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It was a quiet Friday morning. I woke up about 8:30 and began to get ready for the day when my phone rang.
It was Chris Buckel.
Chris had recently moved back into town after living in New Orleans and Arkansas for the past few years. He recently bought a house and was in the process of getting everything squared away.
"Josh," he said, "what do you know about pouring concrete?"
"Um . . . not too much, I saw Bob Villa do a special on it once. I know it can be a very long, difficult process; and if it isn't done right, it can be very bad down the road. Why?"
"Well, I have a driveway at my new house, but I want to expand it. As it stands, there is only room for about three cars in the driveway. If I have a party or something, everyone will be parking in my yard and mess it up."
"Sounds expensive."
"I want to do it on the cheap."
"Well, uh, what do you suggest?"
"What are you doing this afternoon?"
"I've, uh, I've got some work I need to get done, and I wanted to go watch a movie."
"Good, it's settled. Meet me at the Demitasse at 2:30. Bring a shovel."
"But, I . . ."
"I've got to go."
I stood and looked at myself in the mirror.
"How do I keep getting pulled into this stuff," I asked.
As 2:30 rolled around, I found myself sitting in the parking lot at the Demitasse - our local coffee shop. I was wearing my classic work clothes - red NSU P.E. shorts and a white tee-shirt with several holes in it - and was ready to pour some concrete.
Chris's red SUV pulled up to my red truck. He was wearing a suite.
"Josh! What are you wearing?!?!"
"Um, I'm wearing work clothes, ready to pour cement."
"Don't worry about that! I found the perfect guy to do it just ten minutes before I came to pick you up?"
"Oh yeah, who is it?"
"Captain Joe . . . . he's pouring me a 20 foot slab of cement for $500 bucks! Every other company I asked wanted at least $2500 for the job."
"Um . . . are you sure that is smart? Did you sign anything?"
"Naw. I trust this guy; he's a professional. You ought to come see him at work!"
"Uh, okay."
"But first, you are going to come with me to visit Pastor Danny. I've got a very important appointment with him, and wanted to introduce you too."
"But man, look what I'm wearing!"
"It's okay. I'll explain to him what happened!"
Three hours later I arrive at the Buckel household. What I saw nearly blew my mind.
Let me try to explain as best as I can, though no amount of words will ever be able to explain this unique phenomenon.
There was a crew of ten men - all wearing buttoned up shirts that weren't - standing in Chris's driveway. One was knocking on Chris's door and asking his wife, Felicity, if he could have some Kool-Aid. Others were sitting under Chris's carport leaning again the wall. Two of them wear trying to direct a cement truck through his yard.
And one of them . . . the plumpest of the group, was sitting in a lawn chair in the middle of the driveway, sipping from a glass of Kool-Aid, barking orders at the rest of the crew to get to work.
On his head was a captain's hat with a picture of one of those old steering wheels you see from pirate movies on the front. He was wearing a kaki pants, tennis shoes, and a button up shirt with the word "Joe" written across the front.
On the shoulder of the road was a truck with a trailer attached to it. The trailer had the words "we pour concrete" written on it . . . with, of course, an upside down "e" in "concrete."
Captain Joe jumped up and ran over to Chris.
"Hey man. I know we didn't finish the job yet, in fact, we didn't even get started yet, but I was wondering if you could pay me in advance. I didn't get a chance to pay these guys today and they said they won't work without the money."
"Sure. I guess I can do that. You guys are going to finish this tonight though, huh?"
"Well, I figured we'd lay the initial slab and come back tomorrow to finish the rest."
"The initial slab?"
"Yeah . . . kind of like, a practice."
"That's not going to effect the price any, will it?"
"Naw, we don't charge more than what we agreed on."
"Okay … well, let me go inside and write the check."
"Check?? No way. I only take cash."
"I'll need to run to the ATM, then."
"All right, you do that. I'll make sure we get this slab poured."
"Sure."
"Oh, and do you have any more Kool-Aid?"
"Um . . . I guess you could ask my wife. . . ."
"You mind doing that for me before you leave?"
"Um . . . sure."
Chris walked inside and I starred in amazement.
The Captain walked up to me.
"I got a present for you," he said reaching into his back pocket.
"What's that?"
He pulled out his wallet and opened it. I saw a long row of one hundred dollar bills.
"Don't tell the Boss," Captain Joe winked.
He reached passed the bills and grabbed a yellow card.
"Here. You never know what will come up."
I looked at the card. It had "Captain Joe's Concrete" written across the front and his business information printed in the corner. I turned the card over and noticed there was some handwriting on the back - a name and phone number.
"Just in case," he said.
At that moment Chris began to walk out of the door. Captain Joe began to shout orders at the crew, who were still, for the most part, leaning against the wall under the carport, and began to walk towards Chris.
I noticed my opportunity and made a break for it. I sprinted to my truck and hopped in the driver's seat. I turned the key, hit the gas, and took off. Never being more frightened in my life.