Chris, the headlight cover

We met Chris today. Chris speaks with his arms crossed for the most part. Not in a way that closes him off to conversation, but in a way that allows him to use quick hand movements to reiterate a point.

Such as "are you here about my cousin's car you know the old Pontiac with the rear shift it's the one with the new tires it's over here I can show you." He had gestured towards the car fifteen times during this interaction.

We were not talking to him because we were looking at his cousin's car. We didn't know his cousin had a car. We didn't know Chris. We wanted to speak to the people who ran the wrecking yard.

So I asked him "is this your wrecking yard?"

"No"

Insert significant confusion here.

We were clearly at a wrecking yard. He came up to us as if he knew what he was talking about, which, moments after meeting him, it was quite clear that he did not have any clue whatsoever.

Just as confusing, Chris was speaking to us as if we had had a coffee with him that morning, a beer the night before, and we coached little league together.

"Do I know you?" I asked, immediately wondering why I'd asked that since I was completely sure of the answer.

"Yeah you do I'm Chris"

Chris and I were tight.

Chris had a tattoo on his right arm. We could see it between gestures. It was a tattoo of his first name. It was helping him as much as it was us.

"Does anyone here work for the wreckers?" I tried.

"Yes" he answered, clearly still thinking about his cousin's car.

We waited patiently for the rest of an answer that never arrived.

I looked at the trailer behind me labeled 'office'. It gave me an idea.

"Is there anyone in that office, Chris?"

"Yeah a bunch of women"

Is that so, I thought to myself wondering why we were even bothering. The gaping hole that remained after the headlight cover had flown off Cheech 20 minutes earlier no longer seemed important.

No longer speaking to Chris was becoming an increasingly important one.

So I turned around and walked away. It was our only choice. The conversation was clearly going to continue in this way for the rest of time, and we still had to talk to the 'women' inside, have them not find what we need, get back on the road and find the lost cover for ourselves.

There was no more time for Chris. Besides, he was late to tea and one does not keep the mad hatter waiting.

We have named the recovered cover Chris.