Sunday, June 14, 2015

I Really Think I Should Be Allowed To Do Absolutely Nothing Over the Summer

Don't you hate it when you're kind of dozing in the recliner, watching Inside Daisy Clover on TCM, and you hear a 4-wheeler, and open your eyes to see it coming up your driveway, and then it comes right across your yard to your front steps, and a guy gets off and clomps up on the porch, and you assume he rang the doorbell that doesn't work, so you scramble up and pull on your old blue sweatshirt to cover your comfy purple-pin-striped camp shirt that may or may not have a spot of salsa on the front, and open the door to see what he wants, and he tells you he has two thousand dollars cash over at his house, but he's really looking for Hick to talk about the tractor, and you tell him Hick is on his way home from driving a lawnmower (on a trailer, of course, not riding it) to college town for Genius's roommates, but you will give him the message?

Yeah. Me too.

If Hick is going to run a used-tractor lot off our front yard, he needs to be available for customers. According to Hick, who may or may not have gone over to see that devil-dog neighbor after getting the message, he's not going to GIVE his tractor away, and that's way less than the price he quoted the guy, and besides, our next-door neighbor had asked about it, but stopped by last night to say that his wife said he didn't need our tractor, but he's working on her, and a relative of Hick's oldest boy also stopped by to proclaim interest.

I'm surprised Hick hasn't decreed that I should pace back and forth across the front edge of the property all summer wearing a sandwich board with the asking price. Of the tractor, of course.


  1. High finance is complicated. In Jersey, we just pour a dirty water cocktail and argue back and forth until we reach an acceptable price.

  2. Instead of the sandwich board (which is old-fashioned), how about dressing up like one of those wiggling "air creatures"?

    Those things catch my eye every time. I think if you used that costume, you'd lure in more customers for Hick.

  3. I say you gather the interested and start jabber that puppy off tot he highest bidder. Then take your cut.

  4. These days my neighborhood has sign-twirlers on almost every corner, so there's that option. How is your dancing? Or people who dress up in costumes. What did John Deere look like? Just don't dress up as a deer!

  5. joeh,
    In Hick'sville, you name a price and then when given a counteroffer, you split the difference, and if that is not accepted, you split the next difference. Which is kind of predictable, so Hick is not allowed to buy a car without consultation. He is, however, allowed to sell an old tractor for the best offer.

    I love those things! They're better than lava lamps! I would totally revamp that costume, so instead of a long tall air creature, I would be a short wide air creature. Kind of like an injured slug trying to crawl. Which might bring in a pity offer for the 1954 John Deere tractor.

    I have been told that I talk fast enough and unintelligibly enough to be an auctioneer. Might as well make that skill work for me.

    WAIT! I could be the Statue of Liberty! We have them every spring at the stoplights, advertising tax services. And gorillas! And Little Caesar! I have plenty of costume choices to avoid the deer.

    I knew I could count on you to pick up what I was laying down.

  6. Now I'm picturing you in a sandwich board.

    1. I am sure that it's a delicious image!