I read such a funny story some time back,
I hate that newspapers and such are going belly up, because you know how I cherish the printed word, and love my books. Christopher Moore has a new one out entitled "Fool". But, if you haven't read his entire ouevre yet, then what : am I talking to the fucking wall here ?
A lot of society's favorite books, movies and TV shows contain characters we can readily relate to : either by gender, circumstance, or predicament. It is comforting, and allows us to laugh at "ourselves" whilst saving face . Seinfeld, Friends, The Big Chill - and all of those well-done "one zany night in the life of a relatively cool, yet centered teenager ". Good "art" is relatable, in some fashion (I know, I know - "I don't know art, but I know what I like ".)
Well, it seems that there were these 2 old married couples - ranging in age from 37 to 53. They joke with the youngest one, stuff like "I could have changed your diapers before I left for my senior prom." A lot of witty repartee ensues - these couples are good friends. The town they lived in was both beachy and foresty, and it was a cool, but brilliant day. That is the extent to which the physical surroundings were described in the story.
Most of the action in this short story occurred in a car : an old thing that was bought, used , almost 20 years prior : a trusty steed of a car, apparently The people are on their way to a surprise party at a bar, and decide to detour on the way, through some area that contained ocean shoreline, acres of old foresty growth, a few out-buildings, and some historical landmarks. They are on a curvy road, and one of the old guys suggests that they smoke some doobage. What ? These are old straight-arrows, or so it seemed... So, they somehow have everything they need for this, and start clumsily toking away. Old people - kinda pathetic. As they drive on windy (curving, not breezy) roads, they (inexplicably) see what seems to be law enforcement a little bit ahead, circling in their Crown Victoria. A little panic, some channelling of now-dead hippies, some coolly evasive driving, and all is well.. Jeez, whew - what were they thinking !?
Then, as most stories do, it gets funnier. The people cross a road of some kind, so that they are, like, almost driving along the shoreline itself. They, I guess not rattled enough by the sighting of The Man, proceed again with the doobage. Any story reader can see the foreshadowing here. It's like the horror movie where the person in the haunted house goes down the basement alone - the observer wants so badly to stop him ! As they tool along, it almost looks as if a cop car pulls in front of them. Then, in the blink of an eye, there are cop cars in front and back of them, and the driver is saying, in a mantra that the oldsters are remembering form their crazy teen years : "We're being pulled over, oh, fuck, we're being pulled over - everybody be cool." The back seat advises no sudden moves, as cops always watch to see what ensues immediately following the lights and sirens.
The one old lady absolutely freezes - almost has a flashback. It is described so well : the pounding of the heart, the absolute dead-weight stone thrumming in the pit of her stomach, "oh God, I'm high and there are cops everywhere. I'm an old lady - I never do this, and look at us now - how will I ever explain this ?!" The guy in the back seat, somehow, starts spraying air freshener, ( ? ) someone is saying " nobody move - they're watching us from both sides." These poor innocent people cannot believe this turn of events. Oh, they'll surely rue this day.
Even as a youth, I always remember that, any conversation starting with "is there a problem, officer ?" bodes ill, no matter how sweetly one is smiling while asking. Somehow, breath mints have made it into the mouths of the characters, and the guy (the young one) in the back seat has dropped the paraphernalia into his coffee cup. Bricks are still being shit - no one likes this kind of a confrontation, it seems.
Then, the story goes on, and another bone-chilling statement is issued by the potential arresting officer : "Do you want to know why I pulled you over ?" Well, for fuck's sake, of course not ! The characters would rather know anything besides why they were pulled over : they know, and they are fucked. The cop says : "Your registration tags are expired." The one woman character who absolutely froze a few pages back now takes the lead in a chatty, ridiculous way as she addresses the authorities through what can only be described as a miasma of sweet smoke. The other characters are likely horrified : oh my God, what is she doing babbling and giggling ? Somebody stop her !! A urine-soaked jail cell (or at least a citation - we're not sure what state the story takes place in) surely awaits them, and this woman is not helping matters any.
Something along the lines of : "Oh my God, this is totally all my fault !! It's my job at home to renew registrations and stuff, and I swear I found the thing buried on the table, and I just mailed it in 2 days ago, honest, you can check !" The driver, her husband, glares at her menacingly at this point. Not daunted, she continues in a cute, 'aren't I just an airhead' fashion : "Gah, I totally can't believe this - I'm NEVER late with the important things ! You get a stack of bills and stuff and you think you paid it all...I'm so lame ! Man, I guess I'm gonna get it when we get home, don't be mad, honey."
The cop apparently can't even get a word in edgewise as the woman prattles on, and there is a deathly silence from the back seat. Joe Cop fills out a "fix it" ticket, and gives instructions. The loud-mouthed little law breaker leans forward (such balls) and whines : "Cant we just take it to our local police station - do we really have to go downtown to clear the ticket ?" The cop replies that it's not up to him, and she says "Well, it certainly should be !"
Another day, another savvy short story that, once again, proves that art can imitate life, or a reasonable facsimilie thereof.
I love to read.
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