The Biscuit

For if a man comes into your assembly with a gold ring and dressed in fine clothes, and there also comes in a poor man in dirty clothes,
and you pay special attention to the one who is wearing the fine clothes, and say, "You sit here in a good place," and you say to the poor man, "You stand over there, or sit down by my footstool,"
I have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil motives? James 2:2-4

It happened so fast that all I could say was “HOLD ON!” Yet almost in slow motion, I spied the old Dodge pickup in the rearview mirror barreling towards us with no intention of stopping as we were patiently waiting for the red light to turn.

We were on our way to Nashville to attend my niece’s high school graduation and stopped in Cullman, Alabama for lunch. The sickening sound of the front end of his dilapidated Dodge eating up the back quarter panel of my wife’s car was followed by a stream of clear-red plastic flying by the driver’s side window, which indicated to me immediately that the tail light assembly was history. So was the back quarter panel, I soon discovered.

Now Cullman is an interesting place. Mont- gomery is a very diverse city, almost 50/50 white and black. Cullman, not so diverse. Well, if you consider the fact that some of the Appalachian folks have bib overalls and some wear Wrangler boot cut jeans, you might be able to say that there is a little diversity.

Our Cullmanite was wearing overalls, and this crazy lady (my wife) was already in the 80 year old guy’s face. With the determination that only a mother can have, she was out of the car in a nanosecond, swishing her tail feathers and her finger at the same time, with a “MY SON IS IN THAT CAR! HOW COULD YOU NOT SEE THE RED LIGHT?” Her ‘son’ is a 190 lb. cinder block who was already talking to a witness and yaking on his cell phone.

And then there was me. The wheels were turning already…I was inspecting the damage, “Looks like there is about an inch of clearance between the tire and the wheel well, maybe it is drivable…I'll bet this ignorant hillbilly doesn’t have any insurance, oh well, 500 bucks on my deductible…blast it anyway, get these old geezers off the road..."

I was in no mood for this; I was already borrowing trouble, knowing that the next month or so was going to be one big hassle. There was never a thought to thank God that we were not injured, at least not then.

“I am so sorry Ma’am,” the old man drawled, “Ya see, I was comin’ out of KFC with my lunch and I done dropped my biscuit on the floorboard and I was tryin’ to git it.”

Steam was coming out of the Allie Cat’s ears. I was still lying back, bemoaning the fact that this bumpkin had ruined our weekend. Finally I spoke, “I hope you have insurance!”

“Oh, yessir, I got Nationwide, and my agent’s office is jest over the hill,” he replied. What a surprise, and a pleasant one. One of my best buddies in Montgomery is a Nationwide adjuster. I was on the phone with him as soon as the police finished up.

Our car was drivable, after the cop and I took out our knives and cut away some of the polymer bumper cover. “I’ll bet you never heard of someone rear ending another car because he dropped his biscuit on the floorboard,” I said sarcastically to the cop.

“Well, not today”, he answered with a wry grin and a deadpan delivery.

His truck was a tad newer than this one, but it looked like he lived in it. I had to take a peek inside the cab, out of curiosity to see if I could spy the errant biscuit.

The floorboard of the old farmer’s truck was, in a word, nasty. Why anyone would even want to eat a biscuit that was now covered with dirt and coondog hair was beyond me. Name the fast foods joint, and you would have noticed a crumpled up bag in the passenger's side floorboard.

A few miles down the road, after I had notified my family and friend Max, we took a breath. My wife said how thankful she was that we weren’t hurt. She had apologized to the poor old guy as we were departing, and he very humbly asked us to forgive him and was “thankful to the good Lord that y’all weren’t hurt.”

My next few weeks were rather effortless. My buddy Max was a lifesaver, he did the estimate in my driveway, arranged for a rental car, and a wonderful body shop restored my wife’s car to its former beauty. (Max told me that by swiping the back quarter panel, the man had missed the main structural bumper by mere inchs. Had he hit it, the car would have probably been totaled and we may have suffered some neck and back injuries.)

What I learned about myself was that I am not such a good guy. My own prejudices kicked in at a time of minor crises. I categorized a man who was a humble, God fearing person immediately as an old hick with no insurance who had no business on the road. He called me after we returned from Nashville to let me know that he had already filed a claim and that Nationwide would be covering all repairs for us. And he wanted me to know how sorry he was once again and was (I repeat) “thankful to the good Lord that y’all weren’t hurt.” Heap a few more coals on my head Lord, I need it.

I drove Annie’s car to work one day prior to getting it in the shop, as I didn’t want her driving around town minus left side brake lights and turn signals. A few folks noticed the car and of course I went into extraordinary detail about the biscuit on the floorboard, using my best Alabama southern drawl.

The next morning, our Assistant Commis- sioner dropped by with a greasy bag and told me to enjoy my breakfast: a good ol' southern biscuit. He had heard the story too.

Long scratched off my heart healthy diet, I decided to eat it with zealous delight, chuckled and thanked God for putting people in my life with a nifty sense of humor.

Mark
Prov 17:22