It is not enough to say
it was raining; rain is not just rain. Ken’s vision was obstructed
by a light sprinkle. It was a mere spritzing that did not provide
enough moisture to let his windshield wipers work efficiently. This
was cured intermittently by wind driven deluges striking with a force
and volume that made his windshield wipers as useless as they were
when there was not enough moisture. And the wind was every bit as
erratic as the rain was. It blew at twenty-five miles per hour with
roaring gusts of sixty miles per hour. The powerful gusts buffeted
his vehicle, pushing it, pulling it, and rocking it until there was a
danger of rolling it over on its side. Ken was going slow and
fighting the wheel, trying to anticipate the next assault as he
negotiated the tight turns of the road. They called this part of the
road the rim, and it was really dangerous in this weather. People
who fell off of it dropped anywhere from a hundred feet to three
thousand feet, depending on where they went over the side and what
they hit on the way down. He tried to put the danger out of his
mind. He did not want to think about anything other than controlling
his SUV. And yet, playing in the background of his mind was the
weather forecast. A spring storm, they said, with high winds and
heavy downpours turning to snow by early morning.
The highway meandered
away from the rim overlooking the bowl of the valley. The trees and
slopes rising above this part of the road increased the howl of the
wind but shielded Ken from some of its fury. He turned onto a side
street. His headlights appeared to be brighter as their beams
pierced the thicker cloak of darkness provided by the forest. He let
out a sigh of relief as he turned onto his driveway and drove up the
steep incline to his house.
This was the strangest year he could
remember. There had been no winter to speak of. Now there was this
bad joke of a spring that teased the plants into blooming then
punished them with ferocious winds, frost, and snow. He was glad
that he was not some pour soul who was trying to grow anything
commercially.
He got out of his car and ran through the rain to the
door of his house. He entered the uncarpeted hallway, removing his
wet shoes and his coat before climbing the steps to the main part of
the dwelling. Huck, the hound, looked up, barely raising his head.
Ken’s wife, Jill, must have fed the dog, and he was not about to
leave his warm spot next to the heater. Huck obviously deemed a few
lazy wags of his tail a sufficient greeting.
“Is it bad on the
rim?”
Jill was answered by a
blast of wind that made the roof creak and severely tested the
resilience of the trees. Ken added to the answer by stating the
obvious.
“It blows.”
“So I hear.” Jill
said it with a little laugh. “I hope it isn’t indicative of your
day.”
“Another day another
dollar, and another round of the usual clichés.” The comment was
a bit more cynical than he intended. As dull as his daily routine
might seem at times it was not as stale as a cliché.
“Now I suppose you’re
going to tell me the only thing that changes is the weather.”
She was teasing him by
turning his comment about the clichés into a game. He rewarded her
with a laugh. “The fickle weather is definitely making my commute
an adventure.”
Her commute was much
shorter than his, and she did not have to drive the rim. He was
grateful for that. He would have worried about her if she had to
travel over that highway in foul weather.
“What you need is a
hot meal and a little recreation.” He did not need to ask her what
she meant by recreation. The twinkle in her eyes said it all.
He woke up earlier than
she did the next morning. This was part of their routine. There
was no reason why she had to get up before the sun rose. His
breakfast consisted of a sweet roll and coffee. It was still dark
out when he finished eating. He refilled his big coffee mug, turned
on the outside light, and looked out the window. The snow was six or
seven inches deep. “Not bad,” he thought. He walked into the
living room and turned on the television to watch the weather report.
The forecast was for light and scattered snow flurries as the tail
end of the storm made its way east. He now heard the snow plow on
the street above. He gulped down the coffee remaining in his mug,
turned off the television, and raced out to his SUV. He was in a
hurry because he knew the plow would soon be on his street. He
started the engine and the defroster. Then he quickly cleared the
snow off of the hood and windshield. It was a good idea to clear the
snow off of the roof as well, but time was of the essence.
He hit the end of the
driveway just ahead of the plow. He honked his horn as he pulled out
onto the street. “Not today, buddy. You’re not going to make me
shovel snow today!” He laughed and waved at the plow driver, who
was a bit miffed because he had to slow down in order to keep from
running into Ken. Ken was not concerned about the snow the plow
would pile up in front of the driveway now. He was sure the person
he hired to clear the driveway would get the job done before Jill had
to leave for work. This was going to be a good day.
The highway had been
plowed but there were patches of ice here and there. He cautiously
eased around a blind corner. Cars were stopped on the road. He
lightly applied the brakes, but he was on ice and the SUV started
sliding. He let off the brake peddle, turned onto the shoulder, and
applied the breaks again. He stopped just short of a snow bank. The
problem was that the wheels on the right side of his vehicle had
fallen into a shallow trough. He tried to back out, but his tires
could not gain enough traction to climb out of the trough. He was
stuck. He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and speed dialed
the number for Dan’s Towing and Auto Repair.
“Hi, flo. This is
Ken. Are you busy?”
“Everyone’s gone
ape shit! They’re sliding off the roads faster than we can pull
them out.”
“Well, add me to the
list.”
“Where are you?”
“At the first corner
past the dump, on the downhill side.”
“Oh, so you’re
caught up in that mess. I hate to tell you this, but it’s going to
take us an hour to clear enough cars off the road to get to you.”
“Damn! Needless to
say I’ll be waiting.”
“You and everyone
else.”
Fifteen minutes later
the coffee came into play. Ken had to pee so bad he was dancing. He
walked around to the passenger’s side of his car so that it would
shield him from the view of people on the road. He had just started
peeing when he heard a car sliding. He looked over the top of his
SUV, and he saw the squad car of a deputy sheriff slide in behind the
SUV. The wheels on the right side of the squad car fell into the
shallow trough and the car stopped just short of Ken’s rear bumper.
The deputy turned the wheels and tried to back out of the trough,
but to no avail. He got out of the squad car and slammed the door.
He walked around the back of the car to see why he was stuck. Ken
was zipping up the fly of his trousers. The deputy watched him do
this and decided to take his frustration out on Ken.
“License, please!”
“What?”
“Give me your drivers
license!”
“Why?”
“I’m writing you a
citation for urinating in a public place.”
“Hey, I’m stuck
here, and I really had to go!”
“I’m stuck here
too, but you don’t see me pissing, do you?”
“No sir.”
The deputy wrote the
ticket and Ken signed it. Another car now slid around the corner and
onto the shoulder of the road. It came to rest with its front bumper
pressed against the left front door of the squad car. Before anyone
could react to that another car slid around the corner. This one
slammed into rear of the last car in line on the road, thus making it
impossible for the car pressed against the squad car to back up. One
look at what happened had the deputy uttering some very heart felt
expletives. The engine of his squad car was running and all of the
doors were locked with the exception of the door now made
inaccessible by the car that was pressed against it. Ken was sorely
tempted to say, “I hope you enjoyed many cups of coffee with your
donuts this morning.” He was so amused by this thought that he had
to turn his back to keep the deputy from seeing the grin on his face.
It is never a good idea to fan the flames of an angry cop by
displaying your mirth.
The deputy berated the
other drivers for going too fast for the conditions, but he did not
cite those drivers for the violation because he was afraid they would
tell the court that the deputy had also lost control of his car.
When the deputy finished his tirade, he walked around the corner of
the road to stop any cars that might be approaching. Ken got into
his SUV to enjoy the heater while he waited. He also called his
office to explain why he was going to be late.
The first person to
greet Ken when he entered his office was his boss. “I guess I
don’t have to ask how your day is going.”
“You don’t know the
half of it.”
“Oh?”
“That was really a
long wait for a guy with a full bladder. I walked around to the side
of my car so that I could not be seen from the road, but deputy
chicken shit still gave me a ticket for pissing in public.”
“That’s a bad
ticket. Maybe you should go on line and see if you can find an
example of someone who beat such a ticket.”
“Good idea.”
For some reason Ken
searched the number of the penal code written on the ticket rather
than typing in “urinating in a public place.” The results of
the search had him laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
his boss asked.
“The asshole wrote
down the wrong code number. Is that enough to get the case
dismissed?”
“Well, I’m not an
attorney, but it sounds like a fatal error to me.”
“I think you’re
right. I think those things have to accurate.”
Ken was feeling
confident when he went to court. “How do you plead?” the judge
asked.
“Not guilty.”
“So you’re telling
the court you weren’t urinating.”
“No, your honor. I’m
telling the court I did not let any of my farm animals wonder onto my
neighbor’s property and damage his crops.”
“What?”
“That is the code
section the officer cited. I’ve taken the liberty of printing out
a copy of the code section for you.”
“Bailiff!”
The bailiff retrieved
the copy and handed it to the judge. The judge then handed it to his
clerk. “Look this up on your computer and verify that this is a
true and accurate copy, please.”
The clerk quickly typed
the search. “It’s a true and accurate copy.”
“Well, deputy, you’ve
obviously cited the wrong section of the code. This case is
dismissed.” The judge smiled as he added, “and that’s how the
cow ate the cabbage!”
Ken laughed over the
judge’s humorous quotation of a farm expression that means placing
everything on the line. The sheriff’s deputy must have thought his
reputation as a cop was on the line, and he was not amused.
As they were walking
out of the court he turned to Ken and said, “you better not let me
catch you pissing on that cabbage!”
“Don’t worry about
that. I now have a special container in my car, and I’ve written
the correct code number on it.”
Ken considered that a
nice little dig. The deputy surprised him by smiling. “At least
you didn’t say you’ve written my name on it.”
Okay, so the deputy had
a sense of humor. That was good, but Ken did not think it made up
for the unjust ticket that could have damaged his reputation.
First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on Apr. 18, 2012
