Tales from Exit 22 by Al Batt

 

“Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning,” I replied, even though it was late in the afternoon. I try to respond in a similar manner to anyone who wishes me so much as a good minute. I don’t judge why someone’s brain might be in a different time zone. She might have been a person of the first light and had reached the shank of her day.

She wondered if I’d talked to her husband recently and if he’d said anything about any health issues. I had and he hadn’t. “There is something bothering him, but he won’t tell me what it is. He likes you and knows you’ve been through some health things, so maybe he’ll share with you. Please talk to him.”

Her husband has his peculiarities. Who doesn’t? We’re all peculiar with a capital P. He has an “I brake for aluminum cans” bumper sticker on his truck, carries a supersecret briefcase and claims to have seen a Sasquatch in the optical department at Shopko.

He gets particularly weird every election year. He becomes overwhelmed by flotsam and jetsam. He frequently utters the word “fiddlesticks” in sheer exasperation. He’s a good guy and a good friend, but whenever he says, “I don’t want to get into politics,” you know he’s going to get into politics. He loves playing the “I’m rubber and you’re glue, what you say bounces off me and sticks to you” political game.

He’s a staunch supporter of one of our major political parties. He leans so far in one direction, he is in danger of tipping over. His lovely wife, he outkicked his coverage when he married her, leans in the opposite direction politically. At each election, she merrily skips to the polls to cancel his vote.

Their children grew up hearing both sides of every political argument and adopted a “changing school bus drivers” attitude when it comes to elections. They rode school buses until they graduated from high school. They were chauffeured by different bus drivers during that time. One of them explained it this way, “I figure when we get a different elected official, it’s just like it was when we’d get a different bus driver. I was still going to get to school, and I was still going to get home.”

She was concerned, so I told her I’d talk to her husband, but I drew the line at waterboarding. It’d be a good thing to visit with him. Goethe said, “If you call a thing bad you do little; if you call a thing good you do much.”

I called him and offered to buy him a cup of coffee. I told him I owed him a cup. I probably did. We met at a cafe. We talked about the weather, which is the proper way to start a serious conversation. Or any conversation. If it weren’t for the weather, most of us would be stuck for words.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m doing OK.”

“You’re doing better than I am,” I said. “I’m tired.”

“Don’t tell me you’re tired.”

“Why not?” I wondered aloud.

“It makes me tired.”

“Seriously, how are you?” I persisted.

“I’m great.”

“How’s your dog?” I deftly changed the subject.

“The dog isn’t good.” He loves his dog. He named it after one of the members of Alvin and the Chipmunks: Theodore.

“What’s wrong?” I said with heartfelt concern climbing all over my words.

“Teddy is sad because I haven’t been able to take him for a walk for two weeks.”

“Why haven’t you been able to do that?” I asked.

“Because my back is killing me. It hurts to walk, sleep or make toast.”

“What did you do?” I said, only too aware that most men think every ache and pain is due to a slight muscle pull that will heal promptly.

“I wrenched it while trying to pull something out of the ground.”

“What were you pulling out of the ground?” I said.

“What are you doing, writing a newspaper column? I was trying to pull an election sign out of the ground. My wife had her guy’s people put a sign favoring him right at the end of our driveway. I lost my walking around sense. That sign made my blood boil.”

And his back hurt.

It’s wonderful to be enthusiastic, inspired and dedicated, but if you disagree with someone, a clever move is to vote and cancel that person’s vote.

You don’t get to vote more than once no matter how high your blood pressure becomes.

Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday and Saturday.