I dismantled the garden fence without notable incident but was left with a large pile of heavy scrap wood. After considering a number of disposal options, I decide upon loading up my utility trailer and hauling it to the dump.
A man’s trip to the dump cannot be a solitary journey so I enlisted my number one lifetime partner in crime, my extraordinary dad, to come with. I just knew all his experience properly loading trailers and towing would come in handy. Also, the fact that the price of this labor is usually a budget friendly total of 12 chicken wings and two Long Island Teas is an added bonus.
He did not disappoint. He showed up punctually at go time with a wealth of fatherly advice. Fold the tarp like this – What’s your tire pressure – Pull the cargo net lengthwise first – Spray lube on the trailer springs – Check those taillights twice – Use extra bungee straps – Cross those safety chains – Plan your trip route on smooth roads – Where are your work gloves?
He was on fatherly-fire!
The great advise flowed smoothly into my waiting ears. It was all so good. I actually would have remember less than half that shit if left to my own devices.
So off we went, down the smooth road, towing the timber using my lovely wife Vicki’s daily driver, Clifford the Big Red Jeep. Of course, when I borrow my wife’s vehicle the gas tank is always near empty. Now this was a problem because “running on fumes” is diametrically opposed to and catastrophically against Ron’s towing protocols, so he smiles proudly when I announce we’re stopping to top off the tank. It’s a beautiful day at the pump, I wheel my big rig into an open end spot to gas up as dad goes into the stations facilities. All is still good.
I finish fueling, but dad is not back. I consider pulling away from the pump, but realized he’d have to walk much farther. Besides, the gas station isn’t full, just one vehicle next to me, so I’ll just wait. I ease into the driver’s seat and I hear a “thunk” or maybe it was a “ca-chunk”? I get out to investigate.
I quickly realize that one of the 42 bungee cords dad had me install has snapped and is laying on the ground. I then notice the lady on the other side of the pump has an uncertain look on her face.
Her: “what the heck was that?”
Me: “Wut?”.
It was at this point I understood that it was in fact a “ca-chunk” and the “chunk” was the sound of the metal hook from high tension released projectile bungee cord ricocheting off the side of her beautiful new Suburban, leaving a metal divot scar smack dab in the middle of her driver’s door