A Dozen Roses and a Broke Down Truck

On my way to the movies yesterday afternoon, I happened upon a thirty-something year old man carrying a huge bouquet of assorted roses.  Normal, if we were in the city.  Not so normal since we were on country road outside of Columbus.  

I was headed north, and there he was, headed south at a brisk pace.  Sweating profusely and carrying only the flowers.  He held them up against his chest, as if to protect them from the wind of the passing cars.  He looked determined, to say the least.  

After an initial chuckle, I thought--seriously, where is this guy coming from?  The closest place to purchase flowers was perhaps a mile up the road at a supermarket.  And, in the other direction, there was nothing around for miles.  Hmm.  

I crested a small hill and saw a black pick-up pulled off to the side of the road.  There was no flat tire, no accident damage, no sticker indicating the truck had been inspected by the police or highway patrol.  Nope, the truck belonged to the flower man--it just had to.  My guess?  He ran out of gas and ditched the truck to get the flowers where they needed to be.  Which meant carrying a bouquet of flowers down a road with a posted speed limit of 55 in the 90-degree heat.  What would make a person do such a thing?  He totally cheated, I'm telling you.

And next time, screw the movie, I'm turning around to ask.