meatbag
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- Nov 29, 2008
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This is the Smoke Story.
I was cruising out to the lake one sunny weekend in my 73 topless Jimmy. Stereo cranked, snacks, sunshine, lake. Sounds good. Well, somewhere along the way a small rock went through my rad, I have no idea how, and I was just able to make it to the cabin. My dad, who WAS a super chain smoker, and ALWAYS had a smoke, with that little red cherry glowing on the end of it(which we used for dad location when night skiing) gave me the keys to his car to go to the city and find another rad. No problem, good idea, So I drove back to start looking but it was getting late and decided to wait till the next day.
Now, what happened next I didn't find out about for a few days.
My mom later told me that almost all of dads cigs were in a carton under his seat in his car, which I had of course, only having 5 smokes left in the cabin to last him till I came back. She went on to tell me how he just sat at the table with his head resting in his hands worried about running out of smokes, smoking all of the remaining 5 in 25 minutes! She went on to tell me how he went into panic mode, ranting and raving, walking up and down the street to see if anyone had any smokes he could buy but with no success. Yikes!
It got to the point where he dragged out the battery, motor and large canoe from the boathouse with the dragon mouth I painted on the front it. He hurriedly attempted to assemble all the pieces together to get to the other side of the lake and make it to the store where his salvation sticks awaited. Well, the wind was against him making large waves, the heavy battery plus his weight at the back of the canoe made it look as if it were doing a catwalk on the water as he disappeared into the rough whitecapping nastiness while cursing my name and ruing the day I was born.
Apparently he made it to the end of the lake (aprox 4 ish km), dragged the canoe up into the marsh weeds and headed for the store about another km across land wearing his duck shoes solely being guided by cravings.
When he finally made it to the store, around all the old fences, marshes, and thick shrubs, with wet feet, going mad from panic attacks and cravings and still cursing my name, he discovered that the store was closed!
Having come all that way, going through that, finding nothing but the odd cow to scream at I can only imaging what was going through his mind as he tried to make his way back to the canoe.
The story goes that when he got back near the water he was in a different area than where he landed-therefore losing the canoe. The cursing, I'm sure was more undoubtably more like threats of mutilation and gory disembowelment of my anatomy at this point. after losing his duck boots (Haha...duck boots) in the mud numerous times, digging them out again and again, dirty and wet from wading along the marsh he eventually found the canoe.
I'm only guessing, but I would probably be crying at this point! When you get to a certain level where you can't scream anymore, you run out of curse words, an evil silence descends and it pretty much can't get much worse.
Well with sheer determination and a lot of paddling because the battery for the motor was now dead, he eventually made it back to the cabin exhausted. No words were spoken and if looks could kill.
The next day I arrived back to a happy uneventful cabin with my new used rad. No one said a word to me, not one. Not even a look. All was absolutely normal. when I went inside I found dad at his usual post having a smoke and a beer reading his book at the table. Mom was vacuuming the rough plywood floor(don't ask). Normal.
I guess when he arrived back at the cabin he changed clothes, had a quick snack, calmed down, got new shoes on and went for another walk to see if he could cure his smoke fix and buy some off someone somewhere.
I guess he found some.
Heh heh heh...don't you love family?
I was cruising out to the lake one sunny weekend in my 73 topless Jimmy. Stereo cranked, snacks, sunshine, lake. Sounds good. Well, somewhere along the way a small rock went through my rad, I have no idea how, and I was just able to make it to the cabin. My dad, who WAS a super chain smoker, and ALWAYS had a smoke, with that little red cherry glowing on the end of it(which we used for dad location when night skiing) gave me the keys to his car to go to the city and find another rad. No problem, good idea, So I drove back to start looking but it was getting late and decided to wait till the next day.
Now, what happened next I didn't find out about for a few days.
My mom later told me that almost all of dads cigs were in a carton under his seat in his car, which I had of course, only having 5 smokes left in the cabin to last him till I came back. She went on to tell me how he just sat at the table with his head resting in his hands worried about running out of smokes, smoking all of the remaining 5 in 25 minutes! She went on to tell me how he went into panic mode, ranting and raving, walking up and down the street to see if anyone had any smokes he could buy but with no success. Yikes!
It got to the point where he dragged out the battery, motor and large canoe from the boathouse with the dragon mouth I painted on the front it. He hurriedly attempted to assemble all the pieces together to get to the other side of the lake and make it to the store where his salvation sticks awaited. Well, the wind was against him making large waves, the heavy battery plus his weight at the back of the canoe made it look as if it were doing a catwalk on the water as he disappeared into the rough whitecapping nastiness while cursing my name and ruing the day I was born.
Apparently he made it to the end of the lake (aprox 4 ish km), dragged the canoe up into the marsh weeds and headed for the store about another km across land wearing his duck shoes solely being guided by cravings.
When he finally made it to the store, around all the old fences, marshes, and thick shrubs, with wet feet, going mad from panic attacks and cravings and still cursing my name, he discovered that the store was closed!
Having come all that way, going through that, finding nothing but the odd cow to scream at I can only imaging what was going through his mind as he tried to make his way back to the canoe.
The story goes that when he got back near the water he was in a different area than where he landed-therefore losing the canoe. The cursing, I'm sure was more undoubtably more like threats of mutilation and gory disembowelment of my anatomy at this point. after losing his duck boots (Haha...duck boots) in the mud numerous times, digging them out again and again, dirty and wet from wading along the marsh he eventually found the canoe.
I'm only guessing, but I would probably be crying at this point! When you get to a certain level where you can't scream anymore, you run out of curse words, an evil silence descends and it pretty much can't get much worse.
Well with sheer determination and a lot of paddling because the battery for the motor was now dead, he eventually made it back to the cabin exhausted. No words were spoken and if looks could kill.
The next day I arrived back to a happy uneventful cabin with my new used rad. No one said a word to me, not one. Not even a look. All was absolutely normal. when I went inside I found dad at his usual post having a smoke and a beer reading his book at the table. Mom was vacuuming the rough plywood floor(don't ask). Normal.
I guess when he arrived back at the cabin he changed clothes, had a quick snack, calmed down, got new shoes on and went for another walk to see if he could cure his smoke fix and buy some off someone somewhere.
I guess he found some.
Heh heh heh...don't you love family?
Hey! I'm not making this stuff up. It all happened!
