An Arizona Tale:
On the second Friday in July I helped put on our company’s picnic. It went well, but I was out in the sun at 9am moving coolers and setting up pop-tents and such things. Then I ran the raffle and ate as much as four of our average employees. Once that was done, I rewarded myself with a long round of Frisbee Golf. We must have hiked over a mile and most of the game was with no shade. I’m not complaining, I’m just setting the stage.
Upon returning to our ramada, I found that all the sodas and waters were gone. Okay, I’d survive somehow, which in my case meant eating a quart of neglected ice cream. I had also volunteered for clean up (In the hopes of getting free leftovers ((I know this is a huge surprise to all of you)) So you get the picture, I was hot, dehydrated, and guess what, I had a seven mile bike ride ahead of me so I could watch my four year old son while my wife helped her mom with her discharge planning meeting (She was just getting out of the hospital after an operation).
So I make it there. I’m hot, flushed, and winded, but they had a water cooler, so I chug three quick glasses of water while my son plays with a few toys in the second floor of the Summit Center. The Summit Center is huge. It has a maze of easily a hundred rooms that is split into different departments which all deal with people dumming out for various reasons.
So my son is cool and I’m trying to get that way. We have ten minutes of calm while I drink cup after cup of water. I’m just starting to lower my core temperature, when my son looks over at me, smiles, and then yells, “Wee-hah!”
A second later he takes off running.
I give chase, but figure as an adult I won’t run full out. No reason to get undignified, what a wrong choice that was. Soon A) he is lost in this huge maze and B) the nurses and attendants are wondering why this tall, wild haired, flushed Viking guy is rushing through their security zones. Our conversations went as follows.
“Can I help you… ah, sir?”
“Perhaps, I’m looking for my run away four year old son.”
“What does he look like?”
“Have you seen Led Zeppelin’s Houses of the Holy album cover?”
If this description was inadequate, no one brought it up and soon I had half a dozen people in scrubs helping me navigate the labyrinth.
Was my son still running wild turning corner after corner? Oh no, he was hiding in the dark corner of some random meeting room. A young blonde haired nurse called out to me. “Here he is. I found him.”
I made it there and was greeted by his laughter.
She turned to me and said, “He does look like the cover of the Houses of the Holy.”