After watching Gone in 60 Seconds, Kris turns to me to ask, "When is the warranty up for our car?"

"Which one?"

"Your car."

"It's already expired."

"It's already expired?"

"Yeah. We bought it in October 2000. It's now 2005. The warranty expired."

"Cool. We should install nitrous in it now."

Blink.

"Yeah, just what I need to enable my 'safe' driving. Even more power in my already too powerful car. Yeah, let's do that."

"But just think, Doyle will be willing to drive more. 'I can drive. Look, I brought an extra gallon of nitrous!'"

The slightly bigger but not quite major street that my street intersects has two lanes where it meets up with the closest really major street.

The left lane is a straight or left turn lane. The right lane is a right turn only lane.

Usually, drivers on the street know what's going on and move into the correct lane before they get to the intersection.

Not so today.

With three of us (Kevin, Chris and me) leaving from my house for practice, carpooling makes sense. Especially with Kris driving back from practice with only him in the car.

Given I have a two seater, and Doyle's truck cab isn't quite comfortable for three, Kevin had the honors of driving the three of us to practice. Kevin has a four wheel drive car.

And isn't afraid to use it.

We approached the above mentioned intersection behind a huge SUV, a tahoe or suburban or whatever those hummer wannabe vehicles are. The truck stopped early, several car lengths behind from the intersection. Another car had stopped in front of it, trying to move from the fewer-cars-in-the-shorter right turn only into the more-cars-and-longer-wait left/straight turn lane. The attempt failed, and said car stopped, blocking both lanes. The huge SUV stopped behind the first car, and we stopped behind the SUV.

As we stopped, Doyle piped up, "You have a four wheel drive. There's enough room to go around." as he pointed to the sidewalk to the right. Kevin looked at the space, nodded and said "Uh huh."

I chimed in from the back seat, "Dollar."

Kevin turned to me with a smirk that said, "You just called dollar on that?" and yanked the wheel hard right.

Up and over the curb we went, with me giggling and laughing the whole way. Omigod it was hysterical! We passed the huge SUV, passed the cluster producing car and into the clear right turn lane just as the light turned green.

Zoom!

Oh, I was laughing so hard. Doyle was in the front seat, laughing, too. As we stopped in the left turn lane at the next light, the driver of the car behind us before Kevin's crazy-man move pulled up next to us.

"That was awesome, man" he said, wiping a laughter tear from his eyes.

With a paddle.

Since Kevin decided to work outside today (thus ending Kris' and my argument over what needs to get done first - the bathroom or the front yard), I needed to give him the list of things to do:

• Clear out the rocks in the front yard
• Move the fertilizer to the front yard
• Spread said fertilizer
• Move extra compost and dirt to the front yard to level it

That fertilizer? Well...

Four (yes, four) months ago, Mark came over with a sixty (yes, 60) pound bag of chicken shit, er, poop from his chicken coop. "Makes for a great garden," he said, adding, "or so Megan tells me."

Now, sixty pounds is a little too much for me to carry, so to prevent the dogs from eating all sixty pounds of chicken shit, I put it (pulled it, dragged it, heaved it) into a trash can.

And promptly forgot about it.

Tragically.

Because it's been a really wet spring.

And I didn't have the top on that trash can.

So, the trash can fills up with water. I now have a 3/4 full trash can of 60 pounds of fetid chicken shit soup in my back yard. No one dares lift that lid, for fear of the fetid chicken shit.

No one.

So, back to Kevin.

I told him what I needed done, and before he started, I had to apologize, "I'm about to give you the worst job in all the world."

Doyle heard me and retorted, "Aw, it can't be the worst job in all the world. It's not like he has to swim up a river of shit or anything."

Kevin laughed. He was getting ready to swim.

Good lord, what was I thinking?

"Believe people tell the truth." Intellectually, I can believe this. Truly I can. No really.

Really.

But it's so hard.

Today was Kevin's first day, not yesterday as planned. I walked him around the house, showed him everything, and asked him if he wanted to work outside or inside today.

He said outside so I showed him the front yard, and all the tasks just waiting and ready for him. The first being move this pile of dirt onto that yard.

I had no gloves that would fit his hands (ours having been left at Mark's during the potential Kitt Launch), so we went to OSH to get him some gloves (and if we happened to buy more plants, eh, goodie!).

As we were leaving, we (meaning Kevin) was approached by a man in a dark suit and a sob story: his car ran out of gas (right over there!), and it's in the bike lane. He works at the Safeway at Shoreline and El Camino, and, although he had enough money for gas, they were going to charge him $8.95 for a gas can. It would be either $125 if they tow his car, or $8.95 now, could we help? "Here, look, see, this is my ID, so I'm not lying to you or anything." Did we have $9 to spare?

My thought, "Yeah, right." Kevin's reply, "I'll buy you a gas can."

What? Um, okay. So Kevin and I wandered back in the OSH and bought a gas can. Much to my surprise, the guy was still waiting after we returned. He thanked us, took the can and started walking (slowly) away.

We drove off.

Wow, these Smith brothers are all really, really nice guys. Generous, kind, honest. Wow.

But the whole thing just struck me as odd. I played with is for a while in my mind. For example, there is no Safeway at El Camino and Shoreline (it's at Middlefield). Cars don't get towed for being in the bike lane, for the most part, and it'll be more than $125 to get the car back if it is towed.

At lunch, I mentioned it to Kevin: "You know, that guy wasn't driving a car. The ID he showed you was an identification card, it wasn't a driver's license."

He replied, "Really? Well, I didn't give him the receipt, so he can't return the can for money."

And smart. Those Smith brothers are smart, too.

Today is the first day of Kevin Smith's "internship" at the Hodsden House of Smith Employment. Much to my surprise, I'm actually nervous about it. This won't be the first time I've hired one of the Smith brothers. And it's not that I don't really enjoy the company of the Smith family (still unclear if Mrs. Smith will ever talk to me after last year's bitter zucchini incident), because I do a lot.

It's just that I've had all of three conversations with Kevin.

Ever.

And none was over 4 sentences long.

And the longest email conversation I've ever had with Weak Sauce, er, Dollar, er, Kevin was my summer job offer, followed by an acceptance of the offer. As in, not much of one.

So, he's the quiet type. And I have no idea what he's thinking. And I'm all nervous about it.

Bah.