Quite Possibly the Best Potential Case of Irony EVER, Except Val Would Not Have Been Around to Tell the Tale

Saturday, on the way home from town, Hick sent me a text:

"Are you alive haven't heard from you"

Of course I called to chew him out. That's no way for a Sweet Baboo to greet his lady. I told him I was driving home, that I'd been too busy calling the insurance company to ask about his current sales. 

At 1:15, I passed a dark colored SUV coming out our gravel road as I was headed in. I rarely look at people behind the wheel. While I did not recognize this particular car, there are several dark SUVs out here. This one was driving slowly, but not creepy-slow, so I figured it was not some weirdo using our self-paid-for, Hick-maintained road as a short cut. I gave that car a two-fingered greeting as I drove by. Just being neighborly.

I parked T-Hoe in the garage, and was setting my 44 oz Diet Coke on the console for easy retrieval after I unloaded three grocery bags from the back. The wild baying of Thevictorian hounds caught my attention. What in the Not-Heaven? I supposed Juno was extra-irritated with Copper Jack. He waits for me at the back of the garage until I close the door, then comes around for a squatter's share of cat kibble. They were yapping crazier than normal.

I glanced in T-Hoe's rearview mirror, expecting to see Copper Jack sidling away, deferring to Juno. What I saw instead was the grill and two front tires of a charcoal gray SUV blocking my escape! Uh huh. Parked right behind my garage bay. I was trapped! Trapped like a rat in a cage!

Stupid me got out and walked back, one eyebrow raised, in the manner I used to silently question the intentions of non-compliant students. My protectors, the watchdogs, raising the alarm while I had sat unawares in the garage, were busy peeing on the passenger-side front tire of that charcoal gray SUV. And a man was walking towards me!

Let the record show that there was a time, in Val's semi-misspent youth, when she would have no qualms about confronting such an intruder. In her prime, fit from her daily 5-mile run, spry on youthful knees, ready to stomp an instep, gouge out eyes, shove a nasal bone into a brain with the heel of her hand...or take flight. That time has passed. I was wary, standing still inside the edge of the garage.

The visitor acted like he belonged. He was late 40s/early 50s, with curly gray hair sticking out from under a black cap, wearing jeans shorts with white crew socks and work boots. "Is Hick around?"

Stupid me said, "No."

"I saw you as I was leaving, and came to see if Hick was with you."

"No...he's at his Storage Unit Store for about another hour. At the flea market."

"Flea market?"

"Yeah. On the hill. As you're going into town. By the feed store."

"I guess he's retired now."

"Yes."

"Well, that gives him something to do."

"Uh huh. And keeps him out of my hair. He makes pretty good money. He sells guns there pretty often."

"Yeah. It's legal. They sell them down at the auction I go to. I've seen him there a couple times. Hick used to have some parts that I'm looking for. So I stopped to see if he still had them."

"I don't know. He's up at his store." Since Visitor didn't seem to have a clue where I was talking about, I gave him the basic directions. To drive to town, and turn right at the top of the hill. "Hick's store is on the right side, pretty close to the entrance. Maybe 10 or 15 down the row."

The minute he got in his truck, I went back in the garage and called Hick.

"There was a guy here when I got out of the car. Had me blocked in the garage. He acted like he knows you. I gave him directions to your store. He's wearing a black cap, jeans shorts, white crew socks, and work boots." Hick said he'd be looking for him.

As I unloaded T-Hoe, I started regretting that I'd given that dude directions right to Hick's unit. (Heh, heh, the thought of sending a man to Hick's unit makes my 13-year-old self snicker.) I sat down in the La-Z-Boy, still a little shaky. I guess Visitor wasn't a process server (they can be tricky tricksters, you know), unless Hick's been up to something criminal. The only crime I can think of is a crime of fashion. I hope Visitor wasn't an assassin! Hick has been messing in back-creek neighbor Bev's feud with Crazy Stick Road Dude again.

I sent The Pony a text:

"Is it irony if Dad sends me a text, 'Are you alive, haven't heard from you,' and THEN comes home to find me murdered in the garage?"

"Yes?"

"Okay. I pulled in the garage and heard the dogs going crazIER, and in my mirror saw the front end of a gray SUV blocking my exit. Like an idiot, I got out, and the dang dogs were peeing on the tires while the guy walked toward me."

"That does not sound good?"

"He asked if Dad was home, and like a fool I said NO."

"What was it about?"

"He chatted a while, not revealing his identity, then I told him where to find Dad at his store."

"Weird."

"Then I worried if I was sending a hit man to kill Dad! Anyhoo...I called Dad to warn him with a description. He just sent me a text. It was...

OUR OLD NEIGHBOR FROM ACROSS THE ROAD!"

"Oh!"

"That's exactly how I replied to Dad. It's been 15 years. I'm not sure I knew what that guy looked like when he lived here!"

Anyhoo...according to Hick, he was on the lookout for the guy I described, and saw him walking up. Hick mentioned that I'd called to say he'd had been at the house, and was coming by, and Visitor said, 'I wasn't over there!' So Hick said, "Yeah, I woulda thought she'd know YOU." Only to have the REAL Visitor show up a few minutes later.

Hick had mistaken our current SIDE NEIGHBOR, Copper Jack's human daddy, for Visitor. Because they were dressed the same way!

That perhaps tells you more than you need to know about customs around here.