Three-fingered Salute

I stood in the middle of Shore Road waiting for an approaching car to pass by.

It was Saturday afternoon, and I was a bit frazzled. I was taking an all-day session with my beloved writing class—my instructor calls these events “The Chunk”--and I’d gone to my local park to work on a particularly thorny chapter of my manuscript.

However, some group of…people had set up massive speakers on the nearby 69th Street pier and was blasting dance music to virtually no one.

I’m assuming these twits had to obtain a permit to use public property is this most irritating manner, which makes me wonder who was the idiot who signed off on this fiasco.

It was a good distance away me, but the thump-thump-thump of the sound system traveled with the greatest of unease and it was driving me crazy.

Had it been Saturday night I wouldn’t have minded. Hell, I might’ve gone over there and busted a move myself or pulled a muscle. But a beautiful sunny summer afternoon doesn’t need a soundtrack.

The improv disco was hardly the only thing going wrong on Saturday and now this clown in the car is creeping along instead of driving by and letting cross the damn street.

Then I saw that the driver was slowing down and waving to me.

‘Insufficient facts always invite danger’

Okay, so the rough ride started in the park earlier in the morning—before the damn music started. I was sitting in my beach chair working on my chapter when I get this notion to screw around with iPhone.

The writing class is conducted over Zoom, and I wanted to make sure I had the appropriate app so I could connect with the group from the park.

Only I hit the zoom button on my phone instead and all the numbers on my phone instantly expanded to gargantuan size.

The numbers were so big, I couldn’t open tap in my phone’s code, so my primary communication device was essentially a rock with a SIM card.

This happened to me once before when I went to Washington D.C. last year and I was so technically clueless that all I could do was let the power run down reboot the following morning.

I should’ve studied up on how to correct this problem, but I didn’t—or if I did look it up I had long since forgotten what the hell to do.

Now I’ve been working on my anger management skills, so I don’t go all twisted in situations just like this and…well, I need to keep working on these skills because I started cursing and fuming like a barroom full of sailors.

The funny thing is that below all the drama queen histrionics, I could clearly hear the logical side of my brain—my inner Mr. Spock, so to speak—calmly telling me to call Verizon tech support or check the internet on the home computer and get out of this mess.

That part of my noodle knew that I couldn’t be the only person to have had this problem. Get the answer and get out of this mess.

So, I googled away and found my answer. And it is so simple that I’m almost ashamed to admit it.

All you have to do is tap your phone screen twice with three fingers. I couldn’t believe this would ever work until I did it and my phone’s touchscreen went right back to its original size.

My goal, of course, is to bypass my Nutsy Fagan side and go straight to the Vulcan part of my mind because raging at a machine is highly illogical.

I’m a long way from that frame of mind, but the journey of a thousand light years starts with a single thought.

Meanwhile…

The driver on Shore Road pulled right up to me and came to a stop. I figured he wanted to ask directions, like most motorists who flag me down do, but this was something else.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he said. I just want to know…when people leave from here, do they come back?”

“You mean like when they were kids, and they come back here to live?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I know I did,” I said, having lived in Pennsylvania and Connecticut for a total of 10 years before moving back to Bay Ridge. “But the neighborhood has changed a lot. Are you from here?”

“Yeah, here and Rockaway.”

We talked a little bit more, with me keeping one eye out for oncoming traffic because I didn’t want to end up “pulling fender out of my ass,” as my father used to tell pedestrians.

I was a little suprised by question. Was he shaken by how much Bay Ridge had changed over the years? Was he unnerved at how quickly the years had gone by?

It amazes me when I think of all the stores and businesses that used to be here and are now gone. It can be a very jarring experience.

And then he thanked me for my time and extended his arm. I wasn’t sure if he was waving or trying to shake hands, but I reached out and touched his arm with three fingers before he drove off.

Live long and prosper.