After seeing the top post that men who can tell a good story are seen as more attractive, I'd like to increase my ability to tell a good story.

It's actually a pretty easy three-step process:

First, you gotta be able to drop everything and leave town in fifteen minutes -- at any time.

Any time.

Seriously, just bail.

Then, you gotta do the kind of shit that would make it necessary for you to drop everything and leave town in fifteen minutes.

And then, when you're telling stories about the shit you did -- you gotta plant ideas that you're going to come back to. And before those ideas have faded, come back to them.

It's ok to get things out of chronological order as long as you have a reason for it.

Like, for instance -- you could start off with some bullshit that makes people wonder if you've actually done shit that made it necessary for you to drop everything and leave town in fifteen minutes.

And while they're wondering about that -- you're still talking -- so when you say "no really, just read Shakespeare -- or anything, really" they're already primed to consider whatever you say next to be interesting.

And Shakespeare is interesting because of how expertly he plants ideas that he keeps coming back to without you having any idea he did it.

But that shit's all kinda abstract, so I'll give a concrete example from about a decade ago. My car had broken down and was too depressed to really do much about it.

But here's how I tell the story:

Minglewood is rusting over on Farmer Avenue — right across the street from the Sail Inn.

I know how she feels -- I feel a little rusted myself. I don’t just mean surface rust either. Surface rust is relatively easy to deal with. No, the rust I’m talking about is deep, deep inside. Every now and then I ride my bicycle over to try to figure out how to get her back on the road.

Or at least to stare at her engine.

That’s what you do when you don’t know what is wrong, right? Open the engine compartment and stare at the engine? So I look at the engine, space out for a while and get depressed.

Then I leave.

It’s hard to believe it’s been years since she broke down. But it has. Considering all the shit she has put me through, it’s even harder to believe I can’t bear to part with her.

There’s still hope for her.

Really.

You see, whenever I look at Minglewood -- I don’t see a rusted old Volkswagen bus. To me, the Sun is always shining on Minglewood. I can only see her the way she was back when her paint was all shiny. When we were holding up traffic on freeways all over the country with the ragtop open and all the curtains flying in the breeze.

I had wanted a twenty-one window bus since I was like twelve years old. And really, Minglewood is the most beautiful thing on the road. Well, she’s the most beautiful thing on the road when she is in fact, on the road.

But she isn’t on the road right now.

She’s in the gravel across from the Sail Inn over on Farmer.

Broke down.

I’m glad Minglewood is patient because I’ve been somewhat neglectful. But I didn’t really have a choice. I had nowhere to live when I brought her back to Arizona — and when I did get a place to live, she was just too heavy to push all by myself.

Minglewood knows I love her anyway.

Even though she is the slowest thing on the road.

At best, Minglewood can do about sixty miles per hour. But only for about twenty minutes. I always tell people that she’ll only do fifty miles per hour but really, she can go faster. Hell, a couple times I’ve had her going frighteningly fast. We were in the mountains and the brakes were out both times — but she was going fast.

Frighteningly fast.

For long distance though, I’ve got to keep her down to about fifty or the engine will overheat. I think it is best to just learn to enjoy the trip. Don’t even think of your destination. Just enjoy where you are because getting impatient with a VW isn’t going to get you anywhere. Sure, you can drive faster but then you’ll have to stop and wait for the engine to cool down. Frankly, I’d rather spend my time enjoying the scenery.

So we putt around at fifty miles per hour.

Driving slow is good for the soul anyway. Too bad other drivers don’t understand that. If they did, they probably wouldn’t get all pissed off at me for driving so slow. I used to feel guilty but not any more. Hey, we stay in the slow lane and I have a sign in the back window that says "Never get behind a VW".

I have a sign. What more can I do?

Still, I’ve seen so many angry faces in my rear-view mirror. They pound their steering wheels and scream unheard words while Minglewood patiently purrs and continues at her own pace. Often, with several open lanes to my left, they’ll drive right up behind me like they’re going to intimidate me into driving faster.

They learn.

Now here I go again, talking about Minglewood like I could just crank her up and hit the highway. The reality of the matter is that she broke down years ago and I don’t know what is wrong. The last time I tried, the engine started up just fine but whenever I tried to put her in gear and let off the clutch — a really loud and nasty grinding sound echoed through the bus. It reminds me of a jackhammer. My gut tells me it is the transmission but it must be something else — after all, Minglewood’s new rebuilt transmission only has about a thousand miles on it. When she broke down I thought for sure I had lost her. But miraculously, we’re still together.

Rusting.