Toothpick Man
Toothpick Man
Toothpick Man, that’s what I called him, Toothpick Man, the whole six weeks I would see him. They would send me all over the country to small towns with even smaller banks for consulting gigs. It always struck me as somewhat comical that a small bank that couldn’t afford to hire their own staff would pay me a boatload of money to give them suggestions and then leave them to do all the work. But, what do I know?
In this particular small town, population 168, I discovered a throwback roadside diner with a vintage juke box that played only country music. It was right across the road from the bank where I would do my consulting for six weeks and every morning I would stop first for a nice country breakfast. I had been warned not to talk to strangers, like I always am, especially at the beginning of each consulting stint, by those who are concerned about my propensity to talk with all kinds of people. I tell them, being a traveler and always new everywhere, there would be no one to talk to if I didn’t talk to strangers.
So, there I am, day one in this particular small town. I walked into the diner, thoughts of all sorts of yummy and healthy (NOT) foods I would enjoy digging into, and I plopped right down at a window table. Before I knew it, there was the establishment’s only waitress with a rather imposing dark eyed gentleman in tow. “That’s Mike’s table, ma’am,” the waitress told me, slightly terrified, of Mike who I correctly guessed was the large man beside her.
“Oh, I didn’t know,” I stammered and got up so fast that I spilled a full bottle of genuine maple syrup all over the table, the floor, and myself. Day one on a new consulting job, in a new town, and so wanting to have poured that maple syrup over the pancakes and waffles I intended to order. That was when I noticed the toothpick swirling in the big man’s mouth as if by magic, going effortlessly from tooth to tooth, clearly a long-time practiced art of his. “It’s okay,” he said. “She can have the table now.” And there I was covered in maple syrup but having won the table.
The waitress was very kind and offered me another table, unfortunately opposite the one where Toothpick Man had sat down. He glared at me through those dark tired eyes of his the entire time I was eating my breakfast, still twirling that toothpick. I would have wondered how he managed to keep from choking on that toothpick, and would have half liked to see it happen at that moment, but I didn’t have the time to ponder as I needed to run back to the hotel to change before I started the day’s work.
The next morning I would try again. The food was good and I wasn’t going to pass that up just to avoid Toothpick Man. I had my principles you know. When I got to the diner, I walked past the table apparently long-standing reserved for Toothpick Man and chose another close by. When Toothpick Man walked in, I waved hello and called out, “Sorry again about the table yesterday.” He grunted something through that toothpick and sat facing me again. Maybe the food’s not worth it after all, was the thought that quickly ran through my mind at that moment, but I smiled at him and forgot about it after that and concentrated on eating and some ideas I had for day two of the consulting work.
As the days and weeks wore on, I had managed to actually get a smile out of Toothpick Man each morning and his glares were not as sharp toward me. Close to the time I was to finish the work at the bank, he pulled up a chair across from me and I found he could actually talk, and with a toothpick in his mouth. It’s a different kind of language, but I was able to understand him, mostly.
“You don’t live around here, do you? No need to answer, I know you don’t. Anyone who does would know about my table. My wife and I used to sit there every morning for breakfast, bet you didn’t know that.” I quickly glanced at my phone to see how I was fixed for time, but I knew he wouldn’t talk for long and I wouldn’t be doing any of the talking.
“We had a dream, long time ago. To see the country, me and her. We fixed up this old camper of my father’s and headed on our adventure. First stop we came to was here. This diner for breakfast. Saw this sign, for good paying steady work, and we stayed and never left. Had three kids, two moved away, one was killed serving our country. Life had gotten in the way of our dream even though we still held it so dear. So then it became we were gonna pick up our old dream when we retired.
“So I went fixing up that same old camper, modernizing it some, and then she got sick. We kept talking about our dream, it was there still for when she got better. Then, we knew she wouldn’t get better. She told me, when I die, you live our dream, don’t let it die too. And be sure to have twice the fun for me. And she smiled that sweet smile of hers that had had a way of just getting sweeter as the years went by. She died seven years ago last summer and my dream, our dream, is still just that.”
I just stared at him for what seemed the longest time, watching him mechanically swirl that toothpick around his mouth, and then I knew what to say to Toothpick Man. “If it’s still your dream, why don’t you go find it. Just try. You have nothing to lose. You can always come back here, to the life you know. Take a chance.”
“The folks here think it’s crazy of me to even consider it now. I’m older, the world is a dangerous place, I’m so settled here, settled like an old rug I guess.” More toothpick swirling.
“Well, I think you should follow your dream. Don’t let other people trample your dream and make you doubt. I always thought dreams were worth following. Dreams are great things, small packages filled with courage and daring, adventure and life, part of your very soul, nurtured and loved and looked forward to for so long. Step out, see it develop, see it develop into things and go in directions you didn’t even imagine. Don’t be afraid. Try.”
Toothpick Man stopped swirling for a brief moment and smiled, ever so slightly with eyes not so tired any more, and dreaming again perhaps, through some tears. I had to go and I got up and smiled. Toothpick Man shook my hand and hugged me and I went off to work.
The next morning when I got to the diner, the waitress handed me a small package. Mike wanted me to give you this, she told me. And somehow I knew I would never see Toothpick Man again. I went to his table, sat down, and opened the package. Inside was a small box of toothpicks and a short note which read, “Always remember how grateful I am for your encouragement yesterday. I’ve left to follow my dream, my wife and I’s dream, and have twice the fun for her just like she told me to.” I put a quarter into the juke box and played the song Toothpick Man would play over and over and over again every single day. And as the song played, I looked at the box of toothpicks and smiled. Click here to listen.
Featuring Cody Johnson’s 'Til You Can't.
