I get called lots of things
around here at the Big House. Some references such as an old fuddy-duddy,
a demanding and boisterous s.o.b. (I have no idea why) but seldom late, especially
for dinner or a train. Let me explain.
My better 7/8ths and I are proud of our two progeny, a beautiful daughter
who doesn’t need any more parenting and a grown son who knows more about computers
than Bill Gates but has no concept of time. He graced us with a visit once
from the far off place where he lives. I think it was a total of 19 hours
or enough time to wash and dry a duffel bag of dirty clothes and to put his
feet under our table a couple times. Then he had to get on the train to the
Big Smoke, 10:37 a.m. Sunday morning to be exact.
As you may have gathered, the Big House is not far from the big city where
the train stops and it takes me a total of 7 minutes to get to the station
if I am in a hurry, but not reckless. However, on this day, despite all my
anal preparations to get my tardy son ready for this short jaunt into town,
things kept moving at glacial speed. And here I am, feeling more like a tourist
in Mexico with Montezuma’s revenge.
First of all, we had to get number one son out of bed. After starting at 8:30
am, we finally got him out of the sack at 10:00 am. Just enough time to wolf
down some breakfast, put on the coat, grab the duffel bag of clean clothes
and do the check list.
This check list includes two critical items; passport and train tickets. “So
where are they, son?” He says the passport was with his wallet and it doesn’t
seem to be here either.
“Whoa”, says my better 7/8ths, “I saw them on the verandah last night so I
put them up where we could find them. Now where did I put them?” she mused.
There we were, three grown people charging around the Big House, cursing our
memories or lack there of and racking our brains as to where they could be.
Then all of a sudden, an epiphany occurred, “Ah yes,” she said, “I put it
up here on the top shelf in the pantry.” Passport and wallet safely in hand:
now to find the train ticket. “I have that one covered,” I proclaimed, “Right
here in my coat pocket, now, everyone get in the car!”
My family climbed into the fliver and I had that machine in gear ready to
fly at 10:31 am.
Now you have to understand, this buggy has a hard time reaching 100 clicks
on a good day but as I roared down the road to town, it was just under 110
when I reached the town limits. I just ate up that stretch of road in two
minutes flat. Now from the back seat, my loving wife said, “You just entered
a speed zone, better let up!”
It was too late. Halfway hidden behind some shrubbery was one of our municipality’s
Finest. I was dead meat, caught red-handed going at least 90 in a 50 zone.
Given the urgency of my situation, I laid on the binders and pulled right
over. Reaching over to the glove box, I pulled out the ownership and insurance
tags plus my driver’s license and waited. It was 10:35 am and I could hear
the train whistle just outside of town, right on time. “Arggh!”
And there was John Law sitting in his cruiser pecking at his computer and
not seeming interested in hurrying over to my car. “What to do?” I asked myself.
A light bulb moment! I’ll rush over to him and plead guilty and see what I
can do to get this ordeal over poste haste.
Getting out of your car in such a circumstance is not necessarily the smartest
thing to do but I was desperate. I strode up to the copper’s car with my papers
and he still has his head in the computer and was oblivious to my approach.
I tapped on the window and he rolled it down and calmly said, “Yes?”
These police officers nowadays; why do they always look younger and younger?
When I was a reckless young driver, cops always looked solemn, old and crotchety.
This chap looked more like a poster child for baby food. A quick glance at
his name badge suggested his father was likely the local car dealer who sold
flivers like mine.
You have to understand, the road where I pulled over is right beside the train
tracks and we could hear that whistle again, this time getting closer.
I held up my hands with my ID, insurance and ownership and said, “Officer,
I was clearly speeding but I have to get my son to that train right now. Is
there anyway we can finish this conversation at the station?”
He looked toward the back window of the fliver and saw two other anxious people
in it, then looked down at the car dealer’s logo on the trunk lid. Indeed
it was the same name as the one on his name badge. This very fine officer
said, “Anyone who buys a car from my old man can’t be all that bad. Just go!”
You know you are from a small town when…
p.s. Our son climbed on the train, just as it was leaving the station. I don’t
ever want to be that ‘on-time’ again!
