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he barely knows the difference between a carburetor and a spark plug.” Buzz gave Deb a quick smooch and exited the cafe as Trip entered.
    Trip had quickly dressed for the day. T-shirt, Levi’s. In the hallway behind the lunch counter, he aimlessly grabbed the wrong work shirt. He didn’t notice the name Buzz sewn above the pocket. Typical for Trip, he put it on wrong-side-out. In a hurry, he left it unbuttoned.
    “Mornin’, Trip,” Deb said.
    Trip waved a small note pad. “Made myself a list,” referring to his new note pad. “On my way to fix that sticky door on the jump plane.”
    “How ‘bout that. That should get Buzz off yer back. Ya might consider turnin’ that shirt inside-out before ya try to button it.” Distracted, Deb didn’t notice that Trip had grabbed the wrong shirt.
    Trip fumbled with the shirt. “Thanks, off to the jump plane.”
    ☁ ☁ ☁
    Trip’s lack of mechanical aptitude was exceeded only by his poor hand-eye coordination. He developed a plan of attack. For at least a full minute, he stared at the rear compartment door handle. Having settled on a strategy, he gave the rear door a futile tug. He then shook the door with both hands–failure. He looked over his shoulder and saw a foursome of skydivers approaching the jump plane. He grabbed a hammer, hit the door handle. He banged his thumb; stuck the thumb into his mouth.
    “Come on, stupid door,” he coaxed.
    Time was running out. The skydivers were getting closer. One final jerk on the door and it popped open. He lifted his toolbox into the plane and hoisted himself into the rear storage compartment. It was difficult to maneuver in such a cramped space. Twisting, toes-to-nose, and elbows everywhere, Trip felt like the last guy crammed into a circus clown car. Squirming, he found a can of ‘3-In-One’ oil in his toolbox. He tried to squirt oil on the hinge–nothing. There must be a blockage. He looked in the end of the oilcan and squirted himself in the face. Squinting through the slimy gunk in his eyes, he finally succeeded in squirting some oil on the rusty hinge. The door was fixed. It swung open and closed freely. All told, not a bad start to a new day.
    Task completed, Trip was on his hands and knees. Head to the open door, he gathered up his tools and closed the toolbox.
    Buzz walked around his plane, completing his standard visual safety inspection. As he rounded the nose of the jump plane he noticed that the rear storage compartment door was open. Well, how about that, he thought, Trip finally fixed something around here. With that, he slammed the door shut.
    The good start to Trip’s day took an expected turn for the worse. The slammed door hit Trip in the head. He tumbled onto his side, grabbed his head, then rolled onto his back, dazed.
    The four skydivers, harnessed-up and ready to go, chattered and laughed. Jumping out of an airplane was exhilarating and it showed. These guys were stoked. Chutes on backs, they checked each other’s equipment.
    A cell phone rang. After a short conversation, one of the skydivers approached the plane, removed his chute, and placed it immediately inside the main cabin door. Tapping another skydiver on the shoulder he announced, “Peter, we better sit this one out. Got a little problem with the Foster account.”
    Somewhat concerned, Peter asked, “Nothing serious, I hope?” He removed his parachute and placed it inside the jump plane.
    “We’re okay. Mr. Foster wants to accelerate the delivery date on the second shipment.”
    “Look on the bright side,” Peter assured. “Faster delivery– quicker cash in our pocket. Hey, Buzz! Go ahead, we’ll catch the next jump.”
    Buzz waved acknowledgement as the two tycoons returned to the cafe to conclude their business deal. The two remaining skydivers and Buzz climbed into the jump plane. Buzz stowed the two extra chutes, settled in, and fastened his safety harness. He adjusted the controls and started the engine as he yelled over the