of all colors.  

The drawing would be…Today?  Rick stripped off stained torn clothes, found the cleanest spread over the floor, and raced out to his ‘cylce. With a roar, off went Rick, off to pick out his own Mustang.

About twenty men toured around the car lot filled with sharp cool fast Mustangs.  Rick joined them, each reverently touching cars from end to 
end, roof to undercarriage.  Hot sun baked each man, no one cared. After all! Mustangs!

American style

When a bald man, gut-hanging over his belt, called numbers, checking them off.  Nodding abruptly, he explained, “You guys!  Lissen up!  Your number called, you come up with your letter, and we’ll get outta this damn heat.  Inside we’ll make sure you’re who you say you are.” Nodding again, he called the first number.  “O4669?”

Gut guy and 04669 disappeared inside.  Minutes passed, Gut emerged, called out 06322, and the process went on until only Rick was left, clutching his letter, 03984, precious 03984. Letitbemeletitbeme…

Finally, 03984 was called.  His heart pounded in his chest, Here!  It’s my number.  The door opened into the showroom, and Rick’s mouth all but dropped.  Lincolns, Mustangs…I could make big bucks lifting these…

But then, Rick was taken to another room, where a ring of badges anticipated his arrival.  One grabbed Rick, cuffed him, and read the Miranda Rights. 

A big white bus awaited him, filled with all the other award winners, grumbling and shocked.  Just like him. Mustangs grew small as the bus drove away.  I coulda won the cool black one, with the racing stripe.  Yup, I woulda picked that one.

The underlined words were provided by Delores in Wednesday Words in 2015. Rewrites followed and then this is what you read.

This has actually happened several times, where ex-convicts had broken their paroles. But hope springs eternal when it comes to Mustangs.

On live today, from Man on the Street

As seen from space

Getting ready for work...watching a live financial show... Man on the Street sending current sites and images to two commentators...Talking about Wall Street...then...Man on the Street cameraman turns camera upwards...

One stops mid-sentence: Wait, what?...Did we just see a stunt?...No, think it is a bomb of some sort...WAIT?...(focus in tight, there, there...) Smoke, look!...Explosion  (Did you see that?!!)...What? See the second tower?...A plane? What you mean there are two planes?...Both towers, smoke and fire?...Oh, dear God, no! NoNoNo......

People start running, some screaming...Get in that door, get out of the smoke!...Confusion

Noise, so much noise...Sirens...

Live TV, from the Man on the Street...Both men find their voices, but there are tears. Screen switches to main news. Their voices are scratchy, confused.

What could they say? What should they say? How could they say it?

How could they say anything then, or in the hours that followed? Or the days? Years? Or over the next 18 years? 

What can we say now?

Even now, looking back, what will anyone say in days, years, decades to come?

The numbers of those exposed to the toxic fallout are about 400,000. Of those 10,000 have registered with World Health to check for cancer. Many have died, and it is predicted that more people will follow as time passes.

Tomorrow is that day, 9/11.

When the Door Opens

Yalehome door hardware

The unexpected can hit at the turn of a door knob. You are working at home and all is going well. Papers, reports and whatever. All was going well until the door knob turns.

So, here you go, following the family of Professor Robert Kelly, BBC correspondent from South Korea. 

Suddenly Dr. Kelly is a viral superstar. But is he the star? Or will sweet Megan Marian Kelly achieve the role of Ruler of the World?

Who knows what will be next? Will it be another turn of the doorknob? Will it be a tizzy tantrum outside the office door? 

How about the family dog barking loudly? Needs a walk? Who would walk the dog while taking the children to the park?

Maybe it would be Mom chasing after two screaming children? And one of those children is vomiting? Who will clean up the vomit? And, how about changing diapers?

The truth is that work is work, no matter where. If it were an invasion of a 4 year old or an invasion of fellow workers, work is always work. It just has more possibilities, which is a darn good thing.

The real super star is Mom, as we all know very well.