Who doesn't love a good quirky character?

I love telling stories. I love quirky characters. So more than anything I love telling stories about quirky characters. Which is why I’m going to tell you this story. (For the record, I’m not the quirky character in this story. I don’t know why, but there always seems to be some confusion about that aspect in my storytelling.)

The Story:

The other day I took my dog for a walk around our neighborhood. As we were walking past a driveway, a man had just parked his car in the garage. “Beautiful dog you got there,” he called out.

“Oh thanks. She’s a wild one,” I said, making friendly small talk.

“You ever seen a garage?”

I paused in his driveway, glancing past him into the shadowed interior. I wasn’t quite sure what he meant. Have I ever seen a garage? For a second I thought he might be talking to my dog. “Me?” I said, just to clarify.

“Yeah. Have you seen my garage?”

His garage in particular. Okay. Well . . . “No?” I’d obviously walked past it a bunch of times before, but I couldn’t say that I’d ever really looked at it.

He waved his hand toward him with a little smile. “Come a little closer.”

Part of me thought this encounter was strange and it probably wouldn’t be wise to come a little closer. But the other part of me, the part that adores quirky characters, thought “We can’t leave now. Things are just getting good.”

So I came a little closer.

As I stood in the driveway with Bonnie, he moved to the back of his garage and flicked on a switch. Then the inside of his garage started lighting up with beer signs. Everywhere. Every wall. Every surface. Budweiser. Coors. You get the idea.

“Oh wow,” I said. Because really, what else is there to say when a man’s garage is filled with flashing beer signs?

He held up a finger and smiled. “Move a little closer.” Apparently there was more.

So I moved a little closer.

And now music started playing. Loungey jazz music. You know, the type you might hear floating out of a garage on a Sunday afternoon when you’re taking your dog for a walk.

“Oh wow.” Since I knew I couldn’t just keep saying Oh wow, I added, “You must hang out here a lot.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. Hey, what’s your name?”

“Becca.”

“Becca?” Like he wanted to be sure to get it right.

“Becca.”

He gave another one of his smiles.

There’s more? I thought.

Oh, there was more.

Because from somewhere he’d pulled out a microphone. “We’d like to welcome Becca and her beautiful dog to the driveway. She’s traveled all over the world to get here. From London, England to Paris, France to Springfield, Illinois.”

I’m sure I said at least three more “Oh wow’s” by the time he had finished.

But the biggest “Oh wow” moment came later after I got home and told my husband about my walk with the dog. And my husband informed me that not only had he had a similar encounter with this man a while back—minus the music and microphone—but he’d gone into the garage with our daughter, and the man had closed the garage door on them so they could experience the full effect of the lit-up signs.

So I guess I have two points to this story.

One—quirky characters keep life interesting and make for the best stories. I love them. And it’s why Dear Henry, Love Edith is full of them.

Two—if you ever want to lure one of the Kinzers into a death trap, just say, “Hey, you want to see my garage?” and we’ll walk right in.