Nothing much happens at my night job. I spend 8 to 10 hours driving the same route night after night, so when something does happen, I'm going to write about it. It was a few nights back and the rain was coming down in blankets and the truck's wipers were working overtime. I'd finished up my route in Ohio, and was driving the back roads of West Virginia, when something caught my eye. Sitting on the side of the road were two large boxes. They looked similar in shape to old refrigerator boxes but weren't quite as large. I thought to myself,
you know what happens on the back roads of West Virginia, don't you? This could be some sort of elaborate redneck trap and they're waiting for some gullible driver to stop and get out of their car. Tah dah! Tonight's dinner or sexual entertainment.
I continued past and headed down the road a few hundred yards when I slammed on my breaks. I can't do it. I can't go on without knowing what's in those boxes. I threw the truck in reverse and hauled ass back to the area where the boxes rested. You don't really need to worry about driving in reverse on the back roads of West Virginia, because there is nothing but emptiness. You may drive past a state trooper but they'll usually allow you to pass, thinking you're simply heading home from the bar and it's easier to remember your way home by retracing your steps.
The headlights illuminated the water covered boxes as I crept towards the side of the road. My mind raced as did my heart, I've watched way too many movies about the mountain people of West Virginia. My eyes were on high alert as I tip toed towards the boxes. One rested against the guard rail and the other lie parallel with the road. I shone the flashlight on the boxes and tried to make out a label. I searched and pushed the box on the road with my shoe. I flipped it over to find a company name -
Bar Stools.
Oh, Jesus, these rednecks are good, I said and my eyes shot behind the guard rails, expecting three or four of them to be falling on me at any moment. They couldn't have found a bigger piece of cheese to lure this mouse.
Bar Stools? You've got to be kidding me.
I kneeled down, water streaming down my face and dripping onto the soggy box. I felt the texture and knew it wouldn't take much effort to puncture a hole into the thing. I used my pointer and middle fingers to push into the wet box, it felt like pushing into a tomato, and peeled some of the paper back. I pushed the flashlight into the opening and sighed.
Those are beautiful, I said and looked around as I heard scratching noises coming from the embankment.
"Is anybody there?!" I said and noticed a few sticks swaying in the wind and rubbing against the guard rail.
I looked to the sky, water rushing past my face as if I passed out next to the urinals, and uttered, "Lord, are these for me?"
I heard rustling in the woods, could have been two squirrels or my captors, but I wasn't taking any chances. I grabbed the boxes and threw them into the side of my box truck, breaking one part that was to be delivered, but feeling it was a small loss for my inevitable happiness. I threw the truck into gear and hauled ass out of there.
THE NEXT DAY...
I placed the new
bar stools in my front room. They looked beautiful, even without a bar for them to be seated next to. My girlfriend walked into the room, "Where did you get those?"
"Get what?" I said as if I didn't notice the elephant in the tiny room.
"What do you mean 'what?' The bar stools?"
"Oh, I found them."
"Where?"
"On the side of the road," I explained.
"Well they probably belong to someone. They probably fell off a truck," she said.
"You're damn right. They belong to me. Finders Keepers is one of the strongest values we learn as children."
"You should report them."
"To who! The police? You gotta be kidding me. I wouldn't drop off a missing child to them. You know what they do with the lost-and-found, don't you? They pick through the good shit and put the rest out for the public. Have you ever seen any cool shit in the lost and found?"
She ignored me and walked away.
"I won't have my
bar stools supporting their asses! My tax dollars already do that!"
I looked to my beautiful pair of
bar stools and rubbed them as if I were patting a child's head.
"You couldn't have found a more loving home."
