18 January 2006

A friend in need, is a thing in deed and the trail has it's own strict code

     The bad thing about driving home in the weather conditions we had last night is not the roads or the weather.  Neither of those things hindered my progress on the 70+ mile trip I drive every day.  What does a man in is the hint of danger.  The situation is ripe with enough potential that it heightens one’s spider sense and is safe enough to lull him into false securities.  
     One’s mind tends to wander into odd corners when these states of affairs exist.  I began to day dream that I would run off the road and the members of MUFFIE (Mulletiers Uniting for Follicle Initiatives Everywhere) would finally catch up with me.  Realizing that I was the one behind the Tennessee/Kentucky Mullet Hunters Alliance they would finally have their chance to rub me out.  The only thing saving me from the situation would be some spurious logic and a very real looking resin cast German Shepherd in my back seat.  Or running off the road in a cell no man’s land and hiking to the nearest trailer to use the phone.  Only to be faced with a conclave of evil middle aged hypnotists practicing throwing their panties and love hexes at Tom Jones the next time he played Municipal.
     I was snapped back into reality at the state line.  Gleaming on the side of the interstate was the sodium lights of a state run rest stop.  My thoughts began to wander back to a night in 1990 when I was faced with a dilemma at a rest stop on a similarly snowy night.  You might remember the exact December weekend this happened.  Some well meaning, but wrong, professor in Memphis had predicted a massive earthquake along the New Madrid fault line.  The region was up in arms at the impending destruction of life as we knew it in Tennessee was about to end.
     I had been rooked by Gav to do a convention run to Vincennes, Indiana.  The takings from the geek fest were slim and we decided to cut losses on Saturday.  Driving through the night every bridge we came to became a death trap with the impending earthquake.  To make matters worse, a fluffy blanket of snow was sent from the fates to wrap us in our ground shaking demise.  We drove straight through the night and ended up in at the Clarksville rest station around 4 AM.  Needing to powder our noses and freshen our coffee, we decided to stop.
     Our business concluded, we mounted up again for the last leg of the journey home.  The ever so slight hitch arose that our van would not start.  Poking and prodding at wires and engine parts would not force the beast to turn over.  Cold and frustrated, we kept trying when we noticed a woman in a fur coat walk over to us.  Dear readers, please remember I was 18 and not nearly as wise as I am now.  The following is a bullet point summary of the conversation and events that happened afterwards.
  • Early 30’s rode hard and put up wet fur coat wearing woman comes up to us and asks if we need help.

  • We explain the situation to her.  She offers to use her AAA card to get us a tow truck.  She throws in that if she can get a tow truck there before we can conjure one up, we owe her breakfast. And that she knows the prefect place by a motel in Clarksville that she would take us to.

  • Being young and desperate, I began to think this was not such a bad idea.  Gav being older and wiser smelled foul

  • The woman insists on helping us and goes into the rest stop to call a tow truck.  I notice she’s signing the visitor’s registry and wonder why anyone would do so leaving a pager number.

  • Gav beings to write a note to leave in the van stating that if we get our heads cut off with a box cutter, the woman in question did it.

  • The tow truck arrives, and tells us we’re SOL.  The van is too heavy to tow.  The drive has his wife and small child in the car.  The fur coated woman talks to him for a long time, gets in her car and leaves.  

  • The tow truck driver comes over to us and explains that she wouldn’t give him her AAA card number and that we own him for the trip.  Then he throws in something about thinking the woman was “Corporate Beaver”

  • The tow truck driver’s wife beings to wear him out for talking to her for so long, and thinks he’s set up a little side action for later.  I’m sure she was right, because his blushing bride was of the Frankenstein variety.

  • Realizing she was a hooker, I felt stupid for almost being duped.  I have never trusted a fur coated woman at a rest area again.  
     In later years, I’ve wanted to track the woman down and thank her.  Thank you Victoria A. ***** for making me a cynic.  (I’ve checked with my lawyers and unfortunately I cannot say that her last name was the German word for bird.  Even though the events are true and in my capacity as a reporter for the Daily Punctilio would allow me to do so)
    

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Just remember: real fur = crossbow and skull through the symbol of a truck stop; fake fur = lot lizard looking for two cute suckers.