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April 6, 2016 Comments (0) Views: 1033 My Tales to Regale

Gammill Stories Collection: Message from Above

Knowing that timing isn’t really my thing, I’ll admit that this post is only about 3 weeks late, but that’s not going to stop me from pounding it out anyway…

I guess to preface this story, I have to point out that the fact that there is one house that separates mine from one of the largest Asian churches in Plano. Now, let’s be clear: I have no problem with Asians or churches. In fact, it is an amazing source of entertainment. Every Sunday I get to sit in my front yard and watch 3-400 Asian drivers all try to leave a parking lot at the same time. Most of the time, I just sit in a lawn chair with a boom box playing “Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins on repeat. Needless to say, on Sundays, I don’t dare get in my truck between the hours of 12 and 1.

Anyhoo, I have to point that out to tell this story correctly…

Several years ago, we had a party of some sort. I honestly don’t remember the occasion other than brain cells were getting out of control and needed to be eradicated. In true “Gammill Fashion,” I was the last man standing at the end of the night, and was drinking well into the early hours of the morning. At the time, I still smoked, and the best thing in the world for a smoker before passing out after a long night of drinking is a cigarette. For some unknown reason, call it divine intervention, I walked out into my front yard to smoke, instead of the back yard.

So let me establish a visual here: At the time, I had shoulder-length hair, that looked like I’d just jammed my head into a functioning cotton candy machine. I was wearing boxers which may or may not have had that handy flap in the front – potentially exposing more than I’d normally subject the universe to. I was wearing a white “wife beater” tank top that had no less than 3 different unidentifiable food stains from as many different sources. I had a cigarette hanging out of the corner of my mouth in the whitest trash fashion I could muster, and I was noticeably drunk. Like…from space.

As I stumble out my front door, cursing audibly, and trying to figure out the intricacies of a cigarette lighter that only exist when you’ve consumed enough whiskey to kill a baby rhinoceros, I realized that in the pre-dawn twilight I was not alone…

There, not 15 feet in front of me were two Asian men in robes. And a donkey.

The Asian men quickly diverted their eyes, but the donkey stared at me with an intensity that suggested that he knew I’d cheated on my taxes.

I stared back at the donkey, bewildered. I quietly glanced to the heavens and said too loudly, “GOD. If this a message, I’m going to need you to be a little clearer.”

I think one of the Asians snickered. The donkey just continued to stare. The next 5 minutes of silence while I finished my cigarette were pretty awkward.

It wasn’t until later that day when I rose, not un-Jesus-like, from my whiskey coma that I realized that it was Easter Sunday. I could only assume that the donkey had something to do with a sunrise service at the Asian church. For years, I’ve told that story, but never managed to get a picture of the donkey or the Asians back in my front yard. I’ve gotten pictures of the trailer that I assume the donkey travels in, but the situation has never repeated itself.

To this day, I still have to ask myself if it really happened…

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