The Bermuda Triangle’s First Strike

As mentioned HERE, my driveway is place of surprises.  A piece of land that yields the strangest things. Trucks.  Semis. Manure spreaders. Sprayers. Tractors. Cement trucks. Trailers…yeah, just the trailer. Pickups that won’t start. Pickups with flat tires. Pickups with no gas. Cars. Cars on fire.

Wait.  On fire? Yep. Our little blue Chevy Caprice that was on its last leg just spontaneously caught fire one Sunday afternoon when everyone was taking naps.  Thank you Rural Fire Department!

But like I said, the times when there is nothing in my driveway…that’s when the fat hits the frying pan. That’s when  you better hold on to your drawers.  That’s when The Queen gets to practice on her patience. Or lack thereof.

The first time my vehicle disappeared, I had walked outside checking my purse to make sure I had everything.  Yep, keys. Check on the credit cards and checkbook.  Sunglasses were present.  Gas key was accounted for and all I needed was to top off the gas tank.

Only thing was, there was no gas tank. Or car…make that a Chevy mini-van. Oh. MY. Gosh. Somebody has stolen our van!!!?  Here?  Right beside our house?  We should have heard that coming?

Hang on. Someone must have moved it into the garage, which would’ve been a miracle in itself!

Relieved, I checked the garage only to find…NOTHING. In a panic, I ran back into the house and called Big Boss on our 2-way radio system.  “Our van is GONE!!!”.

Very calmly…in fact so calmly I could’ve slapped someone…he informed me that they were changing tires, oil and filling it with gas at the farm. Which, by the way, they were supposed to have done two months earlier…the oil and tire things.

“Hang on. I asked you to do those things two months ago and you’re doing it TODAY?  Right now?  When I have to be at the beauty shop in 45 minutes???!!!!” You have GOT to be kidding?!

I was quickly cataloging the marriage counselors in our area. This man had a problem.  And it was gigantic at this moment.

I took a deep breath and asked him to repeat what he’d just said. Thinking I couldn’t hear well that particular day, he repeated his calm answer loudly.

I considered tears.  I was on the brink. When I get mad, there is a point where I am SO mad, I cry. And this lady doesn’t cry easily.

So I suggested that he might want to consider getting “SOMETHING” over here pronto that I could drive to my appointment.  And NO, I had waited for that appointment for 3 months and cancelling was out of the question.  That would mean another 3 month wait and the  “beauty” was only good for another 2 weeks and then POOF!, the wicked witch of the South would appear.

Within 5 minutes, I had a something to drive. Stressing the “thing” part of something. You guessed it.  It was the Dofer.  You know. A Dofer…something that will “do fer” just about anything.

Not ours but close...except ours was mostly blue, had a nice, rusty hue to the hood and it was Chevy.  Close tho.  Courtesy Yahoo images.

Not ours but close…except ours was mostly blue, had a nice, rusty hue to the hood and it was Chevy. Close tho. Courtesy Yahoo images.

We had several Dofers on the premises. I got the one that started. Yay me. As Big Boss pulled into the driveway and climbed out of the Dofer…and I climbed in…he told me…

Now remember: Don’t drive over 50 in this thing.

The turn signals don’t work, so you’ll have to use hand signals.

Sometimes it doesn’t want to start, so you’ll have to get out, pop the hood and wiggle the battery lines.

Don’t move S0 and So’s (the farmhand who regularly drove the pile of junk…errr, pickup) stuff or he’ll be tearing all over the farm trying find it when he gets the truck back. (I had to sort of shove the “stuff” over so I could fit in. Which made me wonder where I was going to put groceries after the beauty shop visit?)

There’s sand bags in the bed so this thing won’t walk on you so bad…(that means, the back of the truck needs some weight so it won’t sway back and forth as you go down country roads.) And that means you better stay off the highways and take country roads.

I put in some extra baling wire and brand-new role of duct tape over there on top of So and So’s pile of stuff.(WHAT?! To put the bumper back on with or worse yet, a tire??!!!!!!!!!!!!) Oh yeah.

You’ll need to stop and get gas.  She’s running on fumes. (so was I)

Call me from Walmart if it quits on you.

The story of my life.  Walmart…my life line.

PS  I called the beauty shop lady from the house to tell her I was going to be late because of All of the Above. She wasn’t surprised. At all. She  grew up on a farm and totally got it.  Thank goodness.  The Good Witch from the South appeared once more thanks to her!!

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2 Responses to The Bermuda Triangle’s First Strike

  1. Ann Beadel says:

    That reminds me of the ’62 International we had out here for a looong time. It had no tail lights (and only one headlight), gas cap, or tailgate; none of the gauges worked, we carried a broom handle to check the fuel level; and the brakes worked only intermittently, so you pulled up VERY slowly to anything you didn’t want flattened. The driver’s seat was covered with an army blanket because the springs stuck out through the hole, there was a hole rusted in the floorboard in front of the driver’s seat so you had to be really careful where you put your feet, and both windows had fallen down into the door. Oh, and the front end, um, had a mind of its own so it sorta wandered about. But it worked great for hauling hay and feed out to feed the cows, or for heading out to the deer blind, or for teaching a young’un to drive—hey, if he could drive that, he could handle anything!


    • The Queen says:

      LOL! Our boys learned to drive on junk too! My mother was beyond dismay. Of course they started driving as soon as they could reach the pedal for picking up hay bales. Just don’t tell anyone!?


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