Poker Lends A Hand
Thursday, August 30th, 2007I don’t know why it always happens to me, but it does. There I was, less than 2 miles from home on a beautiful Friday afternoon, when the high temperature indicator came on. I crossed my fingers, hoping to make it the rest of the way, but the car coughed, sputtered and died. I coasted to the side of MacArthur Boulevard. Cars zipped past me, interested only in getting home to their families. I raised the hood and looked. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I looked. The heat radiated out from the engine compartment. I figured I’d wait it out until the temperature went down. I looked down at my overheated engine and scratched my head. The silence was broken with, “Too bad, man?” A teenager, shirtless in cutoffs, stood beside me, looking at the steaming engine. From the looks of him, he couldn’t have been more than 14. He clutched his skateboard in front of him as he surveyed my overheated V8. A little embarrassed but relieved that there was somebody to share my grief with, I said, “I’m Dan Jeffries — but call me DJ, everybody does.” “OK, DJ, I’m Nat Pokerhassen. It’s a German word. Dudes call me Poker.” I shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure, uh, Poker.” He laughed at my uncertainty about his name but looked back at my engine.




