Saved by the Bell – Part 2

Author © Scott D. Zachary

       “Here’s the deal, Henry: The Director gave me permission to come back to Arkansas and salvage your mess; however, it’ll be sixty-five dollars per hour for a minimum of nine hours a day. I am currently working seven days a week, so you’ll be billed nine hours for travel days, too.”

       “That’s fine, Scott—whatever it takes. I need you to get my company running again.”

       “Of course, you will pay for my round-trip airfare.”

       “Okay, okay.”

       “Hold for a second, Henry.” I muted the phone. “Lynn, book me on the next flight to Little Rock, Arkansas!”

       “Are you serious?!” hollered Lynn.

       “He’s serious, Lynn!” Jack laughed.

       “There’s more, Henry.”

       “Sure, what?”

       “I’ll need a nice rental car while I’m there and per diem for meals while I’m traveling.”

       “Fine, just get back here as soon as you can.”

       “One more thing...”

       “You name it, Scott.”

       “I’ll stay at Aunt Marvelene’s instead of a hotel to save you some money, but you’ll need to reimburse her reasonably for my room and board.”

       “Okay, anything else?”

       “No, I think that’ll do it. See you shortly, Henry.”

       “Thank you, Scott!”

       I hung up and flashed a broad grin at Jack.

       “Good deal, Scott!” Cheered Jack as we slapped high-five.

       Jack and I rushed to our apartment. I ran in, threw my dirty clothes into my suitcases, and Jack dropped me at the airport, allowing enough time for me to drink a couple of Castle beers at the bar. While gulping down my beers, I chatted with a gal named Allison, who worked for Voice of America.

       “What’s your hurry?” asked Allison.

       “My flight to London leaves in a few minutes.”

       “I’m on that flight, too.”

       “Last call for flight 236 to London,” the loudspeaker announced.

       “It’s time to go! It was nice to meet you, Allison!”

       “We still have time for another beer, Scott. They’ll come get us.”

       “Are you sure? Show me your ticket.”

       She held her ticket up for my inspection. “I’m sure. I do this all the time.”

       “One more round, barkeep!” I hollered. I was a little edgy in contrast to Allison, who was placidly calm as we drank and continued chatting, knowing that a Boeing 747 full of people was waiting on us.

       Two uniformed clerks trotted into the bar a few minutes later searching for Allison and Scott. Allison stood. “We’re on our way!” She winked at me as we clinked our bottles and swilled the dregs. Allison and I continued our little party on the plane. She was the only passenger in the business class section, so I joined her there for some beers until a stewardess told me to move back to my assigned seat.

       I had an aisle seat in the economy section. A gullible Scottish fellow named Hamish sat in the middle, and a British fellow named Edwin sat by the window. The three of us fermented a jolly-good beer party. We shared our stories as to why we were traveling to London and discussed our respective occupations. Of course, I gloated about going back to the States to rescue my old company by salvaging their wrecked computer system. They thought it hilarious that I was being paid $65 an hour to drink beer with them.

       I went to use the restroom. Upon returning to my seat, I told Hamish, “I rewired the call button in the bathroom so I can activate it remotely using my pager.”

       “Yeah, sure, and I’m Godzilla, too!” he scoffed.

       “Go ahead. Use the restroom. You’ll see.”

       He did.

       I got up and dashed over to the steward. “Want to have some fun?”

       “What do you have in mind?”

       I had already summed up the steward who seemed likely to go along with my practical joke. I told him what I’d said to Hamish, and then I asked him if he would knock on the restroom door and inquire if he’s alright in there.

       The steward said it sounded like great fun. That was a different day and age altogether—you mention rewiring a plane to a steward/stewardess today, and the crew is apt to short-circuit your itinerary.

       The steward walked back and hammered on the bathroom door. “Are you okay? Is everything alright in there?!”

       Hamish returned to his seat and sputtered, “YOU DID IT—YOU BLOODY DID IT!!!”

       “I told you I did.”

       “That’s illegal!”

       “Not if you don’t get caught, it isn’t,” I scoffed.

       Edwin, the steward, and I had a great laugh when I finally let Hamish in on the joke. We partied for twelve solid hours—all the way to London. The countless beers that I drank on that flight wiped me out so thoroughly that I sat down in the lobby at Heathrow Airport to take a nap. I had plenty of time with a six-hour layover.

       Five and a half hours later, I woke up. Freaking out, I dashed to the customs queue. There had to be more than a hundred people in line waiting to be processed. Oh no! I finagled a customs manager into letting me go to the front of the line, hitched a ride on a cart, and arrived at the gate as they were closing it. Whew!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       I can’t remember anyone ever being more excited to see me than Henry. I wouldn’t have been surprised at all if he had peed all over himself like a hyper-excited puppy. He shook my hand vehemently, effusing, “I am so glad to see you, Scott! If I weren’t worried about what people would think, I’d kiss you!” Henry grabbed my backpack and escorted me to pick up my luggage. I started to pick up one of my suitcases, and he grabbed it out of my hand. “Let me take these, Scott. You must be tired.”

       Here we are walking out through the parking lot to my brand-new Sunbird rental car with my baggage boy carrying both of my suitcases and my backpack. I could’ve gotten used to that.

       I should be ashamed of the way I bamboozled Henry, but I’m not.

       I drove from Little Rock to Lamar, Arkansas, feeling somewhat like the victorious Roman centurions must’ve felt marching into Rome. (Of course, that was before I began to glorify God instead of myself. I did occasionally thank my Creator, though, and that could well have been one of those times that I did.) When I arrived at Aunt Marvelene’s house, she excitedly prodded me to spill all the news. We sat on the front porch swing with her for quite some time while I shared my whirlwind experiences prancing around the globe. Of course, I left out all the details about my exuberant drinking.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       As I walked through the double-wide glass doors at Nite Lite, the reception overwhelmed me: Lois the office manager, Johnny the plant supervisor, Virginia, my cousin Teresa, Rita, Karen the receptionist, Georgette, and many others joyously clapped, whistled, hooted, and hollered!

       Nite Lite’s dead system had log-jammed thousands of orders; angry customers hammered the phone lines. My fandom’s zealous belief in me unleashed a dogged team of altruism, workaholism, and perfectionism. I worked seventeen-plus hours a day for two weeks rewiring the network’s many tentacles correctly, reconstructing the chaotically defiled software, and bringing all the terminals to life. Each revived terminal spawned another cheer, one more job restored. Ain’t I great!

       I hired a replacement for John and gave him a rapid-fire training barrage. This fellow, Dan Wylie, was fairly sharp. He didn’t have a lot of programming experience, but he seemed capable of doing the job. We’ll get back to Dan in a later story.

       I had Nite Lite’s system up and running. As I worked to resolve a few remaining minor issues, Henry started getting antsy about my cost. He returned my Sunbird rental car and gave me the company van instead, which worked out well for me. I bought a case of beer and drove the van down to my favorite fishing spot at Lake Dardanelle that evening. I backed it up to the lake, swung open the rear doors, and reclined in a lawn chair in the rear with my fishing poles stuck in the bumper. I kept the engine running all night with the air conditioning set on frigid. Hank Williams Jr and his rowdy friends, Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson, provided the entertainment. I celebrated another magnificent accomplishment in style: laying back, guzzling beer, and watching my fishing poles while contemplating the events of the past two weeks.

       I was big news! For those of you who have never lived in rural America, small towns often have a local reporter who offers up the usually mundane current events to the county newspaper, such as “Harvey and Roberta Harrison visited their son Bret and his wife Suzie across town Saturday evening. They had dinner and enjoyed playing with their grandchildren, Jimmy and Cindy. They got back home before the snow started falling.”

       Lamar’s local reporter, an octogenarian named Hilda, splashed her report in the Johnson County Graphic newspaper when I first departed for South Africa: “Marvelene Childer’s nephew, Scott Zachary, left us after landing a big computer job where he will automate Africa.” I hit the news again when I returned to help Nite Lite: “After a short stay in Africa, Marvelene Childer’s nephew, Scott Zachary, is back in Lamar.” I wish I would’ve seen her report when I returned to Africa again.

       Guzzling beers in the back of Nite Lite’s van and watching my fishing poles, I mused about the dramatic change in the way my cousin Kelly now addressed me. She was understandably vexed two years earlier about this long-lost cousin Scott who had appeared out of nowhere and was staying with her grandmother (my Aunt Marvelene). Kelly looked at me suspiciously back then. More recently, when I ventured to get a job overseas, she scoffed, “Yeah, sure, lots of guys around here have tried to get jobs overseas, and none of ‘em ever did.” Now she seemed to have elevated me to her equal, and we got along great.

       I didn’t catch any fish that night, which suited me just fine. I contentedly marinated in my congratulatory self-adulation.

       I rode high in the saddle on my way out of town a couple of days later with a check for $18,000 in my pocket. I couldn’t wait to see the look on Sterling’s face when I handed it to him. I didn’t like the sound of that word “encumbrance.” This chunk of change paid my way—Cha-Ching!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       Returning to Johannesburg, I renewed my efforts to find a bell for Teri that would measure up to what she did for me. It seemed as though there were no bells in Africa. Then, as he often does, Mr. Wizzle proffered a marvelous idea. I sketched a drawing of a bell pendant adorned with eight graduated VVS diamonds swirled across the face of the bell. I typed a letter to Phillip Bell at Bell’s Jewelry (where I had worked as a jeweler in Clarksville, Arkansas) asking him to create this half-ounce, 18-karat-gold pendant. I specified that he engrave the front of the custom piece with “Unify Is Tops!” and the back with “To Teri: An extraordinary lady!” I asked Phillip to hang the bell pendant on a sturdy 14-karat-gold box chain with a lobster-claw catch. I further requested that he post it to Teri in one of their black velvet jewelry boxes imprinted with “Bell’s Jewelry.” I penned a note to Teri, saying “Thank you for making my dreams come true. May your dreams also be magically fulfilled!” I faxed my request to Phillip along with my sketch of the bell and my note to Teri.

       A month or so later, I received a priority letter from Teri’s daughter, Lisa. She stated that she also worked at Unify Corporation and that my gift was delivered at Unify moments before she left to visit with her mother who was in the hospital. Lisa stated that the surgeon had told Teri that her chances of surviving the surgery were less than fifty percent. The doctors were very concerned about her mother’s extreme depression—Teri had lost hope. Lisa wrote that she was able to give the bell pendant along with my note to Teri shortly before she went into surgery. Lisa’s letter concluded:

  The surgeon said that one’s outlook can make all the difference in cases like this. Mom’s hope was saved by the bell you so graciously made for her. Your enchanting message lifted Mom’s spirits. Mom was still scared, but she went into surgery with a smile on her face and a sparkle in her eye. She’s recovering nicely now.

     A GREAT BIG thank You from Mom and me!

       With Love from Mom,

         Lisa