I sat in the truck getting warmer by the minute and wondering if I wanted to call for help or walk home and slip into the shop, get a tractor and slip out with a gas can. I wanted to never ever have to admit to any living soul that I, the patriarch of this outfit, ran out of gasoline in the middle of the pasture. I wanted to tunnel back into the headquarters and be real sure no one could see me. But, beings as that ain't gonna happen, I called.
I dialed the older of the male offspring and waited patiently for his answer. The machine picked up and I did not leave a message. Why would I say something to a machine that could be saved for eternity and used against me? So I called the number of the meanest of the two and, of course, he answered.
Was he close to home, was he where he could meet me, did he know where the gas can was in the shop and would he fill it up and hurry? Yes, he was and could, but then that little snicker colored his answer and I knew it was not gonna be pretty!
I didn't have to wait very long, saw dust clouds in the direction of the shop and, sure enough, that mean offspring had informed my close relative and she was on the way too. I was almost mad and would have been if I had not been so embarrassed and disgusted with myself.
I will never understand the joy some folks have over the misery of others. The downright worst and most pitiful of situations I get myself into the more some seem to delight in my agony. I did not get out of the truck, sat there stone faced as my close relative pulled up beside me on the four wheeler, called my name and waited. I finally looked over at her and she was about to explode with glee, her body shaking and giggling with internal tsunami-strength laughter. She handed me a travel mug of coffee and I still did not say a word. The offspring emptied the gas can into the tank and helped my close relative back onto the four wheeler and they rode away in a cloud of dust, gales of hoots and side splitting hoorahs loud enough to hear plainly over the roar of the machine.
I, being the calm and self disciplined feller I am, sat still and drank the coffee. I waited until I was sure I was the only one in the pasture before starting up the truck and then I eased on toward the barn.
It is my opinion, and everyone has one, suffering from a bout of total ridicule and embarrassment is as hard on a feller as a snake bite and harder to cure. I know it will be a subject at family dinners, every time a neighbor drops by for a visit, told at church and probably at the dentist. I will be required to smile and laugh with them, turn red faced again and act like I, too, think the whole episode is laughable.
It ain't and I don't, but I will and who cares anyway? Just wait, I'll have something on them soon because life is like that! Things happen and tomorrow it may be their turn. I hope so!
Bill is the pen name of the Gravette author of this column. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 08/13/2014