I wasn't very pretty. When I went to Alaska, I quit getting a haircut so now over three years later my hair was either a bushy reddish hallow around my head or tied into an unruly pony tail. When I had hit the oil platforms, I decided to grow a beard. A year later I had a long bushy reddish beard. The only clothes I owned were ratty jeans flannel shirts and high-top leather work-boots making me a candidate for Esquire. Not!
Everyone who saw me thought I was one of the homeless guys that wander the streets. One guy on the bus even gave me a couple of bucks telling me to get a good meal.
I walked away from the bus station thinking that I wanted to buy a car or pickup truck so I could get around. Downtown Miami is not a place to find car lots so I went into the first bar I found to ask where I could find car lots.
The bartender hollered at me, "get out of here you bum. We don't allow you guys in here."
I ignored him and sat on a barstool pulling a twenty from my pocket. The bartender came over to me, looking at the twenty and asked, "whaddaya have buddy."
I asked for a draft beer and when he brought it to me, I asked where I could find a place to buy a car or truck.
"Can you afford a car?" He asked.
"I think so. I just got back from working out of the country and need something to get around in."
He turned and yelled, "Joey, come over here, I gotcha a live one."
A skinny guy in a worn sport coat came over. The bartender told him I wanted to buy a car or truck. The skinny guy looked at me real hard then stuck out his hand. "I'm Joey Glazier. Who am I going to help today."
"Steve," was all I offered.
"What are you looking for?" Joey asked.
"Probably a used pickup. Doesn't have to be that nice looking. I'm on a long vacation and need to have something to wander around in."
Joey still stared at me for a few minutes then stood up, "come with me for a minute."
We went out the back door of the bar to a small parking lot. Joey walked up to an older Chevy half-ton pickup truck and pointed, "this might be what you want. Just traded for it this morning and haven't cleaned it up yet. It has about 75,000 miles on it but seems to run real good. It's only a V-6 with straight shift but it does have power steering and cold air."
The body was straight but the dull blue painted truck had probably never been waxed. The bed was in surprisingly good condition as was the interior. It had been a cheap truck when it was new and probably wasn't worth all that much now.
"Looks about what I might want," I told Joey as I waved at the truck. "How does it run."
Joey opened the driver's door and handed me the keys. I stepped up into the truck, put the key into the ignition, shifted into neutral, stepped on the clutch and turned the key. It started instantly and ran smooth. I turned on the air and cool air turning to cold came out of the vents. I shut off everything then handed the keys back to Joey.
Now I looked at the truck a lot closer. The tires were decent, probably less than fifty percent tread wear. The body was straight. No gouges, or dents. It didn't even have any big scratches. The glass was all there, even a tinted front windshield. The back bumper was a step bumper with a hole for a trailer hitch.
I looked at Joey, then at the truck, then back at Joey. "Let's go inside and have the rest of my beer and talk about it."
Back at the bar, my mug had been topped off and was still frosty. The bartender brought Joey one too.
"Okay. How much do you want for it?" I asked not looking at him.
Joey sipped his beer then took a deep breath, "you a vet?"
"What does that have to do with anything."
He turned and looked right at me and asked again, "you a vet?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Thought so. You limp a little but hold yourself straight and still walk like a GI."
"What's that got to do with the truck?" I asked wondering where this was going.
"I give breaks to guys who served. You in Desert Storm?"
"Yeah, I was there."
"You hurt there?" Joey asked.
"Yeah but I'm okay now."
"Don't matter, you gave of yourself for everyone here. I've always been too little, too weak, too sickly or too something for them to let me join. So I've had to let guys like you do the dirty work. I make up for it by helping you guys when I can."
Joey had been looking at me the whole time. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and asked, "wanna buy the pickup?"
"How much?" I asked turning to look him in the eye.
"I gave the guy a grand trade-in on an almost new truck. He was a vet too and I think that's about what the truck's worth. I haven't put a nickel in it so far so if you want it, you can have it for a grand."
I took a big drink of my beer then smiled. Putting the beer down on the bar I said, "that's a great deal Joey, I'll take it."
Joey stuck out his hand and we shook on it.
"Here's the title, let me take you to the DMV to register it so you can get some tags. I won't process it through my lot so you can just do it like a private sale. Come on, we'll do it together." Joey got down from his stool and waved at the bartender, "later Jake."
When we got into the truck, Joey asked, "Oh yeah, how you want to pay for it?"
"We'll stop by a bank before we go to the DMV. What about insurance?" I asked knowing you usually have to show proof of insurance.
"There's a place next to the DMV that sells coverage. Just buy six months worth then get some cheaper coverage when you land some where."
Joey pulled up at a City Bank branch, "this okay?"
"Yeah, be right back," I said getting out of the truck. Actually, City Bank was perfect as that was where my VA benefit was being direct deposited every month.
I had the cash in my pocket but I didn't want Joey to know I was carrying about four weeks pay worth of cash on me. I went inside and asked to change a hundred. While I was doing that I separated ten big bills then put another two hundreds in my shirt pocket. The teller was obviously scared of me, as she was very hesitant about even changing my bill. I showed her my passport then my City Bank savings bankbook and she changed her attitude.
I put the grand in an envelope she gave me and stuffed the little money in my pants.
When I got back into the pickup, I waved the envelope at Joey and said let's get it done.
The insurance guy and the DMV didn't take long. Joey then drove us to "Joey's buy here pay here" used car lot and parked in front of the sales building. Actually it was a converted office trailer made to look like a real building.
The place was busy. Several people were wondering around on the lot while it looked like all of his salespeople were making deals in small glass walled offices. Joey smiled at me, "see, I can give you a deal when I have all these other folks buying from me."
"Damn Joey, you are busy," I said wondering how come he had so much traffic.
"I have a good reputation for being fair. I don't sell junk and best of all, my salesman are all BI-lingual. If you don't speak Spanish here, you can't deal with half your customers. Let me get the second set of keys for you so you can get out of here. Take this screw driver and put your plate on your truck."
I went out to the truck and changed tags. I put my registration and insurance papers in the glove compartment then took the old plate into Joey.
We exchanged the plate for the keys and shook once more.
"Look Steve, when you want a newer truck, come see me. I'll do my best to trade you into something good."
"Thanks Joey. You've helped me out a lot. Oh yeah, I need some clothes. Where's a mall or department store I can get some stuff?"
"You're on U.S. One, just go north a couple of miles and there are all kinds of stores up there."
I walked out to my new used truck and settled behind the wheel with a satisfied feeling. I had not owned anything since high school and then it was a junk motorcycle to get to and from a job. Just about the time I was ready to start the truck, three guys on Harley's rode onto the lot and stopped in front of me, putting their kick stands down. I was going to just back up when Joey came out with one of the guys and they went toward a row of pick up trucks.
For whatever reason I just sat there and watched as three bikers displaying a national bike club's colors looked over a truck then began talking to Joey. They walked back up to the bikes and Joey looked at one of the bikes checking it over. He took out a piece of paper and was copying off the serial number plate on the bike's neck. The biker held out what looked like a title and Joey compared his paper to the title then he was about to go into the building when he spotted me.
"Hey Steve, want a Harley?"
On a whim I got out of my truck and went over to the group. I nodded to the patch holders while Joey was pointing at what looked to be late 70's early 80's Harley Davidson FLH shovelhead. I knew it ran because the guy rode in on it but looked a little ratty. The seat was torn, there were scratches all over the paint and the tires both looked worn.
The one biker asked Joey, "what can you give me as trade-in?"
"What do you think Steve? I'm thinking seven maybe eight hundred?" Joey said this pointing at the tear in the seat.
"It's rough man but it's gotta be worth more'n that." The one biker was saying.
Another of the bikers pulled his two fellow bikers out of the group and talked for a few minutes. Then the biker who wanted the truck said, "if you'll give eight, I'll take it."
Joey looked at me and said, "wait for me while I write this up. It'll only take a couple of minutes."
Joey came back out of the office with a temporary tag for the truck followed by the three bikers. They went down to the truck and a few minutes later the truck pulled out of line and drove up to the three bikes. Joey got of the truck and handed the keys to the one biker. He took off his vest and folded it up, putting in the truck's seat then climbed into the truck. The other two bikers got on their bikes started them with electric starters, revved them up a couple of times to let the world hear how good they sounded then took off in a convoy.
Joey was beaming, "those guys are great. They are never too hard to deal with and they always pay cash. Want a motorcycle?"
"Not for eight hundred," I said shaking my head at the beat up bike.
"Give me five and we'll load it up on your truck."
"Five hundred?" I was wondering if that was still too high.
"It's worth five. You spend a few hundred cleaning it up and it'll be worth thirty-five easy."
"You got a deal Joey. I'll take it."
I went over to the bike and pulled it up straight, turned the key on and hit the electric start button. It fired right up. I put it back on the kickstand then reached down and turned the gas off so it didn't leak or flood the carburetor. Joey and I went into the building so he could get me the title. I dug out five more hundreds then handed them to Joey. Joey gave me the title and said he wasn't going to process this one either, as it would be easier for me to get it registered.
Joey picked up his phone and spoke in Spanish telling someone to come up to the front with some tie downs and to bring his amigos.
Four burley Cubans came up to the front of the building and stood looking at the old Harley.
Joey told them to put it in the back of the pickup and tie it down securely. The hoisted the heavy bike into the truck then used four tie downs to snug the bike into the truck's bed. The tailgate wouldn't close but that didn't make any difference. The bike would travel well.
"Where you headed Steve?" Joey asked.
"Don't know yet Joey. Let's see I've been back in the states about six hours and have already bought a truck and a bike. Guess the next thing I need to do is look for a place to call home for a while."
"Want some help looking for a place?"
"Not yet. I'm going travel a little farther north and take a look up state first. I kind of wanted to be on the Gulf side and see what I could find. Then again, I might come back down here and go out on the keys. I just need to relax a little then I'll make up my mind."
"Good luck Steve. Come back and see me."
With that we shook hands and this time I started the truck, shifted into gear and drove off the lot.
The first thing I thought of was filling up with gas. I looked at the gauge to see it was near full. The next thing to fill up was my stomach. There was a Macdonald's right next to a gas station so I pulled into Mickey D's parking lot next to the gas station then went inside to get some of their famous food. I came out with a bunch of extra napkins and used a couple to check the truck's oil. It was fine. I walked next door to the service station and paid a buck for a state map then went back to my truck and ate my lunch while I looked at the map.
I left the restaurant and headed north. As I approached a major intersection there was an interstate highway sign for I95. From the map, I knew I had to go to Ft. Lauderdale then go west across alligator alley toward Naples then if I wanted to go north, get on I75 and go.
When I got off I95 to go west, I stopped at a Wal-Mart and bought a couple of short sleeve shirts, some pocket T-shirts, and couple of pair of jeans. While I was there, I thought I should get a gas can since I didn't know whether to trust the gauge on the truck.
I filled up the truck and my gas can then headed west. By the time I was across alligator alley, I was getting pretty tired so I pulled off into an older motel that had covered carports next to the units. An Indian lady, completed with a dot on her forehead rented me a room while gawking at my wild man appearance.
After backing into the carport to secure the bike a little better, I went into the musty smelling room and turned on the air conditioner to freshen the place up. I showered, brushed my hair and beard then put on some of my clean new clothes and went to a Denny's that was about a half block away. After eating I was ready for bed.