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There I was, sitting in my car and the thought came to me, “What if they just never let me leave the parking garage?”

I came to this life changing question when I was trying to leave a parking garage recently, attempting to pay the whopping $1 fee I had accrued. I pulled my car up to the kiosk just before the arm that blocked the exit.

It told me to insert my ticket. I did. A computery voice said, “Push debit or credit button to pay.”

I scanned over the unit. There were five buttons – three silver ones that had no markings, one marked “Cancel” and one marked “Call for help.”

I pushed the first silver button.

“Push debit or credit button to pay.”

I pushed the second silver button.

“Push debit or credit button to pay.”

I pushed the third silver button.

“Push debit or credit button to pay.”

I looked over the machine again. Maybe I was missing a button? Nothing. I decided to insert my card into the card reader and see if that maybe triggered something to start working.

“Push debit or credit button to pay.”

Ok, time for help, I guess.

I pushed the button. A moment later, a voice came over the speaker. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m trying to leave the parking garage, and it keeps saying to push the debit or credit button to pay, but there is no such button.”

“Did you insert your card?”

“Yes, and it told me to push the debit or credit button.”

“Did you push the button?”

“There IS NO button.”

“Pull out your card and try again and it should work,” the voice said, and it disconnected.

“Push debit or credit button to pay.”

Sigh. This is now my home, I guess.

I pushed help again. As I waited for the speaker to engage, I noticed a car pull up behind me. This was a single lane exit, so I was blocking the only egress. I leaned out the window and shrugged, pointing at the machine to convey the international sign for “Not my fault but technology’s fault.”

I pushed the help button again.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, it still won’t let me out. It just keeps saying ‘Push debit or credit button to pay.’ And there is no such button.”

At that point, an ally  emerged. I heard a voice from outside my window. “Sir, hang on a second. I’m coming.” I looked up and saw a man wearing a reflective vest approaching my car. I explained the situation to him. He said, “Are you sure the card is good?” I replied, “I am. It’s also a dollar to get out. Can I just give you a dollar in change I have in my car door?”

No time for direct change-based transactions. He pushed the help button. 

The voice came back on, and he said, “We have a customer here who cannot get the machine to work, and it’s asking him to push a button that, well, isn’t here.” Vindication.

The speaker and the vest guy had a few back and forths, and then it was decided I needed to back up and try again. He directed the car behind me to back up, and then I backed up, and then approached the machine again. I inserted my ticket.

“Push debit or credit button to pay.”

The speaker crackled. “Hold for a moment. I’ll let him out as a courtesy.”

A few moments later, and the arm lifted. The vest guy told me to go on, and apologized for the issue. Just a hunch that the guy in the car behind me was going to have a similar issue.

But at least I am free of my parking garage prison, and do not have to spend my remaining days, wandering the decks of the garage, contemplating my existence, wondering what went wrong, and quietly mumbling under my breath, “Push debit or credit button to pay.”

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

I love it when you get your eyes opened to a world you hardly knew existed. I think back to when I was a kid and we first got cable, and exploring this amazing world of expanded channel choices. I think of the early days of the Internet, when it was still in the kinda fun phase. You know, before it became as shouty as it is today.

And I now am learning about the expanding world of fire logs.

My family loves a good fire, and pretty much any time it dips below 60, I’m game for one. And I usually prime it by using a firelog, one of those compact, sawdusty things that usually advertise 3-4 hours of burn time.

I usually buy a box of the Duraflame logs at my nearby grocery store, figuring the standard issue ones in the big yellow box was all I needed.

And then my eyes were opened. My wife and I were shopping at the store after a recent cold spell. Lows were pushing near freezing at night, which represents a fairly deep dive into winter here, so folks with fireplaces all go into action.

We were out of firelogs, so we went to the aisle where they live to get some more. Alas, no big yellow boxes. Not even single logs available. Then I looked on a lower shelf, and there it was – something called a Java Log. It said on the box it was “recycled coffee grounds firelog.” Color me intrigued.

We brought the logs home, and when it was time for a fire, I pulled out one of the logs. A slight coffee aroma wafted into the air. Delightful. 

When I lit the fire, the smell of coffee continued. It was nothing overbearing. Just as if a fresh pot of coffee had just been brewed.

And that’s when my world exploded. I mentioned the logs on social media, and people began sharing tales of KFC firelogs, which I found out is a real thing, and boasts of an aroma of “fried chicken-scented 11 Herbs & Spices.” I’m listening, KFC.

At that point, I knew there was more to learn. I went to the computer and looked up “scented fire log.” That’s when I learned of Yankee Candle’s scented logs. I learned of cinnamon-scented logs. I learned of the Irish peat-scented one, although admittedly, having never been to Ireland much less an Irish peat bog, I would not know what to expect. And, of course, I learned there is a bacon-scented log.

I may very well experiment with many of these different types of smells, although I have to say, KFC, your fire log appears to be a little too rich for my blood.

More than likely, I will revert back to mainly using the good old trusted standard issue firelogs. After all, I mainly use my television to watch Jeopardy! on network TV every night, despite the breadth of programming available. I mainly use the Internet to type word files and send emails, despite the breadth of shouty places.

But it’s nice to know the bigger world exists. And who knows – maybe one day, I will have an urge for a cinnamon fire. And I am sure we will be having plenty of fires, as I just checked the forecast, and with temps well into the 50s, it’s clear that the harsh days of winter are upon us.

 

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Over the last week, I’ve heard a lot of people say that they want to put up their Christmas decorations early this year, probably right after Halloween.

I’ve seen a lot of folks on social media express the same sentiment, even saying that, while they would normally provide a tsk-tsk to people doing so, this year, everyone gets a pass.

And I couldn’t agree more. I try to live my life not getting upset about what other people do if it doesn’t affect me or hurt other people. And putting up a bunch of lights surely doesn’t check either of those boxes.

That said, I am normally a Christmas decorating stickler. For me during normal times, no lights or trees or Christmas music until after Thanksgiving. But this year, I may, too, break my personal guidelines and light the house up Griswold-style sooner rather than later.

I’m not exactly being a philosopher when I say that 2020 has been kind of a bummer year. And I also know the joy that Christmas decorations bring so many people. So, folks, if there is joy to be found out there, by all means get that joy up sooner rather than later.

My Christmas decorating tradition usually starts on the weekend after Thanksgiving. I bring out all of the boxes with our outside lights, and I pop open the lid to find my usual nice surprise: My note from last year’s Mike reminding this year’s Mike which lights go where. I am always appreciative of past me.

My kids usually enjoy decorating with me, although I will say that if I ever decorated without my daughter, it would be one of the more hurtful things I could do. My son is usually like, “Yeah, if I’m around, cool, but if not, it’s fine.” But the toughest thing about my daughter’s first year at college? Her worry that I would light up the night without her. Don’t worry, kid. I gotcha.

My wife also loves to decorate the inside of our house. We always do a live tree, but we have now added an artificial tree as well. My wife loves the tree because it is one of those all white ones, and she can hang a bunch of our nicer ornaments on it and make it her little art project. Which brings her joy. And thus makes me happy.

Our live tree will be adorned with lots of homemade ornaments, going all the way back to when my wife and I were kids. It also has at least one ornament from every vacation we’ve taken, so it’s always a fun trip down memory lane when they go on the tree.

And it will also be time for the birds. I am not sure how it started, but my wife has begun to amass a collection of these adorable birds that are about six inches tall. They are plump little rascals, and are all decorated with different seasonal flair. Currently, the birds that line our stairs have very fall-themed looks. But she has a host of Christmas-themed birds she can’t wait to put out. As she said just this morning, “I usually only get to see my Christmas birds for four weeks. This year, I want to see them for eight.” Joy. And I agree.

We also have a plastic Gingerbread house that the kids have decorated for years. If you are not familiar with it, it’s awesome. It’s a plastic frame that can be washed. You coat it with icing, and then decorate it with various candies and treats and such. You don’t just have to do it for Christmas. Name your holiday and decorate accordingly. Even though my kids are now 17 and 20, it’s still something fun to do that, again, brings joy.

So if you are feeling festive, get the decorations out. 2020 is probably still not done doling out unpleasant surprises, so every little bit of joy can help. Be well, readers, and find – and share – joy.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

It was your usual close to the end of a workday: My co-worker turned to me and said, “We’ve gotta go catch that chicken.”

It all started when I noticed a commotion outside my office window. I saw some people with a stick trying to get something out from under a car in the parking lot. A cat, I assumed, as we have a bunch of cats that hang out near my office.

Nope, chicken.

It came strutting out from under the car, but had no interest in going anywhere. It was just hopping around the parking lot. We watched for a short while when my co-worker, Louise, made the proclamation. Needless to say, I was in.

We headed downstairs and into the parking lot. We are on the second floor of our building. The first floor is a utility company that has a drive-through where the chicken was now trotting about.

There were a couple of people watching the chicken. I said, “Is this your chicken?” I was half-way joking. One of the people turned and said,“Can y’all do something with it?” It was clear she wanted the chicken to be taken care of, but would prefer someone else do it. I’m cool with that.

We sprang into action. We formed a loose circle around the bird, hoping to be able to safely get some hands on it. Sensing the panic, it darted underneath a pick-up truck that was in line at the drive-through. Fortunately, those folks were kind enough to put the truck in park while we were trying to coax it out.

And then it decided to hop up into the truck chassis. It was WAAAAY up in the truck, clucking at me telling me that it was fine there, thank you very much. 

One of our fellow bird herders grabbed me a long stick, and I climbed under the truck and gently prodded the bird out. After a few soft pokes, it hopped down, and back into the parking lot.

I turned to Louise. “We need a blanket or a jacket or something to throw over it.” I glanced at Louise’s blazer.

She didn’t hesitate. In a flash, she had her blazer off and in her hand, and as we closed in the circle, she spread it out like a net. The circle got closer. And closer. And closer. And Louise flung the jacket. Bullseye.

It landed squarely on top of the bird, and I was able to then grab it. Louise retrieved her blazer, and the bird calmed down a bit. We placed it in a box and got it some water and Fruit Loops (the only possible bird food we could find in the break room) and it seemed quite content. It began to purr and cluck to Louise, as they were clearly pals. She named the bird Betty.

I don’t know where Betty is from. But I know that I work on a very busy six-lane road, and there is no chance that a chicken is ever crossing the road at 5:00 on a weekday. Betty is now at my house, and we have a nice farm home for it to go to soon. Betty will get to go and live out her life as a chicken should – just free to roam in her farmyard world. And not in the chassis of a pickup truck.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

If you were to present me with a choice of getting some extensive dental work or doing some minor plumbing home repair, I would need to get back to you after a lot of thought on which to choose.

Of all of the home repair things that can face a homeowner, plumbing is by far my least favorite of all tasks. Dealing with anything electrical would be at the top of the list, but since my wife has already made it very clear there is no need for me to ever even attempt such repairs, I don’t even have to consider that an option.

But when plumbing repairs present themselves, I can’t plead, “I might set the house on fire so we better call someone.” Such was the case recently when the toilet in our bathroom broke. It was fairly easy to detect that something was broken, because generally when you flush a toilet, you should not be holding the handle free of the tank.

Alas, that was how we found ourselves, when the handle snapped clean off. I did the sensible thing, which was to turn off the water to the toilet, place the tank lid on top of the closed seat, and tell the rest of the family, “Sorry, folks, but we no longer have a functioning toilet in our bathroom.”

Apparently this was not an acceptable decision. (Granted, I did manage to kick the can down the road for two days, which, quite frankly, I consider quite the accomplishment.)

I went to the home improvement store to pick out a new handle. To my surprise, I found out that they could be bought for a mere $2. When I returned home, I put the new handle in, connected the chain, and quickly found out why it cost a mere $2, when it immediately snapped. Chalk that up to a $2 lesson in the pitfalls of frugality.

Prior to heading back to the store, I noticed that the little plug thingee that keeps the water in the tank was looking a little ragged. Might as well fix that as well, I thought. Because when you are doing something you hate, it’s always good to double up the effort.

I went back to the store and grabbed a slightly hardier handle. When I went to get the plug thingee, I glanced at the options hanging on the wall. Some said they were for particular brands of toilet. I am like most people on the planet and have no idea what kind of toilet I have. However, I did see one choice that read, “Universal stopper. Fits all toilet brands.” Winner, winner. Or so I thought.

When I got home, I went to install the stopper. And I quickly saw that it was not fully plugging the hole in the bottom of the tank, which pretty much defeats the whole purpose. I returned to the store to exchange the item. When I went back to the Wall o’ Stoppers, I noticed that the first “universal” one I got was the two inch model whereas what I needed was the three inch version, which also marketed itself as being “universal.” Cue my inner Inigo Montoya. “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

I brought the two new repair parts home and set to doing my home plumbing. First, I put the three inch universal stopper in, which I was surprised to see actually worked, because I am cursed at home improvement and I expect everything I do, in particular with regards to plumbing, to result in more problems.

I connected the handle, and then linked the chain to the handle. I cut the water back on, fully expecting a full-on geyser to erupt in my bathroom. The tank filled. I flushed. And it … worked. Just as it was supposed to. 

Perhaps I have somehow exorcised my demons of the most basic plumbing tasks that present themselves. Maybe I have finally conquered that mountain. Maybe it’s time to branch out and see what else I can do. Except anything involving electrical stuff. I feel pretty certain my wife won’t budge on that edict.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

If you are thinking of a perfect Tuesday, I am guessing you do it by starting with a visit to the DMV, and then close with a visit to the dentist.

Yes, this was my recent Tuesday, when I had these two delightful events book-ending my day.

I wouldn’t have normally planned it this way. My dentist appointment had been set for many months. And my DMV visit was dictated by living in a pandemic world. I had to get a replacement for an expired plate, so I had to actually go into the DMV, for which you need to set an appointment.

In pre-pandemic times, I usually just do a do-drop-in at the DMV. I live right around the corner from one, so I zip over at various times, gauge the line, and if it’s a problem, I just come back another time. But these are not those times.

Several weeks ago, I went online to set my DMV appointment. When I went online back in early July, I saw that there was one at 4:30 on the very day I was currently living. Perfect, I thought. Then I remembered that I had a work meeting at the same time, to which I thought, imperfect. No worries, let’s see what else is open.

Nothing. Not a single opening for the rest of July. I am really curious how that one 4:30 appointment managed not to get snagged.

So I booked the soonest one I could, which was early August. 

I arrived for my 10:45 appointment with all of my paperwork in order. I approached the front door, and it was clear the DMV visit was going to be different. There were a handful of folks out front, waiting for access. There  was a woman at a desk right inside the front door. An employee standing near the store said to me, “Do you have an appointment?” I told him I did, and he directed me inside. I spoke with the woman at the desk who got me checked in and said, “OK, you can go wait outside or in your car and we will text you when it’s time to come in for your appointment.”

I went to my car and cranked it up, wondering if the folks who were all standing out in the heat maybe didn’t have air conditioning in their cars or something. I turned on some music, leaned my seat back, and set in for what I assumed would be a usual DMV-sized wait. And about 30 seconds later I got a text from the DMV telling me it was game on time.

I walked back in and the woman asked my name. “Window number 7,” she said.

That’s it? Just … walk to the window? No sitting in a crowded waiting room with my chair backed up to someone who wants to lean back and nap on me? No child who really doesn’t want to be at the DMV who is constantly reminding everyone of that? No person who wants to watch YouTube videos with the sound up and no earphones in? This is not the DMV I know.

And sure enough, I went to window 7, and I got the new plate, and I was done. And it was not even 11. Not even 15 minutes total.

I went back to my car and texted my wife. “That was unsettlingly easy.”

I know COVID has changed a lot of our lives forever. But I am still hopeful that some of these changes stick for the future, as I think they are for the better. Six feet distance from people? I’m super good with that. People washing their hands on a regular basis? Not sure why they weren’t doing this before. But I did not even start to think the COVID could make the DMV a breeze of an event. I am hopeful that appointments and hanging out in your car (or out front) stays a thing from here to eternity. It made for a super easy (and fast) interaction. It will almost put a spring in your step. And make you forget you have a dentist appointment later in the day.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

For almost five decades on this planet, I did not have much success growing a beard.

Yes, I know that for everyone that first decade is a wash. For me, the next three decades also did not experience much beard growing success, despite my occasional feeble attempts.

I don’t recall a lot of beards when I was in high school, but I do recall taking my kids to high school over the years and seeing bearded folks walking into the school, and my thought was, “Why is that teacher wearing a backpack and a letter jacket?”

Maybe kids could grow beards when I was in high school. But I know I couldn’t. (Fun yet slightly related fact: There used to be a video tape of me in my freshman year in college at a fraternity party, and my voice is cracking a la Peter Brady. Thankfully, that tape was shown so many times (despite my objections) it eventually broke and died. I think that may answer some of the questions as to why I didn’t have a whole lot of facial hair experience in my first two decades.)

I tried to grow a beard a few times over the next couple of decades, with little success. Usually, I would give up after about two weeks, when it just looked like I had just not washed my face for a while.

My beard would come in scraggly and uneven, and often presented multiple colors that made it look like someone had thrown a calico cat at my face at an exceptional velocity.

On the occasions I made it past a few weeks, I usually bailed at about the six-week mark, when it became too itchy for me to bear.

A few years ago, after one of my latest failed attempts, my wife said to me that I had made some notable attempts, and it was time to just wrap it up and call it a lifetime on the beard. And that’s OK. And she was right. Then.

Because “then” was not during a pandemic. So when it all went south and we went into quarantine, I decided I would stop shaving. But to have a clear out, I put in what I thought was a handy escape clause.

I vowed not to shave until the Atlanta Braves threw their first pitch of the season. I made this vow in February, confident that the March 26 opening day would be just fine.

What fools we were early in this whole mess…

When the baseball season was postponed in mid-March. I had two choices. Give up my ruse that I was actually thinking I could grow a beard, or buckle up and see how long this thing goes.

Which is why, in late July, I finally shaved my beard. The Braves opened with the Mets in a real baseball game, and I was finally at the point where I could acknowledge that I had accomplished a beard. 

I weathered the storm of the itchiness. And I finally got there. An actual beard. Like grown ups (or high school kids) have. I got to the point where my wife on occasion said, “You know, you could trim it a bit if you want?”

So for the past few months, I have had a beard. I know new neighbors and co-workers who have never known me without a beard. The young neighbor across the street saw me one morning and stared blankly at me, having no idea who I was. Based on my kids’ and wife’s reaction when I shaved, they had gotten used to me with the bearded look. But I think it will be retired. I have proven that I can do it, and I can now revert back to my babyface shaved look that I have known most of my life. From here on out, I’ll leave the beards up to the pros. You know, current sophomores in high school.Unless there is another pandemic.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

If you spend enough (or worse, too much) time on social media you will begin to develop the very grim view that the world is overrun with very angry, very unpleasant people. 

People who will gladly say something in a comment just to upset someone else.

People who will delight in saying or doing something that they know will hurt someone else.

People who are, well, mean.

And if you’re not careful, you can start to think, “Well, there it is. People are just awful.”

So it’s nice to see that sometimes, you are reminded of why in the real world – away from their keyboards and more representative of the vocal minority of people online – people are fundamentally decent.

We found this out recently when my son lost his camera. He is an avid nature photographer, and goes out most every day to find critters and photograph them. He has a very nice camera that was a gift from his grandparents. It was one of the last gifts his Pop gave to him before passing away.

My son had gone out one night and after a stop to photograph a copperhead he found, he set the camera on the bumper of his car. And he drove off. He didn’t realize that he had set the camera there until he got home, around 11:30 at night.

He went into panic mode when he realized what had happened. So we hopped in the car, and made the 45 minute drive out into the woods to look for it in the middle of the night. Nothing.

The next day, my wife posted a Facebook message about the camera, as well as our son’s love of nature and the sentimental value of the camera. Parker and I went and blanketed the area with signs hoping that some good Samaritan had driven by and seen it and had it for safekeeping.

After more than a week, we still haven’t recovered the camera. And that’s a bummer. If the person who has the camera decided it was now theirs, I hope they enjoy it and the thousands of nature pics on it, and also appreciates that the camera was one of the final gifts a grandfather gave to his grandson.

But this column isn’t for that person. No, rather it is for:

• The hundreds of people who shared the post.
• The people who responded to my wife’s post saying, “I have shared this post to (insert community here) forum! Hope you find it!”
• The people who sent messages expressing their hope that it was found.
• The gentleman who messaged my wife and said he and his husband often biked out there, and they would be on the lookout for it.
• The person who called me from the woods and said, “Hey, I saw your sign. Can you tell me where you think you lost it so I can be on the lookout?”
• The people who contacted us who had searched various online shopping sites to see if they could find it posted for sale somewhere.
• The people who reached out to offer to donate replacement cameras.

Because those are really who we are. I have to believe that. It’s not the people on social media who take delight in being mean to other people online. It’s not the people who go in the streets and yell at peaceful protesters. It’s not the people who willfully spread falsehoods and lies and inflammatory and hateful rhetoric online.

Yes, they exist. 

But for the most part, we are better. We are a good people. And we need not be poisoned by the bad who are trying to drown out the good.

Embrace the good. Thank you, good people. And keep being you. And be loud about your good. Because it matters in the world.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

I am not a patient shopper. Nor am I necessarily a well researched shopper. Which is why any major purchases (anything, say, over $5 or so) should probably be run through my wife first.

She is one of these people who will spend time, you know, seeing if a product is good or not.

Me? Not so much.

Take, for example, our microwave. When we moved to our new home about six year ago, we had some time while I was at the new house while my wife was back in our old place across the state wrapping up last minute details.

I had a long list of things I needed to get done. One of those things was to procure a microwave. We did not bring our microwave from our previous house because XXXXXX.

Perhaps it was the blur of the move that allowed my wife to put that purchase in my camp.

So I did what was natural to me – I went to a retail store, found a microwave that was SUPER cheap, and headed for the exit.

When my wife got to the house a few days later, she saw the microwave and said, “Why is it so small?”

“Well, it was only like $25.”

“I think you got a microwave for a dorm.”

Well, we had a new home and kids starting school in a new town in a few days, so I think my wife just decided she’d live with the microwave that probably had once dreamed of making nothing but Ramen noodles for its career.

Well, life got in the way, and we never got around to replacing it. But o ver time, we found more and more things we disliked about the little microwave that couldn’t. It was indeed very small, and some of our bowls didn’t even fit in it. It took about 15 minutes to cook a single baked potato. And starting last year, it began making a weird grinding noise when the glass platter inside turned. That is, when it actually turned.

And then quarantine happened. And my wife said, “I’m going shopping for a microwave.” I said, “You’re going to the store?” She said, “Nope, as she settled into her chair with her laptop.”

Then, for the next, like, two days, she researched microwaves. She read comparisons. Took measurements. Like, actual research.

A few days later, a package arrived at the door. A package much larger than one that would be needed for our current microwave.

I opened it up. And there it was – a big, beautiful, fully functioning microwave.

I nestled it up on the counter, which had been occupied for years with a comically undersized shoebox of a microwave. It looked like what an actual grown-up would have in their kitchen.

And the first time I cooked with it? REALLY overcooked a microwave lunch pizza. Because I forgot you don’t have to like triple the time it says on the package, since this thing actually works.

The kids even remarked on how much they liked it, including the feature where they can press a button and it adds 30 seconds to their dish. Because that is the kind of hardships they have had to endure.

So I now feel as if we have a complete kitchen, and I am now cleared of my microwave sin. And most importantly, I think we’ve all learned an important lesson: Don’t leave me in charge of things like this.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Since my son has started driving, I have encouraged him to make sure that he finds a standard place to leave his wallet and keys in the house every time he comes home.

I am practically robotic about this, leaving mine in the same little nook and cranny. My routines are simple – I set my keys in a basket on our counter, and I set my wallet in – I will never tell. I don’t need you coming and finding my wallet that is devoid of anything useful other than my license, my bank card and, for some reason, an expired library card from where I used to live. I’m on to you. You will NOT get my expired library card.

I would like to think we are teaching him well on this, and I would celebrate that we are, except for the almost nightly ritual when my son heads to work when he says, “I can’t find my keys!!!” (Spoiler alert: They are usually in the couch cushions.)

He was pretty good about his wallet, however. Because he is 17, his wallet doesn’t contain much: driver’s license and a few random bucks he got for an odd job here or there.

But the other night, he could not find his wallet. He enlisted the support of my wife and me, who began to go through the house on the search.

For what it’s worth, my wife is the expert on finding lost items. She does this forensic thing where she grills you about where you last had said item in a ridiculous CSI protocol that is equally effective and annoying. It’s effective because it works. It’s annoying because it almost always works, and she has this insane ability to find things after asking you question after question until you say, “Oh, wait, I did pull my wallet out in the bathroom while I was looking for a cleaner.” And boom – there is your wallet in the downstairs bathroom cabinet for some inexplicable reason.

Alas, this time, even her grilling could not yield results. Despite the intense questioning, we could not find the wallet. 

Fast forward to a few hours later. My wife and I had left the house for a bit, and I got a call from my son. He was out in the front yard chilling out in the early evening. A police officer rolled up in front of our house. He had his wallet. Someone had found it on the road and had turned it into the police.

Parker’s best guess: The last time he had left the house, he went to drop his wallet in the side door pocket and missed, and when he did a quick open-and-shut a bit later when he realized his door was not shut entirely, it fell out on the road.

It has some tire marks on it, but everything was returned to him. He even had some cash in the wallet, and that was still in there, too. Thank you, kind stranger, for being the good we need in the world. 

Folks, in these rough times, let’s not forget that there is a lot of that good in the world. We are, overall, a decent group of mammals. Keep paying it forward. Keep doing what’s right. And keep finding a place to keep your wallet and keys.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.