Story 467: Trying to Get to Thanksgiving

(At a Thanksgiving family gathering, relatives prepare the food, set the table, watch and yell at the football game, and take a pre-nap nap in the early afternoon when the house phone unexpectedly rings)

Relative 1: (Momentarily pauses in basting the turkey to pick up the phone) This’d better be important.

 Relative 2: (Driving extremely slowly in bumper-to-bumper traffic on city streets) Happy Thanksgiving!  Can you hear me?!

Relative 1: (Moves on to stirring cranberry sauce on the stove) Happy Thanksgiving to you, too – and of course I can hear you, stop yelling.

Relative 2: (Lowers voice slightly) Sorry – it’s just that I’ve been in this massive traffic jam for what feels like days and everyone around me seems to’ve discovered their car horns and are forming a band with them as we speak.  You’re probably getting ready for dinner right about now –

Relative 1: (Chuckles while swapping out casserole dishes in the microwave) Honey, we’ve been getting ready for dinner for the past two weeks.

Relative 2: Yeah – I’m gonna be a little late.

Relative 1: Define “little.”

Relative 2: Ummm…. (Peers through the windshield to read an upcoming sign) I’ll be crossing the state line in 20 miles.

Relative 1: (Momentarily pauses again while spooning mashed potatoes into a large bowl) You’ve got another hour drive here after that, and that’s when there’s no traffic.

Relative 2: Yeah….

Relative 1: What time did you leave this morning?

Relative 2: More like this afternoon.

Relative 1: On Thanksgiving?!  Knowing that the entire country is out on all the roads at exactly the same time?!  What were you thinking?!

Relative 2: (Sheepishly) I’m thinking… start without me?

Relative 1: (Gives a noise of disgust while rapidly stirring a bean salad) We’ll save you a plate!  (Hangs up the phone with one hand while stirring with the other, then sticks head out of the kitchen into the dining room) Take away the place setting on the far left end – we’ve got a late one!

Relative 3: Ooh, does this mean I can finally graduate from the kiddie table this year?

Relative 1: No!  It means more room for us!

Relative 3: Shucks.  (Takes away the place setting)

Relative 1: (Returns to the kitchen momentarily, then sticks out head again) All right everybody, sit down, it’s time for dinner!

Relative 4: (Also in the kitchen) But the potato pie’s still got another 20 minutes.

Relative 1: (Back in the kitchen) It’ll take them 20 minutes to actually sit down.

Relative 4: Good point – I’ll keep stirring the gravy.

 TWO HOURS LATER

(The dishes have been cleaned, leftovers have been sorted, tables have been wiped down, desserts and drinks are being staged for deployment, more football is being watched and yelled at, and naptime resumes scattered throughout the house)

Relative 5: (Cracking walnuts at the dining room table while addressing Relative 6 sitting opposite) Look, I’m gonna tell you something I wish someone had told me decades ago: Life is a series of dreams being crushed, with the biggest blow being the realization that you shouldn’t’ve had them to begin with.  [CRACK!] You’ll have an advantage over your peers now.  (Relative 6, a 5-year-old child, sits there with mouth agape)

Relative 1: (Sticks head into the dining room while drying a large platter in order to address Relative 5) Hey!  Help me in the kitchen!

Relative 5: You guys kicked me out of the kitchen!

Relative 1: And now you’re bothering your cousin, so get in here and bring out the pumpkin pie!

Relative 5: (Tosses a cracked walnut to Relative 6, who catches it with a whimper, then saunters over to the kitchen) I’m not bothering; I’m dispensing life lessons.  (The house phone rings)

Relative 1: (Scooping coffee grounds madly) Dispense them over the phone, then!

Relative 5: (Sighs, then picks up the receiver) Hello, not my house, just answering.

Relative 2: (Stopped in the middle of a five-lane road, surrounded by motor vehicles of all sorts; in the background, the sun is almost set) Whichever blood relation or in-law this is, could you turn on Channel 4 and tell me what the BLAZES is going on out on the parkway, please?!

Relative 5: (Saunters over to the living room) Oh hey, still stuck in traffic?

Relative 2: …Clearly!

Relative 5: Why don’t you just use your phone’s GPS to see if it’s an accident or something?

Relative 2: I have not moved from this spot for an hour and a half – I turned off navigation `cause it was draining the phone’s battery!

Relative 5: Use the car charger, then.

Relative 2: I turned off the engine!  And that’d just drain the car’s battery! 

Relative 5: Right.  (Grabs the remote control, waits for a commercial on the TV, then changes the channel)

Relatives 7-13: (Watching the TV) Hey – ohhhh!!!

Relative 5: Two seconds; just need the traffic.

Relative 2: They should be showing something on the news: there are helicopters everywhere, and I am this close to begging them to air lift me out of here!

Relative 5: Heh, sounds fun – oh, here it is.  (Puts the phone on speaker)

TV Announcer: (Standing next to the parkway with an unending sea of cars and trucks) We’re live at the scene where there is an 112-vehicle pile-up –

Relatives 7-13: Hey – ohhhh!!!

Relative 2: WHAT?!

TV Announcer: – if at all possible, do not get on the parkway southbound, or any roads connected to it, for at least the next month.

Relative 2: (Sobs)

Relative 5: (Changes the channel back to the football game and tosses the remote control onto a chair) I have a question: you think you could maybe ditch the car and walk here?  It’s probably faster at this point.

Relative 2: (Sniffs) I wonder, maybe…?  No, it’d take me half a day just to get to the exit!  I’ll be trapped here forever surrounded by chaos and the never-ending sound of blaring horns, whatamIgonnadooooooo????!!!

Relative 1: (Emerges from the kitchen with pitchers of hot and cold drinks as other relatives finish bringing out the goodies) All right everybody, sit down, it’s time for dessert!

Relative 5: Ooh, gotta go.  (Disconnects the call, tosses the phone onto the couch, and joins Relatives 7-13 in the rush from the living room)

(Relative 2 stares at the silent phone, sets it down gently on the passenger seat, watches the circling helicopters and fellow travelers setting up campfires and tents all over the place, and then reclines the seat all the way back to take a nap)

 THREE HOURS LATER

(Relative 1 is dozing in an armchair in front of the TV when there is a faint banging on the front door.  Suddenly waking up, Relative 1 then heads to the door, unlocks it, and sees Relative 2 standing on the front porch, hands held up at 10 and 2 o’clock)

Relative 1: Hi – (Yawns and waves Relative 2 inside) you made it!

Relative 2: (Stops just inside the vestibule as Relative 1 closes the door) Everyone else is gone; the food is gone; I, myself, am gone….

Relative 1: (Hugs Relative 2, gently pushing down the latter’s arms) I saved you a plate.

Relative 2: Thanks – that just about makes it all worth it.

Story 448: The Great 4th of July Party Platter Hunt

 The great hunt begins.

After the ordeal of commuting from The City after the ordeal of The Workday, The Hunter mounts the trusty metallic steed and frantically charges toward the stationary herds where the prey is anticipated to await.

The date: July 3.

The target: a fruit platter large enough for a gathering of both family and friends.

The back-up plan: buying individual strawberries, cantaloupes, honeydews, pineapples, and watermelons, and chopping up the whole mess.  This is not an ideal alternative: it will be slipshod, it will be haphazard, it will be slovenly, and it will reek of procrastination.

The Hunter arrives at Herd #1, Supermarket Down-the-Street; rapidly dismounts the cooling metallic steed; and charges directly into the Herd.

Target Acquired: the display of pre-packed fruit and vegetables sits brazenly in the open, daring those strong enough to come seize the spoils.

The Hunter hesitates not and plunges ahead.

The shelves in the display are practically bare: the only ones left are a tiny platter fit for a mere family dinner, and a large platter exactly at its sell-by date.

Blast.  The hunt continues.

The Hunter remounts the metallic steed and charges across the street to Herd #2, The Rival Supermarket Down-the-Street.

After several minutes wading through the terrain, it is determined that no fruit platters were ever actually to be had here.  This Herd is left intact, and the hunt continues once more.

The Hunter remounts the metallic steed yet again, temperature of both rider and vehicle steadily increasing, and embarks for Herd #3, The Supermarket Next-Town-Over.

Upon charging into the midst of the herd, it is glaringly apparent that all prey have been claimed by other hunters long ago; The Hunter about-faces and leaves immediately.

At The Rival Supermarket Next-Town-Over, the shelves empty of prey in Herd # 4 stare back at The Hunter for quite some time before the former runs out the door.  Less than a minute later, an employee wheels over a cart of platters to restock the shelves, unobserved.

At last, The Hunter has success with Herd #5: a fruit platter that is not too big or too small, but just right.  The Hunter uses a net with a grappling hook to snare the perfect platter, inspect the sell-by date, and whisk the prize off to the self-check-out lane.  The Hunt has come to a successful conclusion after much toil and heartache.

The date: July 4.

The great migratory herds of hunters and their metallic steeds slowly crawl through roads packed with massive numbers of their kind, as all head to watering holes of various sizes to eat, drink, and watch colored flames exploding in the sky to celebrate their status as an independent nation, and all the sacrifices and hard work that these festivities represent.

Hunter’s Companion, in the driver’s seat of the metallic steed, turns to Hunter as they wait to advance another inch and says, “You know, it’ll take us forever to get there, but at least it’ll be fun once we do.  Good thing you got the fruit platter yesterday instead of waiting till today, huh.”

Hunter: “…I left it on the kitchen counter!”

Story 445: Sidewalks Are for Losers: Public Service Announcement

 (Scene of a residential suburban street: Pedestrian 1 is walking down the right side of the road in the direction of traffic)

Announcer: (Voiceover) Has this ever happened to you?

(A car turns the corner, stops suddenly behind Pedestrian 1, and blares the horn until the latter skitters onto the sidewalk)

Announcer: (V.O.) You’re walking along, minding your own business, when some car forces you off the very road you have just as much right to be on as they do?  (Pedestrian 1 and Driver shake fists at each other)

(Scene cuts to a strip mall parking lot: Pedestrian 2 walks across parking spots parallel to a sidewalk that would have led to the same destination; cars screech to a stop in the lanes or while backing out of spaces; drivers yell unintelligible abuse out of their windows)

Announcer: (V.O.) How much harassment must be endured before we say, “Enough is enough”?

(Scene cuts to a busy highway: Announcer is standing on a grassy median in the middle of the two-way traffic; horns occasionally blare as the cars zoom by) As a pedestrian, you know that you have the right of way.  But did you know that you have the right of way any time, any place, any situation?  So few of us seem to be aware that we can walk absolutely wherever we want, whenever we want; Big Automotive, however, takes any chance it can get to force us off of what it considers to be “its” roads.  Excuse me, but who built those roads?  Pedestrians!  What came before the wheel?  Feet!  (Starts walking across lanes of traffic while still addressing the camera; cars slam to a stop and nearly crash into each other, horns and voices now screaming) So, I’m asking you to join me today, fellow pedestrians, to literally take back our streets!  (Trots the last few feet to the other side of the highway, narrowly missing a front fender)

(Scene cuts to a residential development: a line of cars slowly crawls as Pedestrians 3 and 4 stroll down the middle of the street)

Announcer: (V.O.) Don’t let these bully cars herd us onto so-called “safe” walkways just so we can be out of their way!  We’re not cattle!  (Pedestrians 3 and 4 stop walking and begin to chat animatedly with each other, still in the middle of the street; the cars turn off their engines)

(Scene cuts to a metropolitan city street: bumper-to-bumper traffic barely moves as pedestrians walk all over six car lanes and two bike lanes)

Announcer: (V.O.) Cities are made for human beings, not buses and taxis!  They should get out of our way!

(Scene cuts to the same residential suburban street shown at the beginning: Pedestrian 1 is walking down the right side of the road in the direction of traffic when a car turns the corner and stops suddenly behind the former; this time, Pedestrian 1 stares down the car until the latter reverses onto the previous street and waits as Pedestrian 1 now skips diagonally back and forth across the road)

            (Scene cuts to an airport: Announcer stands smack dab in the middle of the runway as planes take off and land overhead)

Announcer: So, stand up for yourselves!  Walk where you please!  Step aside and wait for no machine!  This is a pedestrian’s world – automobiles are just living in it!  And always remember: sidewalks are for losers!  Never yield!  Never – (Suddenly holds a hand up to an earpiece and listens) Yeah, we’re almost wrapped, what’s up?... What do you mean, the title actually was “Sidewalks Are Not for Losers”?!... Well, that would’ve been nice to know before I wrote and filmed the whole thing, now wouldn’t it?!

Story 295: I Was in a Defensive Driving Training Video

He skimmed the “Help Wanted” section in his parents’ newspaper, ready to chuck it in for another day and head over to the library to use their online job search sites at half-hour intervals, when this caught his eye:

WANT TO MAKE SOME EASY CASH?

Yes! his brain answered.

HAVE YOU EVER DREAMED OF STARRING IN A FILM?

Ummm, sure, why not?

DO YOU HAVE A VALID DRIVER’S LICENSE?

What?            

THEN STOP BY OUR OFFICE TODAY FOR A CHANCE TO BE IN OUR DMV-APPROVED DEFENSIVE DRIVING COURSES, AIDING DRIVERS EVERYWHERE TO BE THE BEST – AND SAFEST! – THEY CAN BE!

“Ooh, ‘Defensive Driving,’” he said to himself as he tore out the page from the paper.  “Maybe they use swords.”

LATER THAT MORNING

At the office, he approached the receptionist at the front desk.

“How can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m here about this?”  He held out the ad.

She glanced at it for a second before popping her gum and asking: “You an actor?”

“No-o-o, should I be?”

“No, we actually prefer you’re not: it lends to the authenticity of the videos, plus we don’t have to pay union dues.”  She picked up a clipboard that held a six-inch pile of paper and handed it to him.  “Fill all these out please, front and back.  And don’t keep the pen: everyone else stole the others and it’s my last one.”

“Oh yeah, sure – thanks!”  He took the clipboard to a row of chairs lined along a wall, where about 10 other people sat also filling out forms.

Question 1: Have you ever had any traffic violations?

Uh-oh.

ONE HOUR LATER

With a shaking, cramped hand, he gave the clipboard and nearly dry pen back to the receptionist; without looking at it, she sent the clipboard through a pneumatic tube stationed behind her chair and said to him, “Right, thanks, they’ll call you if they need you to come in.”

“…Today?”

“Nah; probably about three weeks.”

“Oh.  I thought this was quick cash.”

“Nope: this is easy cash; nothing legal is quick cash.  And it’s actually a check, and the forms have to be scanned into the database to make sure you’re not wanted in 20 states for grand theft auto, and you’ll have to have a drug test if you’re selected, so yeah, about three weeks.”

“Oh.  OK.  Bye.”

“Have a nice day.”

ABOUT THREE WEEKS LATER

            He entered the office and saw the same receptionist at the front desk.

            “How can I help you?”

            “Yeah hi, I got called to come in for the shoot?”

            “The what?”

            “Heh-heh, sorry, I mean the defensive driving video.  Training film.  Thingamabob.  You know.”  Shut up, shut up, shut up!

            “Oh yeah, they’re down the hall, third door on the right, I’ll let them know you’re heading on over.”

            “Thank you much.”  Knock it off!

            Once he arrived at the right room, he and three other participants received a brief introduction by a facilitator before they were taken outside to a parking lot separate from the main one where they had left their cars.

            “Now, I have to ask,” the facilitator said as they headed towards a car covered in all sorts of text, “do any of you currently have any tickets or points on your license?”  One of the participants raised their hand.  “Last chance to sit this out, then.”

            “Wait, we’re actually going out on the road?” they asked.  “I thought this would just be in a parking lot with a bunch of cones.”

           “That’s for our teenage newbie drivers: you guys are the older crew.  We need real-life footage of what bad driving looks like so the course shows students what not to do.”

           He started at this: “Oh, I thought we were selected to participate `cause we were good drivers?  Like, we don’t have any felonies or warrants out for our arrest?”

            The facilitator stared at him: “And how would anyone learn from that?”

            “Oh.”

            He saw a dashboard camera conspicuously pointed at the driver’s seat as he got into the car; he buckled up and pushed back the seat while the facilitator entered through the passenger side and began activating equipment.

            “Now,” the latter said without looking at him, “just drive as you normally would and pretend this thing isn’t even here.”  A small but unavoidable red light flared on the camera.

            “OK....”  He sat up as straight as he possibly could and placed his hands at 9:00 and 3:00 on the steering wheel.  “How’s this?”

            “Is that how you normally drive?”

            “…No.”

            “How then?”  He sheepishly moved his hands to 7:00 and 5:00.  “Perfect – off you go!”

            He started the engine after the facilitator exited, then leaned over to ask through the open passenger-side window: “Wait, where do I drive to?  And how long?”

            “Wherever your little heart desires! And you have 30 minutes, which started a minute ago.”

            “Oh, sorry, bye!”  He zoomed out of the parking lot and merged onto the highway.  Wonder if I can squeeze in some take-out before heading back?

            His eyes kept being drawn to the camera, so much that he nearly hit a motorcycle changing lanes even though it had signaled.  “Whoopsie.”

            Now more on his guard, he maintained the speed limit and continued uneventfully down the highway.

          After about five minutes, a voice blared out of the car radio’s speakers: “WHAT THE BLAZES ARE YOU DOING?!”

            He yelped and nearly swerved off the road into a family of deer that was standing next to the shoulder, minding their own business.  “Wait, what are you talking about?!  I’m trying to drive!”

            “Were you even listening earlier?!”  The facilitator’s voice had lowered in volume but not in screech.  “We need examples!  We need scenarios!  We need near-misses and ‘Look-out!’s and ‘OMG!’s and ‘WTF!’s”

            Having slowed down to a crawl, he was trying to sort all this out without pulling over: “Wait, so, you want me to get into an accident?!  On purpose?!”

            “It’s called ‘collision’ now, and that is clearly not what I am saying – we want you to almost get into an accident.”

            “How am I supposed to do that?!”

            “By just being yourself and doing what you normally do: driving recklessly!”

           “I do not drive recklessly!” he countered as he picked up speed and swerved in and out of traffic.

            “Uh-huh.”

            “You were just distracting me earlier, which is very dangerous and irresponsible!  Ooh, I’m coming up to a roundabout now, zip it.”

            “Uh-huh."

          He deliberately took his time merging into the roundabout, then was cut off from exiting where he wanted because he had switched to the inner lane to get ahead of the other cars, which now were passing by and blocking him.  After two rotations, he zoomed ahead to make a diagonal escape from the black hole, almost wiping out five cars that voiced their objections by various means of sounds and gestures.

            “Beautiful,” the facilitator’s voice said.

            He was shaking as he headed back to the parking lot.  “I had the right-of-way there, you know!  They were all just being jerks!”

            “Uh-huh.  Incidentally, this course teaches drivers that the right-of-way actually is given by the other drivers on the road, did you know that?”

            “I could gladly have spent the rest of my life not knowing that.  Besides, what good is all this if the camera’s only getting my messed-up face the whole time?!”

         “Oh don’t worry about that – there’s another camera facing out that’s catching everything else, so we’re covered.  I think we’ve got enough material out of you, and your time’s up so get back here now, please.”

            “I’m already back here!”

            “Oh yeah, I see you now – cheers.”

          He parked the car by the group and shakily exited; the facilitator held the door open and beckoned the next participant over. 

He hesitated before leaving: “So that’s it, you really don’t need anything else from me, like texting or falling asleep or road raging or all that?”

            “You kidding?  That would be illegal.”