COMEDY OF ERRORS

As my wife Jeri and I wind our way along the serpentine road, we drop precipitously down the steep escarpment. It was approximately 9:00 PM and still over a 105 degrees Fahrenheit (40.5 c). Below us lay the Anza Borrego Desert of Southern California, which earlier that day had been a sizzling hell at 117 degrees (47 c). Off in the distance, we can see the ghostly shimmer of the Salton Sea. The sky is black as ink with stars poking through the darkness as distinct points of light, the Milky Way smeared across the sky as if brushed on by the hand of God. Once again we were on a mission to transport Jeri’s aging father to the doctor.

 

Jim, my father-in-law, would be considered a saint if he was Catholic and believed in such labels. Generosity is only one of his many outstanding attributes. On more than one occasion I have cried on his shoulder while dealing with my own demons, but now he needed my help. After orbiting the sun going on 94 times, his aging body is inevitably wearing out. The disintegration of muscle and bone is difficult to witness, but loosing one’s mind to the scourge of dementia is heart breaking. Jim’s wife, Mary Alice, at 89 is extremely vigorous for her age, and does a superb job of assisting her ailing husband. She was blessed with the right DNA, which her 97-year-old sister could attest. Recently the sister had bounced back from a broken back as if she was a teenager. The intention of this story is not to dwell on the trials and tribulation of the aged, but rather to illustrate that humor exists even when the end of life is looming.

        

As I continued to wind my steel stallion down the road a thought came to mind.

“Jeri, what time do they lock the gates to the Road Runner Club?”

“I think it closes up at seven.”

My clairvoyant talents beginning to kick into high gear, “S**t, I hope we don’t get screwed again!”

 

On our last two visits to Borrego Springs we had been unceremoniously locked out of my father-in-law’s gated community because of overly cautious security procedures. This small community of Borrego Springs does not have a single stoplight and is completely surrounded by the largest State Park in California, comprised of 600,000 acres. Beyond the boundaries of the park, there is mile upon mile of nothing. For anyone to have the thought of committing a crime in such an isolated location would have to be considered criminally insane, or at the least having an IQ just high enough to keep his or her heart beating. But it is what it is, and the old timers want that damn gate locked when things that go bump in the night are about. The only “bump” that could realistically be expected would be perpetrated by some mangy, half-starved coyote, or a dyslexic roadrunner that hadn’t noticed the sun had gone down.

 

Of course, there are contingencies to allow nonresident admittance after the “lock down,” but the key is to remember the proper procedure for opening the gate electronically so to remotely let someone in. Here lies the crux of the matter. Members of the Road Runner Club have remote controls in their cars so they can activate the gate when they pull up. Without the remote you are up the proverbial s**t creek. Jeri and I were quickly approaching said creek. This was the third time we had found ourselves in this conundrum; however, this was the first occasion that atmospheric temperature was playing a significant role.

 

We hoped that a resident would soon come along and we could slip in behind them after they activated the gate. The little town of Borrego is not what would be considered a happening place as far as nightlife is concerned. There is one establishment called the Lazy Lizard where local desert rats can hang out as they attempted to further damage any remaining brain cells the sun hadn’t done in yet, the most common poison being a not too exotic draft beer. Few if any of these bar stool bums were residents of the Road Runner Club, so the chances of being rescued by one of them was as likely as having a snowball roll through town. Jeri, Pickle, our little Jack Russell, and I patiently waited for a miracle, as beads of sweat meandered down our foreheads. Since dogs don’t sweat and their foreheads, for all practical purposes, are nonexistent, Pickle was madly panting in a losing battle to keep a heat stroke at bay as the result of the evolutionary trick of being denied sweat glands.

 

         “Jeri, I think you should call to see if they have figured out how to activate the gate using their phone yet,” I said knowing the possibility of that actually being the case was as slim as an anorexic Paris Hilton.

 

The comedy of errors that was about to follow was initially set into motion by my wife, who happened to call her mother’s cell phone, which had nothing what so ever to do with the system that would control the gate. What was needed was a call to their phone that was hard wired to the rest of the world, and not based on transmitting using the mystical vapors of cyberspace. Of course, Mary Alice had not a clue concerning the differences in the two technologies, so she diligently pressed the number nine, which she believed to be the code for opening the gate. As it turned out that wasn’t the code, so it made no difference what kind of phone she was using. It could have been a toy phone beautifully crafted by semi-enslaved Chinese children, and colored with rich hues of lead-based paint. Without the real code, the gate opening was just not going to happen using that method.

 

This made little or no difference as far as Mary Alice was concerned. Repeatedly she punched in the number nine, again and again, creating the same result: nothing. By this time, I started to realize that trouble was brewing, so I put poor little Pickle back in the car and turned on the air conditioner for her. She is only ten pounds and sixteen years old and lacks the stamina to survive extreme heat for very long. The last thing I wanted was for my precious dog to expire on the spot. Such a circumstance would have put a real damper on the entire evening, not counting the fact that I would have to dig an exceptionally deep hole so the coyotes would not have a late night snack on her elfin body.

 

Mary Alice’s frustration level was ramping up, as were Jeri’s and mine. We kept our aggravation masked as not to exacerbate the situation. Pickle was little concerned as she inhaled the cool air wafting from the air conditioner, her eyes closed and the look of blissful contentment on her little doggy face.

 

The next option to rescue us from out predicament was for Mary Alice to get in a golf cart with the remote, come down and open the gate. This is what had occurred the last time we had faced the same circumstance. Joining Pickle in the air-conditioned car, Jeri and I patiently waited to be rescued. We had already had a long day and had spent the last two hours driving through mountainous roads. It was taking much longer for Mary Alice to arrive than would be expected. The humor of the entire situation was beginning to dawn on me; then again, if I had still been standing out in the 105-degree heat my funny bone would have been far less tickled.

 

Eventually, I could see a dim apparition coming towards me out of the darkness. For some strange reason, the headlights of the cart were not on. As it turned out, the batteries had not been charged, and the whole contraption was on its last legs as the few remaining drops of electricity were being squeezed out of the battery. Jim had decided to accompany Mary Alice and was sitting next to her taking in the proceedings.

 

“Jeri, I wonder why Mary Alice decided to bring your dad along and not just let him hang out back at the house? The conditions out here are not exactly ideal to say the least.”

“You know he doesn’t like to miss out on a thing, and it’s probably good for him to do as much as possible to keep his brain and body engaged. Remember what the doctor said about that.”

“I guess you’re right, but it’s pretty damn hot out here, and it seems that it might be a little too hard on him to be exposed to this much heat.”

 

Just as Jeri and I were having this little tête-à-tête, I noticed that Mary Alice was pulling the golf cart up to the exit gate, which automatically opens as you approach it. She drove through, and the gate immediately closed behind her. This was all well and good except for the fact that she forgot to bring the remote, and now we were all locked out! It dawned on Jeri and me immediately what had just transpired, and that our dilemma had just taken on a new and slightly darker dimension. Mary Alice had taken a little while longer to grasp the ramifications of her mistake, and Jim, as a result of his newly diagnosed dementia, was just confused. Pickle, still sitting in the car, could have cared less as long as the air conditioner continued to waft a cool breeze on her little hairy body.

 

Jeri and I went through the pedestrian gate to see if we could activate the auto exit gate with our combined body mass. Jeri weighs in at an awe-inspiring 98 pounds and combined with my 175 pounds the gate sensor was not at all impressed. It continued to stay locked tight as if it was insulted that we felt it could not discriminate between a car and two human bodies. The hope was that if the gate opened there was a possibility the car could be sneaked through before that gate closed again. Now, to put it in terms that are undeniably understandable, we were s**t out of luck!

 

The only alternative was for someone to slog through the oppressive heat on foot to recover the remote. Jeri bravely volunteered for the mission and I stayed behind with the old folks. Mary Alice sat quietly in the golf cart, no doubt embarrassed by her ill-conceived decision to blunder through the exit gate leaving us all in our present circumstance. Jim has always been eager to solve problems and make things right. Regrettably, his mental toolbox was no longer fully stocked, and he had never been very good at solving problems of a mechanical nature anyway.

 

Determined to set the situation right, Jim placed himself in front of the device that allowed someone to gain entrance by calling the house number where they would then be let in. This is a fail-proof system, but as I mentioned earlier you needed to know the code! Another factor that now made this technique useless was there was no one at home to answer the phone. Instead, all of us were now standing out in the vastness of the Anza Borrego Desert slowly but inevitable frying our brains; all of us except Pickle, who was continuing to snooze in the car under ideal conditions.

 

You might ask yourself why not all of us get in the car and wait for Jeri to return with the remote. Under normal circumstances that would have been very good advice, however, with the present cast of characters good sense was nowhere to be found. Mary Alice continued to sulk in the golf cart, no doubt fearing that she was in the early stages of the affliction that affected her dear husband. Jim on the other hand doggedly continued to communicate with someone that wasn’t there. I tried to explain to him that his attempt, though noble, was doomed to failure. He didn’t heed my advice. After a few more attempts to explain the futility of his efforts, I figured at least it would keep him busy, and distract him from the heat that was slowly sucking the moisture out of his body. Despite how uncomfortable I felt physical, the humor of the entire situation was becoming more and more evident. If I were to die at least there would be a smile on my shriveled, desiccated lips.

 

As time ticked by I was beginning to wonder what had happened to Jeri and her assignment to retrieve the remote. The humorous feelings I had been feeling earlier were beginning to subside, and out of my peripheral vision, I was starting to see particles of anxiety begin to sneak in. Counting Jeri and Pickle, the combined age of the group was over 330 years. The headline of the Borrego Springs News, combined circulation of not more than eighty-nine, was beginning to form in my head: AGED GROUP OF FOUR FOUND DEAD, survived by fully contented Jack Russell Terrier. It was time to call Jeri.

 

“Jeri, where in the hell are you? Things are getting a bit dicey out here. Mary Alice continues to slowly bake in the golf cart, and your dad is in the process of shrinking while madly pressing buttons that lead to nowhere.”

“I’m in the car, but I can’t figure out how to make the hazard lights stop flashing!!!” Jeri shouts, deep in the throws of annoyance.

“Jeri, f**k the damn hazard lights. The car will run either way. Just get down here and rescue us before things get tragic.”

 

I could tell Jeri was flustered and perturbed by the situation. I tried to get her to focus on the humor of our state of affairs, and at the same time get her priorities straight. A few minutes later she shows up, the hazard lights still flashing but the blessed remote clutched in her hand. The gate opened and we pass through. The battery in the golf cart is nearly dead, and I follow behind Mary Alice illuminating the road. Once we arrive Mary Alice sticks her hand in the window of the car and clicks off the hazard light. We all evacuated to the comfort of their home. Pickle seemed to be a little perturbed that we disturbed her sleep. When I picked her up the little brat’s fur felt like an ice cube.

 

After the dust had settled, and the old folks were safe and sound in front of the TV, Jeri and I made off to the bedroom to unpack our bags. We were standing on the opposite sides of the bed and both looked up at each other at the same time. Immediately we broke out into a laughing jag with tears running down our cheeks. We could not have invented such a comedy of errors if we had tried. Yes, Jeri’s father has dementia, and yes we were all getting old, including Pickle, but life is still a marvelous thing and humor is the life blood of the living. 

Reviews

[Barbara Walker]

Love this story! Sometimes all you can do is laugh and then that laugh becomes one of those breathless, stomach hurting contortions that you just know you are going to die of cuz you can't breathe and your ribs hurt and, please, make it stop! I love those! A great truth in this piece!

[EMF]

Brilliance comes in many forms. But this is radioactive with it. That and love. Do I really need to say more. I could of course, waffle on and on at great leangth just to fill up this little box, but frankly, after the word Love, let's be frank, I'm just droning on to hear my own voice. It's f#####g brilliant mate. And then some

[Shelley Holt-Lowrey]

Zeeke, this is perhaps the best little humor story I've read in a long while. And real life to boot. I chuckled through the entire thing...

I am touched by your ability to see the humor in the face of some of life's more difficult moments. And you give us a nice look into how life rolls in your own family.

There are so many little gems hidden in this piece that I almost wanted to take notes. Red lead based paint, China Manufacture, Dementia, Dogs we can't help but love, wives and hazard lights (totally relate-able and I find myself completely loving your wife), and the circling carrion around your combined years sans one Jack Russell terrier.

Cut to the tears of laughter at the end and this is one really sweet little story. Didn't want it to end. Please - more like this. Your other stories are great and rich, but I truly appreciate one who is able to find irony and humor when it is sorely needed and often most elusive.

CHEERS!

EDITED FOR LENGTH - can't be as long as the story, but did want to add that I'm just gonna drink those two cups of coffee after all. You promised. You delivered.

[J]

well zeek! you live on the razor's edge! delightfully chaotic, and i'm sitting here drenched in empathetic sweat! d.a.n.g. those gated communities anyway!! how completely amazing and predictable that things should go from bad to comedic worse ~ the whole thing belongs on Favorite Home Videos. and bless pickles' little pea pickin heart!

well done, my friend ..... ;)

[mark slade]

i really got into your story, it was well written. it reminds me of something that could've been published in sat. evening post,

[roarke]

well done story. I felt it all the way, as if I was sweating beside you. When you step back, the comedy does show through and that's how you have to look at it or you're in perilous trouble.
reminds me of the time we were leaving our illinois home to move to our new home in montana and the minor glitch of a hitch lock kept us in an empty home in blazing heat waiting three hours for a lock smith to show up.... yes I know this story well.. very well told Z.

[emmajoy]

OHHHHHHHH .. what a superbly written and excrutiatingly funny post! I've tears running down my cheeks, shouldn't have under the circumstances but hey, tis better than crying over a long event that could have gone in all directions .. well, i spose it did!

May I be honest and say that this is your very best post yet.I hope and pray hundreds of Cafe members read it!