The white piece of paper flickered in Mabel’s pocket. “Grandma, is that a paper airplane?” the grandchildren squeal, motioning to her pocket.
“No, it is a speeding ticket.”
“My mom says speeding is bad. She also says that I can’t pick my friends’ noses anymore.”
“As an old book once said, ‘You can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friends’ nose!’”
“Grandma, is that from the Bible?”
“No, but I have a story that is older than dirt. My friend, Florence, and I were headed to California for a special trip…”
The grandchildren gather around Mabel eager to hear her story.





~
~
~

"There is nothing in there. I promise I don't have anything dangerous!"
"Ma’am, please calm down. We still have to search your bag before you can pass our security screening," the TSA officer reminded me in a low, uninterested voice. He shuffled the contents in my bag before pulling out a compact metal bundle, equipped with toenail clippers, a nail file, and a knife. "Oh! My knife!" I exclaimed. “I thought I took that out of there,” I mumbled under my breath.
"Ma'am you either need to take this back to your car or we are going to confiscate it.” He sighed heavily and put his hands on his hips. I began muttering to myself. “Those are my favorite toenail clippers and I really want to keep them but if I don’t hand them over then we won’t make our flight but I really want to keep them and oh what do I do?!” Florence grabbed my shoulder and said, “They’re taking those or we aren't making our flight."
"Fine, you can take it," I reluctantly told the officer, feeling upset, because those were my favorite set of toenail clippers.
"Have a nice flight,” the TSA officer grumbled, thrilled to have gotten rid of us.
“Sassy TSA officer,” Florence mocked after we passed him.

Florence Diller and I had been friends forever. We were taking a vacation to California to go to a craft show. “Flight 2582 for San Francisco, California is now boarding all passengers in Zone 4, Flight 2582 to San Francisco," the overhead speakers squawked. Florence and I pried ourselves from the seats, gathered up our carry on bags, and moseyed on over to the gate...



"It feels so good to stretch my legs!" I exclaimed as we exited the airport and went to find our rental car. We got an Acura TSX with all of the new safety features and theft monitors. We found the car, loaded our luggage, and drove off. Before we reached our hotel, Florence needed a pit stop and drove to a nearby gas station. The station happened to be in a shady looking part of town. "I will be very quick. Would you like me to lock you in?" Florence inquired.

"No, I will be fine," I responded in a confident tone. Florence proceeded into the building. I waited patiently, but decided I wanted to be in locked in after all. I flipped the lock on the door, and was surprised when the car alarm went off. “How do I stop this?! Good thing we got all of the safety features," I mumbled. After a minute of trying to calm the car down, I hunkered down, covering my ears with my hands.
As Florence walked out the front door she exclaimed “WHO’S CAR IS THAT?” before turning to see me covering her ears in the front seat of our car. She picked up the pace while she dug for the keys in her pocket. First, she tried putting the key in the door, but the alarm still blared. Then, she looked for something to kick that might turn it off. Finally, Florence gave up and decided she might as well just drive to the hotel. When she placed the key in the ignition, the car became quiet. Florence sighed, "The answer is always in the last place you look," then turned to me and added, “I’ll just lock you in next time."


“Mabel, what are those flashing lights for?”
“Maybe the cops are after us again,” I sighed, not realizing what I said.
“They might be. They like to come after me. I think it’s because of my beautiful hair and clothing style!” Florence bragged. She pointed to her piled head of unruly curly hair. I looked at her outrageous outfit, “Stupendous, you look stunning,” I said in a sarcastic tone. The lights were closing in on our car; blue, white, and red lights shone through the back window. We sat and smiled in the front of the car, both of us too tired to realize what was going on. “Look Mabel, more flashing lights are up ahead. One policeman wasn’t enough for two old ladies!” Florence joked.
“Why don’t we just stop and see what they want?” I suggested. With that, Florence redirected the car to the side of the road. The police cars closed in on our vehicle. “I think I will go talk to them…” I decided. I exited the car and made it past the tail lights before I heard a deep bellowing noise.
“GET BACK IN THE CAR!”
“What?” I asked feeling dazed.
“MA’AM we need you to GET BACK IN THE CAR!” I did as I was told and went back to the car, where I sat and told Florence what had happened. Florence saw the man approaching in the rear view mirror. “Would you mind getting the registration out of the glove box?” she calmly asked me. The man approached and we rolled down the windows.
“Did you know you were speeding?”
“No, sir,” Florence politely responded, trying to worm her way out of a hefty ticket.
“Ma’am, please pull your hands out of the glove box,” he ordered me; “You may have a gun in there.”
“Two old ladies like us?” Florence asked him.
“You don’t know the crazy things we have seen!” He checked the registration and Florence’s license. After a few minutes, the policeman decided to give us a warning. “Ms. Diller, make sure you follow the posted speeds around town and on the highway.”
“We will,” we said in unison.
“And next time you’re pulled over, please remain in the car.”

Click. We finally make it inside our hotel room. "I am VERY tired," Florence said, her eyelids drooping. We had gone to dinner after we got pulled over. "Tomorrow's a big day! I can't wait to go to this craft show! It will be lots of fun," I exclaimed. The lights went out, and we fell asleep as soon as our heads hit our pillows.

Light streamed through the curtains and the alarm clock sounded. "Mabel, I thought I locked you in this time," Florence mumbled, still half asleep.
" Florence- its 7am. Wake up!" I sang. “It’s a very, very, very big day!"
"Where is the craft show again?" Florence inquired.

The women headed to the parking garage shortly after 9 am. When they reached it, there weren’t many cars around. “Where is everyone? It seems a little spooky..." I quietly puffed, "but then again we were supposed to leave at 8:55! They’re all probably on the road to the craft show." We started to approach our car. Florence, who was determined to keep the car alarm from sounding, first noticed the fancy sports car parked next to our Acura. "Oooohhhh, look at that! That's a very nice black sports car!" I nodded, still frightened by the lack of people around. Once within arms length of our car a voice bellowed out, "STAND BACK." I frantically explained, "This is our car. We are leaving. Please. We just need to get in. We are leaving."
The warning occurred again.
"STAND BACK!"
Florence looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. I was gabbing on and on about how they are leaving and they didn't mean to cause any trouble.
"STAND BACK!" The male voice echoed through the parking garage once more.
On one side of the car stood Florence; I kneeled on the other side, pleading, "Please sir, don't shoot. We will leave. We will leave."
"Mabel, no one is going to shoot. There is no one here. The sound is emanating from the sports car. It has a very fancy alarm! Now get up and let's get going, we are even later than we want to be." I stood up, dusted myself off and got into the car. "That sure is one way to keep people from stealing things from your car; just scare the begeebes out of them."


"Where is this place again?" Florence asked for the fiftieth time that day. We had been driving for a couple hours. “The craft show is at a church up the way on the right. I will tell you where to turn,” I announced, my face buried in the map as I tried to read the fine print on the page. “I wish I wouldn’t have left my reading glasses in the hotel room, I can barely read this print.” Florence drove on and we rode in silence for a couple minutes. “Right here! It’s this church, on the right!” I chimed, “The craft show is on the bottom floor- boy- are there lots of people here already!” Florence searched the parking lot for a spot like a hawk searching a field for mice. Once she landed on her prey, we got out and started into the church. We found a staircase and descended to the bottom floor. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, our eyes sparkled as we took it all in. “I’m here!!!” Florence sang while outstretching her arms to the ceiling, just like an actress. The large room was dead silent and filled with men and women dressed in black at a funeral luncheon. We had walked into the wrong church, and straight into a funeral luncheon! Mortified, I apologized, “We misunderstood our map; I’m sorry for your loss.” After a few awkward seconds of silence, the pastor broke the ice. “Are you ladies looking for the craft show?”
“Yes, sir, we are,” Florence politely responded.
“Ah, okay. It is located in the church two blocks up…on the right. Don’t feel bad, we have had many visitors today,” the pastor redirected them.
“Thank you. We are sorry to have intruded,” I thanked them.
After two long minutes, we turned on our heels and calmly walked up the stairs. Once we got outside, we decided to get to the real craft show, and that I should always carry my glasses with me.

“Welcome to the craft show! We are glad you could join us! Would you like some tea or water? Have you had a long trip?” the ushers wondered.
“Yes, and ohhhhh yes,” Florence quickly replied. An usher handed each of them a cold glass of water. “Is it possible to get hot water?” I inquired but was interrupted and pulled away by Florence who added a quick “thank you”. We perused the craft supplies, checking out nifty gadgets for scrapbooking. We wrote down item numbers of countless types of pens that wrote smoothly and effortlessly on the pages. We tested paper cutters that flawlessly cut clean edges. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time for the auction! We have an assortment of gift baskets! Also, we have separate, smaller items, like this pack of pens….”
“We should get some of the pens,” Florence whispered to me as the auctioneer continued to croon. Before I knew it, the auction had begun and bid numbers were flying. “That lady must have brought hundreds of dollars; she’s bidding on everything!” Florence commented. I went to go sit down while the auction continued. “Watch the cords on the floor,” a woman warned me. That was the first time I looked at my feet the entire day. “Oh dear,” I gasped. I was still in my slippers, which I had been wearing around California the entire day. No wonder the people at the funeral luncheon had given me a funny look.






For the most part, we had a peaceful ride back to the hotel, until Florence needed a tissue. “Where is the light in this car? We shouldn’t have picked one with so many features,” I replied as I rummaged through my purse, in the pitch black. Florence came up with a brilliant idea. “Since I don’t know where the light is, just start pressing buttons until you find it.” That’s exactly what I began to do, looking at the illuminated dash I found buttons that looked like lights. First, I accidently chose the hazards; next, the radio blared. Soon, fans whipped out freezing cold air, but I kept looking. “Try above your head,” Florence suggested, “where most people keep their garage openers.” Next thing Florence knew, the sunroof had opened. Wind blew through my hair, the cold stinging my eyes. I smelled the fresh, cool air and took a deep breathe. “That was not the lights,” Florence sighed.


During our last few vacation days, I didn’t bring knives to any events and Florence made sure the car was always locked. I made sure I took off my slippers before going places and didn’t forget my reading glasses. Florence didn’t speed and read the car’s manual to make sure she knew how to silence the alarm. Over the course of many, many years of fun filled experiences Florence and I completed our most successful trip yet, minus the fact Florence bought some meat which was confiscated by a TSA officer on the flight back.