The Predictability of East Coasters
June 4, 2010 Last weekend Bear and I drove a few minutes outside of the city to drop into a storage place where he has a truck parked.
I already had to pee when we got there.
Bear went into the office and I stayed in the car. Five minutes passed. I regretted drinking those two ginger lattés before we had left.
Fifteen minutes passed. I wondered if he was having paperwork problems. Tom Sawyer by Rush came on the radio and I distracted myself from the bladder pressure by playing air guitar.
Twenty minutes passed. Definitely not paperwork problems, I concluded. I feared the worst and got my phone out.
Boo Bear (mobile): Stop talking about the East coast with the storage lady and let's giv'r.
I sent the text.
Another five minutes passed. My back teeth were floating. I decided I'd give him five more minutes before I went in.
With one minute left, Bear walked out the door and climbed into the car. "What a nice old fella," he said, smiling. "It was the storage lady's dad. He's from Saint John."
"I knew it! Did you get my text?"
"Yeah," he laughed. "I showed the old man and he got a kick out of it. He looked me in the face and asked, 'can she hear us?!'"
Reader Comments (1)
You want a great conversation Torr? Stop in any small town gas station in the US Southeast and ask directions to almost anywhere. You'll get all sorts of arguments about the quickest way including short cuts. Then about the time they decide on the best route some old duffer will remember construction going on and the argument will start all over again!