"OK Barrow," Howard barked with his gruff, baritone voice.
Chris readied his pen; he silently hoped to get some serious assignments. Good, meaty story assignments like his colleagues sitting around the table.
"We got a little league field over in Algiers; they’ve been trying to get their field lights fixed by the city for a year. Go talk to the facility director and some of the parents; find out what’s goin’ on," Howard ordered.
"Also, there’s a lady who runs a pastry shop down on Royal who swears that she’s got a bagel that has the likeness of Jesus on it…we’ll use it as a kicker tonight on the 10pm cast," Howard continued.
"Jesus Christ!" Chris blurted aloud in frustration.
"Yep, Jesus Christ...on a bagel," Howard ignored the context of Chris' expletive.
Chris silently sulked, mentally airing his utter frustration. Are you KIDDING me? Chris thought. A bunch of bitchy parents and a crazy lady with a piece of fucking bread?
"Yes sir," Chris affirmed with a forced smile. "Maybe I can use the bagel's divine powers to turn the little league field lights on," Chris demurred.
"Keep bitching and I'll put you over on the Northshore to cover meth labs, barns burning down and bake sale fundraisers," Howard calmly warned.
Another day of hard hitting journalism at its best, he grumbled. Too bad that this supernatural shit didn’t make the news director forget to assign bullshit stories, Chris sulked.
"Oh yeah Chris," the Howard continued. "We’re short on camera men. You’ll have to do the film also; maybe the Jesus jelly roll can help ya' out of your mood."
"Great! That’s even better. I get to cover throw away pieces AND carry a 9-thousand pound camera while it’s 80-thousand degrees outside. Beautiful," Chris mumbled under his breath.
Chris quickly recovered from his sour mood as thoughts of the wonderful evening that he and Erin shared on Saturday night.
Driving back from his field assignments, daydreaming time was rudely interrupted by a sudden jolt from behind as he sat at an intersection traffic signal.
"Shit!" He yelled. Someone had just rear ended him.
Chris exited his car to survey the damage when he looked back to the vehicle that had just hit him. As the driver exited her car Chris felt all of the blood and oxygen rush from his body. He stood motionless with a blank stare toward the car behind his.
"Oh dear God," he muttered under his breath. It was Angela.
"No, no, no, no, no!" He repeated in his mind. "Out of all the terrible drivers in this city, and there are many, THIS had to be the only person available to hit me right now?" He grumbled.
"Oh my God! Are you OK?" Angela anxiously asked as she raced toward Chris.
"Yeah, in a few ways, but I’m a work in progress," Chris sharply answered. "How bout’ you?" He asked.
"I’m fine. I think your car is worse than mine," she observed.
"Look, there’s no need for the cops; why don’t we exchange info and I’ll pay for the damage because I really can’t file another insurance claim or I’ll be cancelled, Angela nervously suggested, hoping that Chris would be sympathetic to her plight.
"No!" Chris thought to himself. Info exchange means that he and Angela would have each other’s phone numbers, resulting in contact and conversation. He‘d specifically set out to avoid Erin and Angela...and in 48 hours he's now run into both! Actually, one of them had literally run into him. This is a cruel joke, he thought.
"Nah, it’s OK; I think it gives my car character, plus, I feel fine," Chris quickly dismissed.
"I can't let you pay for the damage that I've done," Angela insisted.
"Too late for that," Chris smirked.
Angela seemed puzzled by Chris' remark, "Huh?"
"Nothing...Look, you’re OK, I’m OK so let’s just forget about the whole thing," Chris rushed.
Just as the words escaped his mouth the right side of his bumper snapped and crashed to the ground.
"Oh my God!" Angela jumped.
"It’s OK, it’s OK," Chris assured. "Seriously, this is nothing, really," he dismissed.
"Are you sure?" Angela pressed.
"Absolutely! I have a friend who can fix this for me," Chris assured.
"No!" Angela insisted, "I can’t let you do that. Your bumper is falling off."
"I said it’s fine Angie, just drop it okay?" Chris snapped, catching the words just as they passed his lips.
A feeling of panic raced through his mind. He'd just snapped at her as though they were husband and wife.
Angela paused, tilting her head awkwardly for a second. "How do you know my name?" she hesitantly asked. Chris quickly noticed the key card badge hanging unassumingly from her belt. He pointed:
"It’s on your work card," he quietly answered.
"Oh, I forgot about that," she laughed with nervous relief.
"Look, we’re all good here, I'm good...mostly, you're good, go home enjoy your evening and drive safely OK?" Chris rattled off, turning to leave.
"Whew!" He sighed, jumping behind the wheel of his blemished car. Chris drove away with a mangled bumper scraping the road along the way.
Angela stood at the roadside for a moment, shaking her head with a slight smile. "What a strange man," she thought.
Back at the pub, Chris decided to unwind and calm his nerves from an unexpectedly weird day.
"What??? She ran into you…like, literally???" Marie asked, laughing uncontrollably.
"It’s not fucking funny!" Chris snapped, massaging his temples. "I don’t need anything to complicate this God damn week more than it already is; I have enough shit goin’ on right now."
Marie composed herself. "I know, I know…but, it IS kind of funny though," she admitted, trying very hard to curb her laughter.
"Yeah, well I’m glad you’re enjoying this," Chris glared.
"Hey," Marie diverted; "Your boy is in trouble."
"Who? Who's in trouble?"
"Thomas," Marie grimly replied. "I saw him get tossed into an NOPD car about an hour ago."
"What now? Why?"
"I dunno baby, but he’s sittin’ in jail right now," She answered.
copyright Pontchartrain Press 2008
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