They live! the Puritans
A man drives off the road into a ditch. His car's stuck. It's snowing. He gets out, starts trying to push it.
A BMW pulls up behind. Missy Cabot, her hair in a ponytail, exits the driver's side, still talking to her husband on her cellphone. They've been listening to NPR. "What is wrong with us?," Missy says, "what is wrong with this country, coal-contaminated groundwater in West Virginia, and the Republicans want to cut taxes, so no one helps them ..." She looks at the man. He looks up at her. "Isn't that terrible! You might want to put real snow tires on your car. You have triple A?" The man nods. He says yes I do, but only the type covers 5 miles or less. It's going to cost me. If I could just get this car out ...." Missy never hears that, she's re-entered her BMW and driven off.
A pickup truck pulls over. It has a Massachusetts Cape Cod vanity plate. Caleb gets out. Caleb's five ten, chunky, in dirty green work coveralls. He's been listening to Rush. Limbaugh. "Man, you're screwed, huh?" Caleb says. Guy says yep. Caleb looks at his truck. "I've got a trailer hitch. Got any chains?" Guy says no. He doesn't wind up in ditches much, Caleb chuckles, "me neither." Caleb then says, "really need chains around here. Sorry man. Check the weather next time before you head out." Leaves.
The snow's changing over to slush. A Ford Fiesta pulls up. An imposing man, maybe six one gets out of the rear seat. He doesn't say a word, just steps down the bank, leans his shoulder in and starts helping the man push. The guy notices his driver's stepped out of the Fiesta to look. Waves him over. That guy also leans his shoulder in to push.
Finally a 2005 Impala pulls up with New York Yankees vanity plates. Car is beat to shit, dents and scrapes held together by rust. A fat bald guy exits, Mike. He's listening to WFAN, exits the car muttering "fucking Mets. Helpless." He stands on the bank, surveys the scene. Mike's in no apparent rush. The guy with the car in the ditch looks up, sees him. Mike scowls. Starts down the bank. "Man, you're an idiot," he says, pushing the car too.
* * * * *
The guy in the Fiesta is real. His name was George Washington. Helped some random soul shove his coach out of a ditch, somewhere in Delaware one night. Got mud all over him. Never said a word.
WTF is wrong with people from Massachusetts? It's taken me thirty years thinking about it. I think I found out what it is.
(to be continued)
A BMW pulls up behind. Missy Cabot, her hair in a ponytail, exits the driver's side, still talking to her husband on her cellphone. They've been listening to NPR. "What is wrong with us?," Missy says, "what is wrong with this country, coal-contaminated groundwater in West Virginia, and the Republicans want to cut taxes, so no one helps them ..." She looks at the man. He looks up at her. "Isn't that terrible! You might want to put real snow tires on your car. You have triple A?" The man nods. He says yes I do, but only the type covers 5 miles or less. It's going to cost me. If I could just get this car out ...." Missy never hears that, she's re-entered her BMW and driven off.
A pickup truck pulls over. It has a Massachusetts Cape Cod vanity plate. Caleb gets out. Caleb's five ten, chunky, in dirty green work coveralls. He's been listening to Rush. Limbaugh. "Man, you're screwed, huh?" Caleb says. Guy says yep. Caleb looks at his truck. "I've got a trailer hitch. Got any chains?" Guy says no. He doesn't wind up in ditches much, Caleb chuckles, "me neither." Caleb then says, "really need chains around here. Sorry man. Check the weather next time before you head out." Leaves.
The snow's changing over to slush. A Ford Fiesta pulls up. An imposing man, maybe six one gets out of the rear seat. He doesn't say a word, just steps down the bank, leans his shoulder in and starts helping the man push. The guy notices his driver's stepped out of the Fiesta to look. Waves him over. That guy also leans his shoulder in to push.
Finally a 2005 Impala pulls up with New York Yankees vanity plates. Car is beat to shit, dents and scrapes held together by rust. A fat bald guy exits, Mike. He's listening to WFAN, exits the car muttering "fucking Mets. Helpless." He stands on the bank, surveys the scene. Mike's in no apparent rush. The guy with the car in the ditch looks up, sees him. Mike scowls. Starts down the bank. "Man, you're an idiot," he says, pushing the car too.
* * * * *
The guy in the Fiesta is real. His name was George Washington. Helped some random soul shove his coach out of a ditch, somewhere in Delaware one night. Got mud all over him. Never said a word.
WTF is wrong with people from Massachusetts? It's taken me thirty years thinking about it. I think I found out what it is.
(to be continued)