17 January 2022
Story #1055
R. Linda:
It was another year, another birthday for yours truly. Everything went relatively smoothly, with no drama, until two car rides I had made, and stress-free living was a thing of the past.
Me neighbour asked if I'd help him get an old mattress to the town dump. He bought one of those heavy Posturepedic mattresses when they first came out. You know the kind of foam and whatnot made to contour to your body, restful sleep thing, but doesn't bend to get it through door frames. Yes, one of those. Anyway, he had attached this queen-size mattress to the top of his station wagon (yes, you read that right, a station wagon, from the 1960s, it was older than me!). He had help getting the thing down the narrow stairs of his home, and he heaved it several times to the top of the car (because it was so big and cumbersome) until they actually had it on the roof. What a challenge that must have been! But in doing this, his friend put his back out. So there was the dilemma: somehow my neighbour (whom we will call Fred) had to get the thing off the roof and into a huge trash bin at the "transfer station," AKA the dump!
Well, he called yours truly, and of course, I said I would help. I drove on over, and sure enough, there was this large mattress strapped to the old rattletrap. By the looks of it, I thought, easy peasy, just slide it off, and that would be that—good deed done.
I noticed black trash bags in the back of the station wagon, and I had no problem helping him get rid of those, too, if he wanted.
Being all set, I hopped in and closed the door only to inhale the stench of dead, wet leaves. That smell is akin to the smell of dog shite. I was feeling quite overcome, and me stomach was doing flip-flops while the contents of me tum were threatening to make a physical appearance.
I came to find out I was correcto-mundo- all the bags contained old wet leaves from this fall. Fred never got rid of them because he said he had too many other things to do, so they rode around in the car from early October to NOW! He was used to the awful smell and was oblivious. I, on the other hand, was decidedly NOT used to it. Like a dog, I opened the window and had me head hanging out the entire drive to and FROM the dump. That was an odour that would live in that car for a long, long time.
The mattress disposal went smoothly, and we got rid of the wet leaves bags. I was correct; the odour was still there, maybe not as heavy as before, but all the same, it lingered. I was never so glad to get home and take a shower because the smell was all over me clothes and hair—it permeated me.
I was sure I would not be doing any more good turns for a while—that was until that Monday when me boss assigned me to a story where I needed a photographer to come along. We were assigned to an old estate turned into an art museum and art learning centre. On the grounds, there are acres of metal sculptures, I know just up your street (alley in American).
I had never met this particular camera person before, but he always seemed pleasant, and I knew virtually nothing about him. He told me he would drive and knew where we were going, so it was no problem. That was fine by me, so I met him in the parking garage and into his SUV we got, and off we went onto Boston city streets, which, if you know any large city, the streets are never deserted but full of stop-and-go traffic. At one point up ahead, I could see a rental car stopping occasionally and asking for what I ascertained might be directions. Well, this slowed traffic with cars veering out of their lanes to go around the rental, horns honking, that sort of distraction. We finally made it to the rental, and it came to a stop three times; we were behind it. The first time me driver had a furrowed brow as he watched the car's occupants, which was a family of four. At the second stop of the rental and us, he mumbled "WTF?" At the third stop, he jammed on the brakes, slammed out of the car and banged on the driver's window, cursing. The poor man looked terrified, and I could hear the two children in the back crying, and the wife was saying something in what sounded like Japanese to her husband.
WELCOME TO AMERICA! I thought to meself. The poor driver was looking all around for someplace to go, and finally inched up to the light and made a turn on a red light, such was his terror. My guy got back in the SUV and muttered to me and himself about the "stupidity of people, not having directions before they went out," and on and on.
I told him I thought they were foreign visitors and lost, but he didn't care. I made small talk to get him off the subject, and was doing well when we got to a somewhat confusing set of streets where four roads came together. You either continued straight or got in the right lane to turn right, or the outer left lane to turn left. We got into the outer left, and as we pulled into the lane, the idiot in front of us decided to do the same sans blinker and almost hit us. It won't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened next. Yup, out of the SUV, he jumps and pounds on the driver's window, yelling at him in language I won't repeat but you can well imagine.
It must have been the day for me, the photographer/driver, to get his because as we got to the museum, another SUV backed out into us. The fella wasn't looking or we were in his blind spot, I don't know, but we were hit on my side. Well, all hell broke loose, me man was out of the car and jumping up and down and yelling about his SUV being a week old, etc., and what a jerk the man who hit him was and several times I heard "Wanna go?" and well I could hear the other guy in a soft voice telling him he was sorry he didn't see us. Still, it didn't matter; the man was too busy yelling and accusing. I called 911 because I was thinking the way we were headed, fisticuffs would come soon. The police arrived almost instantly (they weren't far off) and settled the matter. I left for inside the museum to meet the person I was interviewing with the photographer to follow once the car troubles were settled. Oi!
To say he was in a mood when he joined me is an understatement, but he did become professional and got his shots. Of course, his anger was simmering the entire time, and he didn't let it out until we were in the banged-up SUV. But wait, we weren't finished yet! As we are driving out of the museum lot onto a two-lane street towards the highway, we see up ahead three teen boys whose car has broken down and pulled to the shoulder of the road. However, the back end of their car was on the road, and that was because it stopped there and wouldn't go any further. Well, you would have thought they gave Mr. Photographer the finger or stuck their tongues out, or laughed and pointed at the damaged new SUV because before I knew it, Mr. Photographer had pulled the SUV onto the shoulder and jumped out of the car yelling at "you jerks" to push the vehicle onto the shoulder and OUT of his way. Oi, oi, oi!
What was going on? I was not enjoying this at all. I got out and calmly told one of the boys to get in the car, put it in neutral, and we would push it off the road. This we did without Mr. Photographer's help. I asked the boys if I could call someone for them, and they told me, "Thanks, mister, we already did." And so with that, I signalled to me ride, "Let's go," and without another word we did.
I remember that as we passed the boys, their faces were still shocked at the berating they had received. Yeah, a story to tell, huh?
I returned to the office without more incidents, and I vowed never to work with that guy again. I haven't inquired about his car damage or what is being done about it. I simply don't care. People like that need the help of a meditative kind, I guess.
Gabe
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