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Eureka Vacuum Brush Rollers eureka vacuum
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Eureka Vacuum Brush Rollers eureka vacuum Information
Sometimes, even from the most unsuspecting people wonderful and profound
messages can originate. This is the story of one such incident when much could
be learned from a person like that.
On the way to school one day, this
kid named Patrick went around telling everyone that he had some beer in his
lunch box. Now in the 9th grade, this topic of conversation is new and exciting.
He was the center of attention, and was enjoying it immensely. We all knew he
didn't have any in there, but it was still fun to talk like he did. In all the
commotion we failed to realize that the bus had come to a stop on the side of
the road.
We finally realized what was happening, and as the bus driver
made her way through the aisle, you could see kids shoving paper balls in their
bags, and sitting on batteries and rocks, which they were throwing out the
window. The bus was unusually silent as the bus driver, Bertha we called her,
waded her way through the narrow seats. Kids visibly squished as close as
possible to the windows, some in an attempt to hide something, others just out
of fear that the may inadvertently come into contact with the beast coming
through.
Bertha was 7 feet tall, and appeared to be one of those
ex-weight lifters, that had been on steroids for most of their adult life. Her
neck was bigger than that of football players, and her arms resembled those of
the body builders sometimes on ESPN. Her gut brought thoughts of the worlds
strongest man competition to mind. She was big, and no one, not even Superman,
or Batman could get away with messing with her. To us she might as well have
been dressed in some military uniform, carrying a leather riding-crop. The fear
kept us in line most of the time.
She strode right up to Patrick, and
halted just short of him. Not a word was exchanged for a full minute, the two
just looked at each other, a battle of wits. Patrick was the first to speak.
"Waddaya want?" he said with a sneer. "What's in the box Patrick?" she
thundered, as if the voice of God. "None of your business!" He retorted. He was
"dead", what was going wrong in his head, she had at least two feet on him, and
her arms could crush him like a worm in pliers.
Time stood still. Why I
will never understand. I wasn't the one about to be brutally beaten in front of
my peers. Patrick was a rock, immovable. His face never flinched, his voice
never faltered. It was the perfect match, and one that we all knew was going to
be a sad outcome for Patrick. Bertha just stood there though, she glared
piercingly into his eyes; she was not going to lose this battle to him.
She reached down and took the box by force, and in a futile effort
Patrick grabbed the box, and nearly had his arms ripped right out of his
sockets. She opened the box, and we knew from the look on her face he was a dead
man. It wasn't beer, but even worse, he had been dumb enough to tote around hard
liquor. What was he thinking? Bertha reached down and grabbed him by his collar
and literally threw him 15 seats forward to the front of the bus, he crashed
with a blood-curdling scream into the windshield.
At this point, you
know that half the bus must have wet their pants, and the other half was in
bewilderment as to what had just happened. Bertha though was un-phased she
reached down, and with a vicious jerk lifted Patrick from the ground, and tossed
him in the seat. Then she did the unthinkable. She opened the bottle and downed
half of it in one gulp.
The thought of death crossed my mind, not
because I had done something wrong, but because old Bertha couldn't drive to
begin with, and now she was going to be drunk. Patrick was sprawled out still
unconscious, as we started moving again. Bertha kept nursing the bottle, and
pretty soon it was gone and so was her mind. She got on the freeway headed away
from school, when sirens started up behind us. She was all over the road, and
the cops weren't happy about it.
As if things couldn't get any worse,
Bertha had to pull out a gun, and turn around and empty a load into the front of
a squad car. Now I knew I was a dead man. Who knows how fast we were going, but
when the bus began to shudder I knew it was too fast. The cops were still behind
us when we got off the freeway. We didn't bother to stop at the light, just flew
on through it. Some poor old lady in a Ford Explorer had the misfortune of
broadsiding us. The bus flipped over with the impact, and slid a few hundred
feet down the street. We all clambered out of the bus miraculously unharmed,
everyone but poor Bertha.
She was caught, in a cocoon where the Explorer
had hit, metal surrounded her, and she screamed this blood-curdling cry of pain.
The police went first to the Explorer, where the old lady was in very bad shape.
I wandered over there to see what was going on, when out of nowhere Patrick
appeared. I had completely forgotten about him in the midst of the excitement. I
was waiting for some wise crack, or some tough guy comment. He was changed
though, something wasn't right. He was no longer the "macho man", with a quick
temper, and a "bully" attitude.
He made his way deliberately to the
woman in the Explorer, where the paramedics kept repeating, "It doesn't look
good." He reached out his hand, and with the tip of his finger like something
out of the movie ET he touched her wounds. One by one they began to heal. He
placed his hand on her face, and her eyes opened and she sat up. It was the most
amazing thing I have and will ever see. He was an angel sent from God to guard
over someone. I thought at first it was the woman that we had hit, but a few
minutes later I was of a different opinion.
Patrick turned on his heals,
after saying nothing but smiling to the woman, and gesturing with his hand his
acknowledgment of her many praises and thanks. He broke out into a full sprint
for the bus. He crawled on top of it, and with a gigantic thrust ripped the
front panel of the driver's side. Tossing it aside as if it where nothing, he
bent over and gently pulled Bertha from the wreckage. With the same touch as
before he mended her wounds and then whispered something into her ear. She
nodded, and slid back into the little cocoon.
I was in full awe. What
had he just done? Who was he? Why was he here? Why did he help Bertha? What had
he whispered to her?
The paramedics rushed away with the woman to have
x-rays. The police called each child's mother one by one, and Patrick came to me
and put his hand on my shoulder.
I couldn't say a word, but somehow he knew
what was in my mind. "I am an angel." He said. "I was sent here to show the
light of God on this woman, and Bertha." "I purposely made this image for
myself, the message I bring is that much more powerful now."
With that
he was gone. Into thin air. I was sure I was smoking something at that time. I
had to be. I went to the bus, and looked in, but Bertha was gone too. A horn
honked in the distance and as I looked to it I saw them both in a car. Bertha
was driving, and Patrick was talking.
My parents didn't believe a word I
said, they only insisted I tell them where I had been all day and why I wasn't
at school. As I got on the bus the next day, there sat Bertha sober now, and
visibly changed. She had her hair done up, she was in casual clothes, and she
had an expression I had never seen on her face before. She was smiling. From
that day forward, I never doubted the changes that can be made in a person. She
had this jolly demeanor now, and for some reason didn't seem like the beast that
I had seen before. I never saw Patrick again, but sometimes when I would glance
into a passing car, I could see his face as a reflection in the window smiling
this pleasant, and compassionate kind of smile. I think he came more for me than
for anyone else, it may sound selfish, but I now had a completely different view
of the world, and of people in general.
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