Sammy's Delivery and the Baltimore Oriole

Sammy was irritated that Boyce Jr. didn’t want him to come talk about his ancestor, Charles Brockden Brown.  He nevertheless happily agreed to help us order things to Dr. Keegman’s office.  In fact, just this morning he called us to say that he’d already hand-delivered six boxes of sandwich buns to the doctor’s office.  The receptionist just stared at Sammy when, dressed in his Arby’s uniform, he brought in the boxes for “one Dr. Jonathan Keegman.”  The receptionist told him there must be a mistake, but Sammy had an order form all filled out and showed it to her.  She told him she didn’t care what the order form said: “What in God’s name would we want with six boxes of buns?”  Sammy said it wasn’t his job to judge, and that maybe this Dr. Keegman was planning a rogue potluck, or perhaps he was an agoraphobiac.  “Do you know what an agoraphobiac is?” he asked her.    She told him to get out, and he agreed to, but refused to take the buns with him: “You’ll just have to dispose of them yourself, ma’am.  If I walk out that door with a delivered order I could be fired.”  So he stacked the six boxes next to a few patients sitting in the waiting room, and whispered to all of them, “What’s a doctor want with a bunch of expired hamburger buns?  Weird, if you ask me.”  Then he left. 

I think Sammy is the most excited of all to torment Dr. Keegman, and he said he’d research all the things he could find that were payment upon delivery.

Meanwhile, the leaves are falling where I live, and that means it’s autumn, or as my dad would always call it, “The season of remorse.”  The recommendation from ol’ Cyrus is to head out and look for some migratory birds while you still can.  Just like dad always said, “This might be the last chance you get!”  This past weekend I got a couple good looks at some Baltimore Orioles, one of Rachel’s favorite birds.  She once bought me a hat with a Baltimore Oriole on it, but I generally don’t wear it so I just keep it on the top of my coat rack.  I don’t want to wear it out and then one day not have a hat Rachel gave me.  I know it’s an impossibility, but I still think I’ll get this phone call from her and she’ll say, “Cyrus, come quick and save me!  My apartment is on fire!”  Then I’ll grab that hat and run over to where she used to live, and say, “I’ll save you, Rachel!  Come on, you've got to--what's that?  This old thing?  I'm not sure where I got it....Are you sure?  Maybe you did get it for me...What's that?...Well, I love you, too!” 

Note: Since her apartment was a rental it doesn't really matter that it burns down.