Was it only the Johnny Walker Black Saturday night that made me appreciate this poem, which appears on the menu at Gene and Georgetti's steak house (the boldface is in the original)?

1. Laurie Meyer worked in communications in for Walgreens for 28 years, rising from Walgreen World editor to VP.

2. When she retired last month, her overworked staff found time to put out an eight-page, four-color special issue of Walgreen World: "Our Chief Storyteller Retires."

3. In a world of cheap LinkedIn remmendations, Laurie was lauded by 16 former colleagues, ex-CEOs, communication industry observers and longtime vendors.

The other day at lunch I told Laurie that I cried when I left Ragan Communications last year.

Most people laugh when I say that. Meyer nodded and told her own story about how utterly soul-connected one's relationship with one's employer could be.

And, in the minds of Laurie Meyer and me, should be.

My friends and close readers know my car is a Scout—a 1964 International Harvester—and my daughter, by a coincidence that arouses suspicion in the suspicious, is also named Scout. (She's a 2003.)

I've decided to sell the truck after nine years of pure joy and mostly reliable utility as the service vehicle for Murray's Freelance Writing. I'm also selling my other "mostly reliable" car, a 1992 Volvo.

Why?

Several years ago I took a teenage protege of my inner-city art-teacher wife for a ride in the smelly old Scout. I was introducing Bryant to golf, and Bryant was introducing local golfers to hip-hop golf togs.

"Dave, can I ask you a question?" Bryant asked politely as the car coughed and wheezed down Division Street. "Why do you drive a car like this?"

"Well, Bryant, I just think it's fun to drive—you know, kind of an adventure every day."

He hesitated, and then said with a quiet smile, "You know, sometimes I think white people just don't have enough problems."

Well these days, white people have enough problems.