(To those of you who stopped by yesterday and found a faulty site: my apologies. I made a blunder).

6. August; Oakland, California.

(Precursor: none of the below details are embellished in the least).

One beautiful Sunday afternoon in Oakland, I was driving to John Madden’s house (actually, I was driving to his next door neighbor’s house but, for all intensive purposes…). I was driving my future mother-in-law’s car, enjoying a few moments to myself toward the end of a ministry trip I was helping to lead.

The highway was mostly vacant of cars and everything seemed to be moving at a pleasant pace. Then, the water bottle between my legs overextended its welcome. And things went downhill from there.

I chose to relocate the bottle to a more fitting place–– the vehicle’s drink holder. However, the space was taken… by a paper Dixie cup which was filled to only one-fifth of its capacity. Though the cup only held water, I couldn’t discard the substance onto the floor of the vehicle–– it was my future mother-in-law’s. So, in an innocent act of riddance, I tossed the water–– not the cup–– out the window.

Approximately 60 seconds later, as I went to exit I-580, I glanced left to see a swerving red Ford Explorer. The operator of the vehicle was as red as the vehicle he was operating. Veins popping, spit flying–– the man was filled with rage. Though he appeared to be screaming at the top of his lungs, I was unable to hear what he was saying. All I could extract from his furious monologue was by means of lipreading. And none of my extractions are appropriate for your eyes to read.

Confused and alarmed, I began to cycle through my last few moments on the road. Did I cut him off? Perhaps I failed to use my blinker? Or he hated Arizona and was upset at me for driving a car with Arizona plates?

None of the above. Still raging 20 seconds later, the man picked up a water bottle which was identical to mine and began to point at it aggressively. Suddenly, after 20 seconds of utter confusion, the lights went on. My few ounces of water hit the red Explorer. So, just to put him at rest, I picked up my water bottle, pointed at it, nodded my head, and said, “Yes, it was water.” However, this brought an opposite effect than what I had anticipated.

Now, with freshly-stimulated anger, the man–– who, at this point, I realized was a soldier–– continued to yell, shaking his head, fists, and water bottle erratically. He lifted his sunglasses to look me in the eye and pointed his finger at me, dispensing expletives from his mouth liberally.

By now, I had become nervous. But the exit ramp just ahead seemed to be my tangible hope in the moment. So, on I drove, employing a certain kind of tunnel vision.

Now on the exit ramp, I sighed with relief and reached for the odious water bottle which again sat between my legs–– my hands shaking with nerves. I relaxed too soon, however. Just feet behind the silver Toyota Corolla I drove was a red Ford Explorer with a military man at the wheel. I nearly went into cardiac arrest.

For a moment, being the extreme optimist that I am, I thought that I was being followed, perhaps, by coincidence. (Perhaps the soldier was paying a visit to John Madden).

I watched the man like a hawk as I drove toward my destination. He made each turn I made, still following closely behind. Extremely closely.

When I came to a halt at the neighborhood’s entry, the red Explorer stopped just behind me. I turned to the neighborhood’s gate attendant and said, shakily, “Klosterman. And the man behind me is crazy. Please don’t let him in. I think I cut him off and he’s been tailgating me for miles and––”

I was cut off. “WHAT THE *#$@?!?!” The raging soldier now stood at my door, between me and the gate attendant.

He continued, “WHAT THE *#$@ WAS THAT ABOUT?”

Appearing to be composed, I responded, “Sir, it was water. I tossed water out the window.”

“Oh yeah? And HOW THE *#$@ DO I KNOW THAT?!?! Huh?!?!” The soldier now stood with his arms crossed and foot tapping.

“Sir, I took water from this cup and threw it out the window so I could use my drink holder.”

“BULL $#*@! That looked an awful lot like hydrochloric acid, son! How do I know that wasn’t acid?”

I exhaled deeply and responded, “Because, sir, I don’t drive down the road and throw hydrochloric acid out the window. I just––”

“Let me see that cup. Give me that cup!” he interjected.

Graciously, I handed him the cup.

He held it up to his nose, inhaled, and grunted.

“Are you familiar with California driving laws, young man?”

“No, I––”

“California driving law number 109 states that ANYTHING which is ejected from a vehicle is considered a projectile. Ok?”

“I–– I’m sorry. I just wanted to use the drink holder. I–– I’m really sorry. It was just water.”

“This is the sort of thing that starts a fight, young man,” he said, in a very matter of fact manner. “If I weren’t under oath,” he continued, raising his voice, “we would be in a fight right now. In a bloody fight!”

“_______,” I responded.

“You’re lucky, young man. If this happened to anyone else, you could very well have been beaten up by now.”

“Okay,” I said, with as much defiance as I could muster up.

“How old are you?”

“21. I’m 21.”

“21? You’ve got a lot to learn, young man.”

Mouth open, I let out a faint sigh.

Soldier Koo (his name was displayed on his uniform) then turned to the gate attendant and said, “Sir, thank you for standing by for all of this,” and marched off. The gate attendant, in shock, looked at me, raised his eyebrows, and opened the gate.

For over an hour, I couldn’t believe the situation that just took place.

And, after processing it all, I had one regret: I wish I would have plowed through the gate and into John Madden’s driveway for the confrontation, only to hear his color commentary on the action.

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5. April; Kansas City, Missouri.

The above text messaging conversation is a specimen of my relationship, or lack thereof, with my fiancé just nine months ago. At the time, I was tirelessly striving to spend as much time as possible with her, despite her failure to reciprocate the effort. One of my chief tactics was to find a mutual friend who would join the two of us for coffee. The occasion was always intimate, but not too intimate.

On April 22, 2009, the day I had the above conversation via text message, Bethany and I were planning to go get coffee with our friend Deyvid Lam (we’ve now learned how to properly spell his name, as you can see). I had organized the afternoon get-together. However, when Deyvid went M.I.A. things went downhill.

Bethany texted me to confirm the day’s plans which, at the moment, were unconfirmed. I didn’t foresee the lack of decidedness in our plans as an issue when I received Bethany’s text message. With Deyvid’s presence yet assured, I was more than open to a one-on-one with the girl I had liked and sought after for months. In fact, I even considered initiating a D.T.R. conversation that day. Bethany foresaw things differently.

“I’m not hugely down to go if it’s just us,” she wrote, heartlessly. The message was a clear indicator of her lack of interest in sharing one-on-one time with me. Never before had Bethany shut me down so explicitly. This was a brazen act. She knew what she was doing and she wasn’t going to second guess herself.

As harmless and ordinary as the above text messaging conversation may seem, in the moment it proved to be quite pivotal. After Bethany made her intentions clear, it was up to me to decide whether or not I should persevere in my pursuit of her–– the pursuit I had conducted for the previous few months. Bethany’s behavior made her attitude toward the prospect of us plain–– she wasn’t interested. Was it time to quit? I pondered this question for no more than an afternoon (an afternoon spent golfing on an unkempt golf course with my shirt off to relieve the frustration).

The next day I was back at it. Text messages, coffee-date planning and all. I reciprocated her clear intentions with some of my own. I refused to lose.

Though I was prepared to fight for her well into 2010, within a month Bethany and I were an item. And soon, a few days shy of a year since the dreadful text messaging conversation, we’ll be getting married. It’s funny how quickly tables can turn. Jesus is a good leader.

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4. March; Grant Ward’s Car (Atlanta, Georgia to Kansas City, Missouri)

That’s right, March’s extraordinary moment (a long, humorous one) took place in an automobile.

The cast: my good friend Grant Ward, myself, and Abi, a young native of Mumbai, India who appeared to be in his mid-forties.

Explaining the background of the story would be too thorough for a blog post. (Too thorough for me? Imagine!). So, in short, Abi was a 19-year-old young man who quit a program he had enrolled in in Atlanta. He was headed  to rural Colorado to work at a Christian retreat center and he found cheaper flights from Kansas City than he could find from Atlanta. How Grant got connected with him is another story. You can ask him if you’d really like to know.

Before we even pulled out of my driveway, I had come to the realization that Grant and I were in for an awkward drive with Abi. I’m not sure if you’ve ever seen a Jay and Silent Bob film, but Abi is an Indian type of Silent Bob–– carrying the same awkward muteness. Receiving a formless grunt, regardless of its connotation, was a generous response from Abi.

At first, I thought Abi was the type of shy guy who would open up with time. In my mind, he was the type who’d put on a tough external coat initially, only to crack and open up after a while. (Think the Beast from Beauty and the Beast or William Forrester [Sean Connery] from Finding Forrester).

This understood, my sole tactic for diffusing Abi’s unbearable awkwardness was to talk until he cracked. I wasn’t particularly interested in conversing with Abi, if I were to be honest. Instead, I was mostly interested in clearing the air.

I used this tactic for four days. And I utterly failed. My conversational aptitude (and resolve) was no match for Abi’s silent aura.

Abi Highlights

1. (Nashville) At Baja Burrito, Abi wolfed down his meal and asked us if he could go outside. Although we knew the Indian-blooded Abi would be uncomfortable in the 30-degree temperatures, we allowed him to exit. The next time we saw Abi, he was casually strolling through the Baja parking lot. He would periodically stop to look inside cars that were intriguing him. As a dark, bearded figure Abi looked extremely sketchy. Secretly, I wouldn’t have minded if Abi stole a car and disappeared forever–– just to have another story in my arsenal (along with freedom from his awkwardness).  And, as a matter of fact, Abi did disappear. However, it was only for a few minutes. He had visited a nearby gas station. We’re not sure why. (I know what you’re thinking and you need to stop. Don’t stereotype. No, Abi was not visiting his cousins at the gas station. At least, I don’t think he was).

2. (Nashville) At Crema, Abi quickly grew uncomfortable with our table (consisting of Grant, Annie, Jason, and myself) and, again, asked to leave to go sit in Grant’s car. He would sit there for hours, reclined in the front seat, mysterious to all who came near. We’ll never know if Abi took Grant’s car on a joyride or not. He certainly could have.

3. (St. Louis) Abi perked up to inquire about the St. Louis arch. I was shocked to hear him speak with no preceding provocation.

4. (Nearing Kansas City) Slap-happy from 12 hours on the road, I was beginning to act out in utter silliness. This provoked two or three minutes of unstopped giggles from Abi. I still don’t understand how this happened.

5. (Kansas City) At our apartment, Abi refused to drink out of a glass. Instead, he’d use our purified water pitcher as a cup, pouring the water from inches above his head into his mouth. One night, I was describing his quirk to friends when, all of the sudden, Abi came out of his bedroom. He walked to the kitchen and began to drink water. Though we couldn’t see Abi, we could see his silhouette on the wall, which excited immediate laughter from my friends. Clueless, Abi walked back through the living room to his bedroom with no acknowledgement of anyone in the room.

6. (Kansas City) At least once a day during his three-day stay, Abi would take over the bathroom for an hour or more. He refused to shower regularly and instead used a cup for his bathing. At first it was funny to listen to such activity in the bathroom. Eventually, however, it was annoying. Especially when you had to go number one (this is a trustworthy link).

7. (Kansas City International Airport) Abi departed.

The reference to Jamal in the title is alluding to my New Year’s post.

April’s extraordinary moment will come ASAP.

Enjoy your weekends.

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Being the storyteller that I am, lately I’ve been noticing my frequent references to events that happened in 2009. Some were outrageous. Some were chaotic. Some were incredible. Some were unfortunate.

So, without further ado, here are my two January moments from my list of nine extra-ordinary moments of 2009:

1. January; Duluth, Georgia.

I spent the first twenty days of last year assisting my family in their various recoveries. My mom had major surgery in December which required significant amounts of rest. This made it difficult for her to care for my younger sister, who had an appendicitis just two weeks later. With these situations lingering, I resided in Georgia for the month of January.

Just as the health chaos was appearing to expire, something bizarre–– yea, spectacular–– occurred. [Precursor: the following text isn’t meant to provide entertainment through misusing an unfortunate situation. Instead, I’m looking at the bright, humorous side of a bizarre situation].

On January 20, my grandfather, a widowed 82-year-old resident of western North Carolina, left his rural home for the nearest Sam’s Club. In the passenger seat rode my 54-year-old mentally-handicapped aunt. Their destination was located an hour and a half away in northeastern Georgia. Due to a change of location, my grandfather accidentally drove an hour past the Sam’s Club all the way into the mayhem of Atlanta roadways. Overwhelmed with eight lanes of highway pavement–– all occupied by vehicles which were being operated by some of the most erratic drivers in the country–– he pulled off I-85 and into the nearest gas station. [If you’re unfamiliar with Atlanta driving, just check any tourist guide for information about navigating the chaos. And we’ve long been infamous for our bad driving pandemic. In 1949, Gone With the Wind author Margaret Mitchell was killed in an Atlanta traffic accident].

At the gas station, Grandpa exited his car to go ask the gas station attendant for directions. However, when he stepped out of the car, he tripped on the curb and fell to the ground, breaking his hip. The news got to us a couple of hours later, after my grandpa had been admitted to Gwinnett Medical. And our response to the news was one of shock. [Who expects their out-of-state grandfather to break his hip at an Atlanta gas station?]

The ten days that followed included many trips to and from my grandfather’s hospital, five long nights spent in a hospital recliner, lots of reading (from the Bible, The Story of a Soul, and Dubay’s The Evidential Power of Beauty), a dozen hospital cafeteria meals, constant fidgeting on my iPhone, acting as a liaison for my drugged, hurting (and, at times, unreasonable) grandfather and the nurses he was frustrating, experiences with someone else’s loose bowels, and a few early morning Chick-Fil-A breakfasts following nights of interrupted, uncomfortable, limited sleep.

It’s been almost a year since this incident and my grandpa is still recovering. The moment was extraordinary indeed.

2. January; Mt. Vernon, Illinois.

Following my grandfather’s unfortunate trip to Sam’s Club, and the events that followed, I was finally headed back to Kansas City on January 31. I would be moving into a new apartment and I was hauling furniture from Georgia to furnish it. So, in one of the peak moments of my adulthood, I set out for a solo drive from Atlanta to Kansas City in a fully-packed ten-foot U-Haul which had nothing but an AM/FM radio for entertainment.

Thanks to a refreshing stop in Nashville, where I hung out with the legendary Annie Downs and Jason Stoltzfus, I was cruising right along, anticipating a 2 AM arrival in Kansas City. Yet, as I drove through the whitewashed middle-of-nowhere, Illinois (a.k.a. Mt. Vernon), I heard commotion behind me. At first, I assumed it to be a piece of furniture falling. Seconds later, though, the truth was revealed: I had blown my rear driver-side tire. I pulled over and laughed in disbelief. I then dialed up the U-Haul emergency line. This is when the moment became extra-ordinary.

Immediately, the female voice on the other line assured me that someone would be there to replace the blown tire within an hour. I was relieved, as I was beginning to run out of gas–– which I needed to heat the vehicle against the frigid temperatures outside.

Three and a half hours later, I saw the bright lights of the tow truck directly behind my ten-foot U-Haul. I greeted the expletive-dispensing truck driver with a handshake; his wife and toddler daughter with a wave. We [he] then loaded the U-Haul onto the truck, using the ‘f-bomb’ as much as the tow pulley.

In the truck cab, I told the young family a little about myself. The conversation went something like this:

“I’m from Atlanta,” I said, “And I’m headed back to Kansas City, where I’m a part of a large missions organization.”

“Atlanta…” the man responded, “There’s a big college or something there, right?”

“Uh, yeah. One or two. It’s a cool city.”

“It’s f****** cold here, too. Look at this s***** weather. I can’t f****** believe it.”

“Yeah.” [Silence and blushing].

The towers then dropped me [and my ten-foot U-Haul] off at a Holiday Inn Express where I’d [we’d] stay the night.

U-Haul paid for my stay and I was back on the road to Kansas City the next morning. Thankfully, no further complication ensued. It’s nice when fiascos are redeemed as stories.

February’s extraordinary moment will follow tomorrow.

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