On April 3rd, my son and I attended a concert by The Breakers, a tribute band to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. My son and I are diehard Tom Petty fans – me from when they hit the airways in 1976, and my son through parent-to-child musical osmosis.
The Breakers concert was my first tribute band experience, and to be honest, my expectations were low. I envisioned a cheap and costume-themed knockoff of what I consider to be one of the best Rock and Roll bands of all time. For me, the night was more about spending time with my son than the show itself.
The Breakers started the show with Love Is a Long Road from Tom’s 1989 solo album, Full Moon Fever. That song was an interesting choice because it’s not a Tom Petty “hit, ” and non-Petty enthusiasts might even consider it a deep cut. The Breakers performed a blazing rendition of the song, and when they finished, my son and I just looked at one another, each of us with a “holy shit” expression on our faces.
The Breakers went on to perform brilliantly and passionately. Their musicianship was jaw-droppingly good, and you sensed they were true fans of the band they were paying homage to. Their performance was joyful and soulful with zero pretense. The songs were not “cookie-cutter” versions of Tom Petty and the Heartbreaker albums. There were elements of creativity and artistry in every song they delivered that evening.
At times, I felt myself getting emotional watching and listening to the band play—I’m not sure why. Perhaps that’s the power and mystery of true art—it touches us in ways we can’t put a finger on. Or maybe a spiritually communal experience occurs when the musicians on stage and the fans in attendance connect emotionally through mutual love and respect—in this case, love and respect of Tom and his musical genius.
If you’re a fan of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, see The Breakers, you won’t be disappointed.
Most of us don’t get to choose the last thing we hear before dying. The grim reaper doesn’t give a shit about playlists or our affinity for the sound of waves crashing or birds singing.
The man in the blue blazer’s final breath came at 12:46 PM to the shitty sounds of stylized Jazz, and a Bluetooth-wearing mortgage lender yelling, “It’s 2008 all over again!”
With his elbows on the table and bowed head, he looked like any other Barnes and Noble Cafe customer – bewitched by books and coffee. Sure, his posture might have seemed “a little off” to the passersby, but not enough to alert the reference librarian or the pimply-faced adolescent behind the Cafe’s counter.
People don’t care about one another the way they used to. Most of us drift through our day in cell phone-induced trances, grossly unobservant of the world 3 feet beyond the nose on our faces. And so, the man in the blue blazer sat dead and unbothered for nearly eight hours (and one shift change) until a nudge from the Cafe’s manager caused him to fall and strike his head with a sickening biological splat, like a dropped bowling ball wrapped in salami.
Bill and Susie are wiping down the espresso machine when their pale, shell-shocked manager shuffles towards them.
“What’s up, boss? Are you OK?”
The question startles the manager from his stupor. He looks at Bill and says flatly, “He’s dead.”
“Who’s dead?” Bill and Susie chime in unison, causing Susie to laugh and blurt out, “Jinx on you!” while pointing and smiling at Bill demurely, “You owe me a coke, dude!” – Susie’s been crushing on Bill for months and can’t figure out why he hasn’t picked up on her willingness.
Their manager raises his arm slowly and points towards the Cafe’s seating area. Bill and Susie look wide-eyed at one another and dash from behind the counter. Susie sees the man lying on his back, turns immediately on her heel, and heads towards the front of the store, yelling, “Call 911, call 911!”
“Jesus Christ, boss, what happened?”
The manager’s voice is unsure and thready, “I told him we were closing, and that he needed to complete any purchases. When he didn’t respond, I touched him on the shoulder, and he fell.” His voice rattles with panic, “He must have been dead already; I mean, he never even tried to break his fall.”
The manager falls quiet before whispering, “His lips are so blue.” Bill looks at the lifeless body in front of them, turns toward his boss, and acknowledges softly, “So fucking blue.”
“You know, he looks familiar, boss. Not as a customer, but from out there,” Bill nods over his shoulder towards the storefront windows and the world beyond. He brushes by his manager and kneels next to the body. “He’s dead for sure,” and then shockingly reaches into the man’s blazer.
The manager directs a rage-filled whisper at Bill, “What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy? The police are on their way!”
“I know – I just want to check his driver’s license. I know this guy, boss.”
“Who gives a fuck if you know him? Leave him alone! Wait for the police, for Christ’s sake.”
The manager’s head is on a swivel, his darting eyes surveying the store for straggling customers and police. The last thing he needs is for his manager to hear about a Barnes and Noble employee mugging a dead man.
Bill opens the wallet. A folded piece of paper falls out. Without thinking, he puts it in his pocket and rummages for the dead man’s driver’s license.
Susie comes running from the front of the store, out of breath, “Betty called 911. Bill, what are you doing?”
Bill holds up the license and smiles, “Ted Diamond. 22 Fairview Lane,” before slipping it back into the card slot and sliding the wallet into the breast pocket of the blazer.
A police cruiser glides quietly into the nearly empty parking lot, splashing the storefront in blue and red lights. Car doors slam, and a few seconds later, the reference librarian directs two officers toward the Cafe.
As the officer approaches, Bill looks at Susie and shoves his hands into his pockets nervously, only to discover the piece of paper that fell from the wallet. He looks up and realizes there’s no time to put it back. His fingers draw the paper into his sweaty palm, and he squeezes tightly, digging his fingernails into it.
“I’m Officer Jacobson, and this is Officer Tyler.” Can someone tell me what happened? Bill’s boss offers an outstretched hand to the officer, “Hi, I’m Jack Bellinger, the manager. I found the gentleman about 15 minutes ago. He was sitting at a table, and I nudged him when he didn’t respond to me — then he fell off his chair. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”
There’s a commotion at the front of the store as the EMTs come rushing in. They begin chest compressions and CPR immediately, checking intermittently for breathing and a pulse. It’s not long before futility settles heavily on their shoulders.
The Cafe manager is off to the side, nodding and speaking with the officers in hushed tones. The EMTs wheel the man in the blue blazer slowly out the front of the store with no sense of urgency. His story ends officially in the parking lot of Barnes and Noble.
Bill pulls the folded and crumpled paper from his pocket.
“What’s that?” Susie whispers.
“A note. It fell out of the dead guy’s wallet when I was looking for his license – I didn’t have time to put it back.” A look of guilt and shame fell over Bill’s face.
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t read it.”
Susie puts her arm around Bill’s waist and slow-walks him to the Cafe’s kitchen. Bill brushes aside poppy seeds and crumbs from the counter, unfolds the paper, and smooths it out with both hands.
Dear Mary,
I know what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with.
A barista?
How pathetically proletarian.
It’s over. We’re done. You’re DONE!
Ted
Susie steps back slowly from the counter and stares at the back of Bill’s head, his damp, thick curls resting on his shoulders. She watches him slowly take a cigarette lighter from his pocket. In a dream-like sequence, he walks to the sink, holds the note by the corner, and lights it on fire. Then he pulls a sandwich bag of little white pills from his other pocket, empties the bag into the sink, and washes them down the drain.
In December 2024, after more than 35 years, I stopped working as a technical writer.
I hesitated to call myself “retired” because I wasn’t sure that was true. I felt burned out but didn’t know whether the burnout would last. Maybe I just needed some time.
A month or so after I stopped working, I published a collection of essays, poems, and short stories I’d worked on for years in my spare time. That was fun. I worked with an editor, learned about self-publishing, and published my book on Amazon. The entire endeavor took a few months.
After that, I did a lot of sitting around—so much so that I considered reentering the workforce. I even took a few interviews.
Retirement taught me what I already knew: I’m not a “project guy.”
I don’t have a workshop in my basement, I don’t tinker with cars, I’m not a hobbyist in any sense, and I’m about as “handy” as Captain Hook. So, retirement became a bit of a vacuum for me – a lot of time with nothing to fill it with.
To make things worse, my wife retired shortly after me, and it turns out that she is a “project guy (or gal).”
Unlike me, my wife finds things to do every day. She’s in constant motion – organizing the basement, digging in the garden, putting up bird feeders. I’d be sitting on the couch, watching the news or Sports Center, and I’d look up and see my energetic wife in the yard, weeding, feeding, and seeding with purpose.
I felt like a lazy lump. She’d come in from the outside with a smile on her face and say, “It’s a beautiful day out there,” not necessarily wanting me to join her but wanting me to at least get off my ass.
Caring for our dog Pepsi kept us both busy during those early months of retirement. We spent a lot of time and energy helping Pepsi navigate illnesses and old age until that dreadful day when we had to put her down. It was a tough time for both of us. I’m thankful I was retired when all of that went down.
Though I miss Pepsi immensely and miss the joy of k9 companionship in general, it was freeing not to have that 24/7 responsibility for the first time in 12 years. But after a few months, I began to think it would be nice to have a dog again, leading me to Rover.
Rover is a pet-sitting, boarding, and walking service.
I thought to myself, “I love dogs, I know I’d be good at this, it’s going to get me off my butt, and we have a pretty good setup logistically (large, enclosed back yard with two dog-loving people who are home all the time).
I’ve been a Rover rep since January 2025, providing mainly boarding services, but I’ve also walked a few dogs.
Rover allows me to set my schedule, so I can block off weeks or months at a time in case I do suddenly become a project guy (unlikely) or if my wife and I decide to take a vacation, all while putting some spending money in my pocket.
Rover helped fill the hole Pepsi’s death left in my heart with an opportunity for K9 companionship while providing a service to pet owners looking for a warm, safe, and loving environment for their pets.
Honestly, it’s been a win-win.
So far, my clients include a loveable and playful hound mix named Cooper, a quiet and reserved basset/shepherd mix named Rene, a timid lab mix named Millie, a gentle geriatric bulldog named Tucker, and an enthusiastic, boundlessly energetic, and inquisitive German Short Haired pointer named Birdie.
I’ve had several Meet and Greets that have resulted in bookings through the Summer.
Each dog has its own personality, and it’s been a joyful experience watching them adjust to me and learning how to adjust to them. All of the dogs I’ve boarded so far have acclimated fairly quickly—they become comfortable in a day or two.
Our house feels more like a home with a dog on the couch or sunning themselves on the back patio.
I’m sensitive to the fact that every dog that an owner drops off is probably feeling some anxiety, at least initially. My wife and I do our best to give the dogs the space to explore our house and become comfortable with new and unfamiliar surroundings. I try to keep the house quiet (maybe some soft music).
I’m discovering that when a dog is comfortable with where they are, they become comfortable with me, and that’s when I can begin building trust by going on walks, sitting together on the couch, or playing fetch in the backyard.
When it’s time for my K9 guests to leave, I feel a tinge of sadness, but mostly, I’m happy that I could provide them with a loving and welcoming place to stay while their owners are away.
Every pet owner I’ve dealt with has been great. I provide daily updates with videos and pictures and converse with them over the Rover app.
Being a Rover rep has been an emotionally uplifting experience while providing a much-needed distraction from the chaos in our country and the world.
bendingtheneedle 