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Cronies and the Locals (standard:humor, 677 words)
Author: KameaAdded: Nov 07 2005Views/Reads: 2125/0Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
This story gives a whole new meaning to the word "DD" or "Designated Driver."

Greg Himer was sixty eight years old, and going strong. He had been
alone for a long time, his only son was in prison somewhere on the west 
coast, for armed obbery and murder. His wife had died five years ago of 
breast cancer, and he had no remaining family. You could usually find 
him at Cronys, a local bar in the small southern town where he lived. 
Every night he would park hiself in the same seat, on the same side of 
the bar, and talk to all the locals. On this particular night, he was 
sharing a story with the unfortunate chap who had inhabited the seat 
next to his. Gregs stories tended to never end, and get more and more 
amazing as he told them. A young undercover cop sat in the back of the 
bar sipping a beer and watching the old man get drunk and tell his 
stories. He radioed ahead to his buddies parked across the street, who 
were waiting for people to leave the bar drunk. It was the end of the 
month and they had quotas to meet. The young cop watched Greg, amused, 
as the old man flung his arms in the air, exclaiming in great detail 
his lavish story which just seemed to grow and grow. The old geezer was 
apparently wasted, and the young cop radioed ahead as the closing hour 
finally came, and Greg stood up and shuffled to the door with the rest 
of the locals. His buddies were waiting on Greg himer. Greg stumbled 
out into the parking lot, and fished his keys from his pocket, with 
great diffuculty. He then proceeded to try and unlock three seperate 
cars, until he finally found his old rustic honda accord. Once inside 
the vehicle, he somehow managed to turn everything on, but the car. His 
emergency lights blinked, his windshield wipers scraped across the 
glass, the horn was somehow honking, and the locals were rolling with 
laughter in the parking lot. Greg finally got the car going, and 
proceeded to reverse, stop, go foward, stop, reverse, and finally pull 
out of his parking spot. He weaved around the parking lot for a few 
seconds, before finally finding the driveway. Slowly , with his left 
turn signal blinking, he made a right out of the parking lot, only to 
be met with the sudden screaming of sirens and flashing on blue lights. 
He took his time pulling over, weaving just a little bit, until he made 
it to the shoulder of the road. A tall dark haired officer approached 
the drivers side, grinning from ear to ear. He tapped on the window, 
and Greg made a great effort of cranking it down. He squinted up at the 
light that was being shined straight into his face. "Could you please 
step out of the car sir?" The voice was deep and filled with authority. 
He nodded and slowly climbed out of the car. he officer stood staring 
at him. "Have you been drinking sir?" Greg shook his head "No sir." The 
officer frowned. "You mean to tell me you haven't had one drink all 
night?" Once again Greg shook his head "No sir, haven't had a drink in 
fifteen years." The officer smiled, "Well then you wouldn't mind if I 
gave you a breathelizer right?" He rocked back on his heels with his 
thumbs hooked through his belt loops. "No sir." Greg stated, staring at 
his feet. The officer adminestered the test, and stared at the results, 
obviously puzzled. "Sir, you haven't had anything to drink tonight?" He 
asked. Greg looked up at him and finally smiled. "No sir, I haven't had 
a drink in fifteen years." He repeated grinning. "You see, I'm the DD" 
The officer frowned and thought that surely this man was senile. "The 
DD?" He asked, "But there's no one in the car with you." Greg shook his 
head. "You see officer, I'm not the designated driver." "I'm the 
designated diversion." He pointed back over his shoulder at the now 
empty parking lot.


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