Get those jazz hands snapping!

Here’s a story:

In late October of last year, before this whole deployment thing, I was on an adventure to the town of Castine, Maine to meet up with an old friend, Heidi. I was traveling in my 1974 VW Westy on Route 2 for most of the way. At around 8pm, I encountered the last town in New Hampshire, a small town called (I believe) Gorham. It was there that the first part of this epic tale began. It was a simple act of purchasing a Red Bull from the store. I was confident of my gas situation (My gas gage is broke on my bus), so I continued into Maine until I encountered the town of North Paris, Maine. I went into the gas station and asked to fill my tank before I paid, due to the fact that I was paying in cash, and my gauge was broke. The guy said ‘sure, as long as you pay’, and I went on my merry way, pumping the premium fuel into the bus. It was after the pump shut off and the meter red around $50.00 that I patted my pockets and felt nothing but my leg.

My wallet was gone.

After quickly checking the rest of my pockets and the bus, I deduced that I had left my wallet on the counter at the gas station in Bethel – 45 minutes and a state away. I convinced the gas station guy to let me drive back to the station to get the wallet, after giving him my license plate number (Oregon Plates, btw. I live in Vermont. This is less than legal) and my word that I would return, and I turned the bus around and drove the 45 minutes back to Gorham. It was in Bethel, Maine, what I believe to be the last town in Maine before New Hampshire that I was pulled over for the first time in my life. 50 in a 30, construction zone, at around midnight, on a Sunday. Illegal plates, no wallet, meaning no license, no registration, no inspection, no insurance. In short, I was screwed.

After telling Mr. Policeman that I had none of the things that he was asking for, he asked my basic information. (Now, this is key) I said Roy, R-O-Y, then Mercon, while lifting up my Army uniform and showing him my name tape while I spelt M-E-R-C-O-N for him.

“Oh, you’re in the service, you say?”

“Yes, Officer, I am.”

“Well, I was gonna tow you, but now I’m gonna just give you a $280 fine.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He went to his car to look me up, to see if I was who I said I was. Meanwhile, I was on the phone, letting my parents and Heidi know I got pulled over, and to standby. Oh, did I mention it was pouring rain at this time? After about 5 minutes, he came back to my window, and told me that, according to the Great State of Maine, Roy Mercon did not exist. Now, I was born here, so I know that that couldn’t be right. After getting some more info from me, including my social and all that, he went back to his car, and again, he came back.

“Well, Mr. Mercon, according to my computer, you don’t exist. Please be careful when driving through town, and mind the speed limit. Have a nice day.”

He let me go. With a verbal warning. That is luck, right there.

So, future renewed, I drove the final 10 miles to the gas station in New Hampshire. Different gas station lady. No wallet and no way to look at the cameras until Monday. Screwed. Again. Or was I?

I went through my bus completely. Under back seats, behind curtains, under the sink, everywhere. It was nowhere to be found. While I was doing this, another cop pulls into the gas station.

“What are you up to, son?”

I explained the situation, in three part harmony, and the guy just shook his head.

“That sucks, son. Tell you what; I’m gonna drop off my partner here at the station, and then I’ll come back and see If we can’t figure this whole thing out. I’ll be back in about 5.”

Sure enough, 5 minutes later, the cruiser pulled into the gas station.

“Now, where is this wallet of yours?”

He pulls out his MAG Light, and without asking to enter or anything, climbed into the back of the bus, flashlight sweeping. After a few, he steps out.

Sure enough, he found nothing. “You’re wallet’s not in here, son.”

He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his wallet.

“Will $50 get you on your way?”

Hands me a fitty, Grant looking up at me, with just the hint of a smile.

“Here’s my card. Pay me back when you can. Good luck.” And he drives away, leaving me dumbstruck. 2 cops in as many hours. Both with unbelievable occurrences.

So, I decided to drive back to North Paris. I figured I could at least keep my promise and pay that guy back for the gas he gave me. When I pulled out of that gas station, it hit me. Between my two stops, I had pulled over on the side of the road to relieve myself. Maybe it was there that my wallet was. I drove cautiously through Maine, not about to push my luck any further than I already had, until I reached what I thought was the fated construction zone where I pulled over. I then put the bus into first and hugged the white line, high beams illuminating the rain hitting the brand-new pavement. I was hoping against hope to see a black leather wallet on the side of the road in the pouring rain in the middle of the night. I had no other choice.

It was the speed bump in the road that did it, I think. The bus, without warning, died. No lights, no radio, no engine. Just darkness, no wallet, the middle of the road in the middle of the night.

With tears welling in my eyes, I went to the back of the bus to check the engine. I’m not a car guy, but it was quite obvious what had happened. The battery terminal popped off in such a way that I had to reach and find my inner MacGyver figure out some creative ways to fix it. After about 20 minutes, the lights popped back on, as loyal as ever. I got back in the bus, and crossed my fingers as I turned the key. The engine started. Then I looked in front of the car. What was that square-shaped black bump in the road? Could it be?

As I picked up my wallet, all $250 still inside, I thought to myself, “There’s no way anyone’s gonna believe what happened tonight.”

But no shit, world, this totally happened.