On the ride out to our old neighbor’s funeral, Billy told me about “a friend” of his who had embarrassed himself in the drive-through line of a hamburger joint earlier that week. The “friend” had gotten stuck in line, right next to the speaker. He called out several times with no response. He was wedged in. It was hot. He was hotter! He couldn’t order, go backward or forward, so did the only reasonable thing. He cursed loudly about waiting in the heat, abusing the reputation of the restaurant, the employees, their forbears, and hamburgers joints in general, pounding his steering wheel to make a point!
After a bit of this infantile behavior, the speaker clicked on. “May I take your order, please?” Relieved, he gave his order and pulled up. When he got to the window, he found a sea of faces waiting to see the idiot they’d heard throwing the fit. The speaker had been on the whole time.
He finished his story just as we squeaked into the churchyard. We filed in with the mourners, taking a seat. As the services started, it was pretty warm. Before long, it was hot as Hades. Obviously the air conditioner was on the blink. Billy grinned and whispered to me, “It’s hot.” Remembering his ‘friend’, I stifled a giggle. As the eulogy continued and mourners sniffled, I struggled to maintain my composure, not daring to look at him. We were both shaking silently, as though overcome by grief. The blazing heat miraculously unstopped my sinuses. Suddenly, a river of snot cascaded from my nose as I burst into maniacal laughter. Vainly, I instituted an ineffective snot management manuever while futilely trying to give the impression of being overcome by grief, not insane laughter. It might have been more convincing had brother, Bozo the Clown, not been beside me in the same state. We fled without trying to console the family, figuring we’d done enough.
Nutsrok 