Grand Theft Auto

My old pal Don came over today.  Back in the old days, we raced identical sailboats against one another.  We had some very competitive races in those days, and we both pulled practical jokes on each other.  I think I was guilty of the worst "joke." One day at the sailing club, I found his "hide-a-key" under the back bumper of his Suburban, and left some inappropriate things in his car.  He immediately signed up for OnStar, and ditched the hide-a-key so we couldn't get into his car again. Or so he thought.

At the time, one of my crew members worked for a General Motors dealer.  While Don was out sailing at our sailing club in Indianapolis, we wrote down the serial number of his Suburban.  A few weeks after that, Dan-O told GM that his customer needed a replacement key for his Suburban.   So, with a key to Don's Suburban in hand, we were just waiting for the right time to strike again.

In a few weeks, we both trailered our boats down to Kentucky Lake for a regatta, and we parked our tow vehicles in the lot at Lighthouse Landing.  While Don was out practicing for the next day's race, my crew and I were back at the parking lot, and up to no good.  With our new key, we drove Don's Suburban into the nearby town, parked it at the senior citizen center, and went back to the parking lot to wait for Don to return.  When he came in, some of his crew took their stuff off the boat and were going to put it in the Suburban.  Of course they couldn't find it.  "Don, your car's been stolen!"

I asked if maybe he just forgot where he parked it.  But the look on my crew's face gave away the joke.  Don, however, wasn't seeing any humor in the situation.  He still wanted to call the police.  Grand Theft Auto.  I'd never seen him so mad.  We suggested that maybe if he'd walk into town, that someone at the senior citizens center could help him.  They deal with that kind of memory problems all the time.   I'm lucky I'm not still in that jail cell.     

Don spends the winters near here in a nice condo at Burnt Store.  I had told Don about catching redfish, and he wanted me to take him to my secret spot.  We headed out before the wind picked up, and were able to see some redfish tailing and pushing water around the flats.  So we both casted to where we thought the redfish were, and bam! I've got one on.

I caught the first redfish on a gold spoon.  Don digs into his tackle box, and out comes his gold spoon.  We drift a little farther on the flat, and we see another fish moving water.  We both cast to the nervous water, and bam! I've got one on.

That's pretty much how the day went.  We were throwing the same identical gold spoon in the same water.  I caught fish, and Don didn't.

It was a great day spent with a great old friend.  And I really felt guilty about catching all the fish.  (NOT)