How do those stories start? I wish upon a star? Once upon a time? A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away …

Well, pick one.

So, once upon a time, there were two men. And they delivered beer in one of those big trucks with beer logos along the side that make beer lovers drool and dream and run off the road. Of these two men, one drove and unloaded the truck. It wasn’t a great job - he didn’t drive a BMW or vacation in the Hamptons - but he had a nice little house and a Harley in the garage.

The junior man, the “helper”, dreamed of having his older partner’s job - the money, the ‘toys’, the bragging rights: “Without me, you wouldn’t have your alcohol.” It wasn’t quite clear what his job was, only that “helper” summed up the job responsibilties.

So one of these days, the two men made a delivery to a liquor store in an upscale northern Baltimore County town. The senior man packed the truck in the alley behind the store, and began unloading it. We’ll never know exactly what happened, except that while he was inside the store, someone asked the junior man to move the truck. “See, you’re blocking my way in, see?” he was told.

The junior man wasn’t allowed to drive the truck. He didn’t have his license, or perhaps he didn’t have the specific license required to drive that type of truck - the story, as related to me, was unclear. In any case, it was clear he had no experience behind the wheel of the behemouth.

So while the older man was in the shop, the junior man - trying to be nice and not wanting to appear “unable” when presented such a simple request - move the truck? easy! - jumped behind the wheel, released the parking brake, and engaged the clutch.

Perhaps the truck moved too quickly. Perhaps he expected it to respond like his old Firebird, or his grandfather’s twenty-year old pickup. We only know one thing: his foot did not find the brake.

The truck jumped forward, out of the alley, and across the lane seperating the strip mall from the postal office. Here the truck (and I say truck because I don’t believe the kid behind the wheel had much control over it, and it was probably all “Yeah, I can kill my human masters now, if possible!) made a right hand turn, demolishing two postal jeeps as it turned, rose over the island (taking the hedges with it), and plowed into the drycleaners’ shop.

I think the drycleaner is going to get a break on his rent this month.