Mike's Good Deed for the Day

So the majority of my life right now is consumed with the task of selling a spec action-comedy called YOU'RE DEAD MEAT, PIPLOWSKI, by Samurai MK client Alex Drummond.

I got up at seven am to update my submission list. I brewed coffee. I got to work. It was hectic, as these things are... but I don't mind. Taking a script wide is my very favorite thing about this job. It's the same level of energy as when I used to play in bands. It's the dragon I've been chasing for the past seven years. Win or lose, I love it. And it certainly helps to get behind a project in which I believe.

That aside, I was taking calls until about 7:30 tonight. It was fun, but I was beat. I'd been on the phone and staring at a screen all day. I needed to look at something besides pixels.

I went to the gym. But it was during prime time... There were no lockers, and the place was packed. I've gotten spoiled by the ability to go at three in the afternoon. Four months into self-employment, and I'm already a ruin.

No sweating for me, at least until tomorrow morning. I admit, it pissed me off. I've already become a gym rat, addicted to a daily infusion of naturally produced endorphins. So it was straight to the booze. Nothing crazy, just a glass of red, and home.

I walked back to the bike, and there was a dude with another Honda Rebel parked right next to mine. Same basic make, maybe a couple of years older. Anyway, the battery was dead.

He asked me, "Do you know where the fuses are?" Fuck... fuses? I don't know shit about motorcycle maintenance. I'm not that guy. I'm a total civilian when it comes to that kinda thing. Pop a hood on a car, and I'll nod and say something like, "Wow... looks you got an engine, all right."

HOWEVER - in this laser-specific situation, I was able to be of assistance. This is because, when I got back to Burbank after the nightmarish Christmas during which my dad almost died, my bike was dead, and I had the iPhone and was able to youtube up a little video on how to push-start a bike, I push-started my bike and was on my way.

Anyway, I ask this cat, "Did you try push-starting it?" He's like, "huh?" And like I'm some fuckin' expert (if your last name is "Preus" or "Ratkovich" you're probably laughing at me right now) I tell him: "Shift into second. Run your ass off about a hundred feet. Hit the starter. It'll start."

He does that... and it ALMOST starts. He does it again... and VRRROOOM!!! Again, like I know what I'm talking about - and in this specific case, kinda do via personal experience - I tell him, "Drive it around a bit to charge it and you'll be cool!"

He yells, "Thanks, man!" And he takes off.

That's Rebel riders helping Rebel riders, my friends.

But this whole thing isn't some cheesy bullshit like I'm paying it forward or masturbating my ego because, for once, I can give someone some advice in a mechanical situation and it actually works.

No... It's for the same reason I go to the gym every day. Doing that won't make you indestructible, but that daily effort will help you avoid really avoidable problems. You try to do a daily allotment of good in order to hold off the day-to-day type of bad. I think it's the same way with how you deal with the world as a whole.

Hagakure tells us there are four rules to affix in your heart before you make ANY decision. The fourth - and biggest - rule is to act with compassion.

And the thing is... I think if you just try to put some good out there when you can, it's like going to the gym... It doesn't make you bullet proof, but you're avoiding the really avoidable type of bad that's out there. Besides which: why would you want to do bad? What joy does that give you?

Shit, I'm flawed like everyone else. If you look long enough at anyone, you'll find the bad and the crazy. But that's no excuse. You should always try to be better.

Sure, you can't be a chump. There are people who take advantage. Once in Chicago (and it's weird because this is another Mike-the-mechanic story...) I hung around at B-Boy's old place watching Hong Kong action movies. I split late. It was night.

I was walking down Irving Park road, back to my car. I passed that gas station right under the Kennedy off-ramp, and some dude was there. He said his car had broken down. He said he "needed a hose." And -whaddaya know? This hose cost twenty bucks. Could I spot him twenty bucks?

I knew this guy was full of shit, so I decided to fuck with him. I told him I didn't have twenty bucks, but he was in luck... I was an ASC certified mechanic, and I'd be HAPPY to take a look at his car for him, free of charge! "Where's your car, dude? I'll help you out."

And, you guessed it, here come the excuses... "No, it's okay, man. I just need to hose." I'm like, "You sure? I don't have anything going on. I'm happy to help. Lead the way!"

He "talked me out" of helping him. What a sack of shit. If you're gonna be a con man...? Learn some new tricks, besides the same crap people have been using for decades. The other one I love is: "I've got my kids in the car, and I ran out of gas..." Yeah, blow me.

My point being: it's the real world. You have to use discretion. But discretion doesn't have to turn you into Scrooge. Lemme tell ya... when it comes to fixing motorcycles, 99.99% of the time, I am not the guy to call. But in this .01% situation? It made the black and bitter lump of coal that passes as my heart happy to help.

Ride on, noble Honda Rebel rider! Ride on!