California Hold It

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 of the bowl overlooking 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 to 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 online 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 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.

Elevator Story

It was five o’clock on a Friday afternoon.  Max walked out of the office to the reception area.  Three people were in the hallway waiting for an elevator.  One of them was Joan.  She was hard to miss because she was seven months along in her pregnancy.  The other woman was a pretty, young secretary named Peggy.  Peggy’s sandy hair and freckled face made her look even younger and perkier than she was.  Her eyes sparkled with good humor, and Max could not look at her without smiling.  She smiled back at him.  The middle-aged gentleman waiting there was Howard.

“Do you have a rare weekend off, Max?” he asked.

“Yes, and I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Me too.”

The elevator door opened and Max followed the others inside.  Howard pushed the button for the ground floor.  The car started its descent, shuddered violently, and abruptly stopped.

“What was that?” Joan asked.

“I think it was an earthquake,” Peggy replied.

“We’re stuck!”

“Yup.”

“But, I mean… we’re trapped between floors.”

“That means the elevators did what they’re supposed to do,” Howard told her.

Joan gave him an annoyed look.  “I thought they were supposed to go up and down.”

Everyone ignored her comment.  Howard reached for the emergency button, but Max stuck his hand in the way.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because it sets off an alarm, and the bell is louder than hell.  Believe me you don’t want it banging in your ears if it’s going to take them more than a few seconds to shut it off.”

“So you’re saying we should let some poor bastard in another car bruise his ears.”  Howard smiled.  “I like it.”

Joan disagreed.  “We have to do something.”

Howard was a man who liked being in charge.  “I’m afraid our options are reduced to making ourselves as comfortable as possible while we wait.”

“It was a dark and stormy night.”

This non sequitur made everyone look at Peggy.  “What?  Haven’t any of you told ghost stories around a camp fire?”

“Do you always begin your stories with a cliché?” Howard asked.

“Everyone’s a fucking critic!  Cliché or not, it was a dark and stormy night.  Thick clouds blotted out the moon and the stars.  The only light came in the form of blinding flashes and streaks of lightning.  Powerful gusts of wind hurled half frozen drops of rain against windows that were already rattling from the crash of thunder.  All that was missing to make this the perfect cliché was the baying of hounds.  The hounds were there somewhere, but they were quietly whimpering as they tried to hide from the fiery blasts of the dangerous storm.”

Joan now interrupted Peggy’s story.  “And here I am, a very pregnant lady.  A baby is sitting on my bladder, but instead of driving home to a nice, warm toilet-seat, I’m trapped in an elevator with someone who is determined to subject me to the “Hounds of the Bastardvilles!”

A loud alarm bell added an exclamation mark to the end of Joan’s last sentence.

“Okay kids!  School’s out!”

“Up yours, Peggy!”  Joan was obviously in no mood for comic relief.  The voice coming over the intercom indicated that she was not the only one who was out of sorts.

“Settle down, people!  We’re trying to contact our technicians.  They should be here before long.”

“Trying to contact them!  You mean they aren’t here?”  There was no reply.  Either the intercom only provided two-way communication if the emergency button was pressed or the people at the other end of the intercom were ignoring Joan’s questions.

Howard snorted.  “If those bastards left work early it is unlikely that they’ll pull their heads out of their asses to answer a telephone.”

The strain of shouting over the ringing bell stifled any desire anyone might have had to comment on Howard’s unpleasant thought.  The next ten minutes seemed like an eternity to the people trapped in the elevator cars.  At last, at long last, the ringing stopped.

A cheery male voice now filled the elevator.

“See, it’s better already,” the voice said with some pride over the fact that he or someone, presumably not a technician, had finally figured out how to turn off the alarm.  “We should be able to get the elevators running again in thirty or forty minutes.”

This was good news and bed news.  At least the damn ringing had stopped, but the thought of spending another thirty or forty minutes in the elevator brought a collective groan.

“This really sucks!” Joan said.

“It blows!” Peggy said.

Howard offered the opinion that it could not suck and blow at the same time.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Max said, “we have a senior partner who can suck on a cigar and break wind at the same time.”

Peggy giggled.  “That makes him equally stinky at either end.”

This prompted Joan to express her gratitude for the fact that he was not in the elevator with them.

Max smiled at Peggy.  “You know your idea of telling stories to pass the time was not a bad one.”  He then looked at Joan.  “And your title, “Hounds of the Bastardvilles,” adds a nice touch of humor.”

“But why do scary stories always have to be set in remote locations?” Howard asked.  “As I’m sure you can all now attest high rises can be scary too.”

Nature illustrated his point by providing an after shock that bounced the car off the walls of the elevator shaft and turned off the lights.

“See!”

Joan pointed out the obvious.  “No, Howard.  The damn lights are out!”

They came back on in a few minutes, but they were not as bright as they had been.”

“I think we’re now on the backup generator,” Howard said.

This meant that the earthquake must have knocked down an electrical line going to the building.  There was no telling how long it would take for the power company to re-attach it.  Joan expressed everyone’s concern over that by saying: “Well, I hope the generator can provide enough power to get the elevator moving again.”

“I think we need a diversion more than ever,” Max said.  “Maybe we can do a Canterbury tales sort of thing by having each person tell a story or joke.”

Joan must have been thinking about the musical version of the Canterbury tales because she said: “If you start singing about your cock I’m going to sock you.”

“No music.  I take my Chaucer straight.  How I’m hung remains unsung.”

Peggy flashed him a mischievous grin.  “That’s not what some of the girls in accounting say.”

Max laughed.  “I hope they’re not revealing any proprietary statistics.”

“They didn’t give me the long and the short of it, but I suppose I could ask.”

Joan cleared her throat.  “Him or them?”

Peggy looked at Max as if contemplating the question before turning her attention to Joan.  “Are you hoping for some show and tell?”

“Are you?”

Peggy laughed off the question.

“If you keep talking like that someone is going to need a cold shower,” Howard said.

Joan rubbed her tummy.  “Too late for that.”

Her comment made everyone laugh.  A drop of water plopped on Howard’s head.

“Shit!”  He stepped to the side and looked up at the ceiling.  Everyone else also looked up at the ceiling to see drops of water forming in several in spots.

“Not good,” Max said.

Peggy tried to make light of it.  “If the water gets deep enough no one will know who couldn’t wait.”

Joan was showing signs of discomfort and did not find Peggy’s joke funny.  “You don’t get invited to many pool parties, do you?”

Howard spoke before Peggy could reply.  “If the water gets that deep it will exceed the weight the elevator was designed to handle.”

Max took a visual survey of his fellow inmates to see how they were reacting to Howard’s statement.  The last thing they needed was for someone to panic and freak out.

“I don’t think we need to worry about that because it’s unlikely that the doors are water tight.”

“Thank God for small favors.”  Howard looked down at his watch.  “What time was it when they said the techs would be here in thirty or forty minutes?”

“It’s been about twenty-five minutes,” Joan replied.

Some of the drops of water had now turned into trickles and the trickles were becoming hard to avoid.  Within five minutes the carpet was soaked.  The danger this presented was not great, but it gave a whole new meaning to term water torture.

“At least the people in the Canterbury Tales were going somewhere,” Howard said.

“And they weren’t standing on a wet sponge with water pouring down on them,” Joan added.

There was now a thud, followed by a jolt that caused the inmates to gasp.

“To avoid a water landing, please press two now car number four!”

Howard mumbled as he reached out and pressed button number two.  “He must think he works for fucking NASA.”

The car descended to the second floor and stopped.  The doors opened to reveal a crowded hallway.  An official looking gentleman was trying to control the crowd there.

“Step aside and let these good people out, folks!  Do not get in this car.  Car number one is the only car that will take you to the ground floor.”

Joan pushed through the crowd on her way to the ladies’ room.

“I feel bad about being such a smart ass now,” Peggy said.  “She really has to go.”

Max took Peggy’s hand.  “She’ll forgive you.  Come on!”

“Where are we going?”

“To the stairs.”

“Good idea!”

The stairs were as crowded as the hall, but the people there were kind enough to make room for Max and Peggy.  When they entered the ground floor all of the lights came back on.

“I don’t know if a want to trust another elevator,” Peggy said, “but I don’t want to hike up three flights of stairs to my car.”

“It should be okay now.”

Peggy was obviously nervous when they entered the elevator car in the parking structure.  Max pressed button number three and looked at her.  She appeared to be holding her breath.

“I’m proud of the way you acted during our ordeal,” he said.

She exhaled.  “It was you.  You made it easy to remain calm.”

The elevator stopped at the third floor and the doors opened.  She quickly stepped out of the car and he followed her.

“I hope this won’t make you afraid of elevators,” he said.

She took his hand and stopped walking.  “I’ll get over it.”

They stood there facing each other.  Max could feel the magnetism as he stared into her eyes.  He was tempted to ask her if she would like to join him for a drink, but he knew she was in a serious relationship.  She ended the awkward silence by kissing him on the cheek and telling him to have a nice weekend.

“You too,” he said.

That was the thing about Max.  His reputation as a Casanova was exaggerated.  He could get away with suggestive banter that would get other men into trouble because he was very observant.  He could usually tell who would object to such banter, who would enjoy it, and who was likely to be interested in something more.