Mo - My friend Mo was in town for a couple of days on job interviews. I've known him for almost 20 years, and I still don't understand him. He's currently unemployed, yes why is it he can throw money around like mad, and have absolutely no regard whatsoever for the generally accepted societal rules and principles regarding time use and still manage to be a fairly well regarded guy?

Yesterday, he needed to go to the South Bay for a math test. We suggested he rent a car. He was averaging $55 plus tip and was going round trip. "Good idea," he said. "I'll think about it, but I'll be back at 5:00, and we'll have dinner." When he strolled back in at 11:30, we knew he didn't rent a car.

Anyway, I was wasting time around the house this morning. He was packing and talking on his cell phone. "I want to take the red eye back, but i don't think a last minute change by someone with brown skin like mine is a good idea. This flight's at noon. I'll get there on time." I figured I could lend him a hand and make a phone call for him. It was too late for him to take BART, and there are no roaming cabs waiting to be hailed in this city, so I made the call.

The operator asked, "Is he ready now?"

I called across the room, "Are you ready now?" He said yes. "Is that a 'Mo' now, or an earth now?" he chuckled, "I'm ready. Let's go."

Ten minutes later, the phone rang. I could hear the same traffic noises over the phone as i could out the window. After a short but aplogetic phone call, I was standing outside talking to the cab driver saying "I'm sorry. My friend's just checking over the house, making sure he didn't forget anything."

The driver grumbled. "Ok, have him hurry, though, ok?" He was being as agressive as a cab driver in San Francisco could be.

"Sure, thanks," I said and ran back inside thinking "Let's go let's go let's go..." I opened the door, Millie came up to me, and I went into the living room to find both of Mo's bags open, spread out on the couch with the clothes and zippers everywhere. "Yep, guy's here, I said.

"I'm ready," he said, reasssuring me. I shrugged. It's his dime.

"Ready? You're not wearing shoes."

"They're right over there," he said, and pointed to the Kennth Coles over by my CD rack, and zipped up his suitcase.

"Hmm. or socks."

He looked down, "socks socks socks socks..." he was tourettic and indeed not wearing socks. "...socks socks socks socks..." I don't think he could have stopped repeating himself if he wanted to. I motioned, suggesting he check in his freshly closed suitcase. I heard a horn honk outside, and the phone rang again.

"Let's go," Mo said. He put his socks and shoes on. This is a pair of brown wingtips, and brown dress socks below a pair of linen shorts and a t-shirt. He picked up his fleece and slung it over his shoulder, "Let's go."

We made out way to the cab, put his things in the truck, and said our goodbyes.

"Sorry I took so long," Mo said to the driver.

He shrugged, "It's ok. The meter's been going the whole time." I grinned. "Where you going?" Mo told him to head to the airport. It's a nice long ride, and probably made the driver as happy as he's been all week.

It's probably as happy as Mo's been all week, especially if he can get there, just in time for him to run through the airport, clicking his heels yelling for them to hold the plane for him.