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Jun 16 2011

Rolling in the Mud

Sometimes it’s deeper than others.  I recall a year when I foolishly volunteered to help park cars.  Now when I say it was raining hard I’m not talking 40 days and 40 nights, but it was more than merely damp.

And the drainage was poor.

Now my practice when it rains, which it does more frequently than you ordinarily notice but are forced to confront when working out doors, is to ignore it.  Yeah you’re wet, but you’re going to get wet anyway (though Gortex is a wonderful thing) and unlike Margaret Hamilton you’re not going to melt (My beautiful wickedness!  What a world, what a world).

Well, this was hipboots and waders and the job was to squish through to the cars and get them from the unpaved lot to the driveway in front of the nice dry tent where the owners were waiting.

Now sometimes being good is not exactly a blessing and my winter driving skills honed in the lake effects of upstate New York meant that I was less likely than some others I could name, but won’t, to grind the cars into an almost untowable morass.  This resuling in my spending a lot more time than the untrainable or unlucky getting dirty and moist.

It was almost the last car of the day that I got my first tip which I wasn’t really expecting but gratefully pocketed and I said to the driver as he climbed in the car “I’m not sure you’ll think it’s as good as all that once you sit where I was sitting, but thank you just the same.”

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