This was my sister's favorite post. She e-mailed me to tell me how much she laughed. She checked my blog every day from her desk at work. When I wrote, I always knew she'd be reading whatever it was. My sister's laugh and smile are one of the things mentioned as being most missed. -Allison

Some things you think will be easy, but it turns out they require more than you are willing to invest. Such was my experience with the scrap metal-junk car removal man yesterday.

My husband’s commute puts 20-25,000 miles a year on his car. Two of his past cars were at the end of the driveway, awaiting removal. (We bought him a new Hundai.) The company was on their way over. I expected the truck to show up, load 1 or 2 cars, and be on their way.

Not so.

I should have known I was in trouble when the driver came up the driveway for discourse. I had to interrupt a phone conversation to see what he wanted. He asked if he had the right place, the right cars, etc. Considering I gave clear directions to his company and it’s not every day you see 2 cars of this exact description parked at the end of a driveway, this should have been my first clue. But it wasn’t. Because I'm a snob.

I was too busy being smitten with the fact that I was getting to talk to a real old folk Vermonter. I love them. I know I sound speciest, but it’s true, and Vermonters know it. Their seniors are a wonderful, rare breed, and all seniors deserve our very best.

The man’s eyes lit up when he started talking about where their business is located: in the old days, it was a million-chicken farm operation. That’s when he had his old business, which he sold to a name in town I recognize- everybody knows them.

Then the light died as he came back to the present: okay, time to load the car up. I was to learn that this fellow not only dislikes what he’s doing now, but that he is also terribly afraid of his work. I believe the company is run by one of his children.

I should have been able to say “good day” and go back inside to my own work. Instead, I had to move my van so he could turn around at the top of the driveway. I believe he had plenty of room to turn around without my moving the van. However, I appreciated his caution. Better safe than sorry! My humanity was still hanging on by a margin of good will.

After moving my van, he indicated a need to talk with me again. My annoyance meter started to rise. Now what?!  Little did I know it was just the beginning…

“I don’t know how I’m going to get the car on when it’s up on a hill like that.” he worried. My internal voice said, connect the winch and pull it on, steering the car as you go. My helpful voice said, “Would you like us to push it off the hill for you?”

Yes.

Well, that didn’t work since 3 of 4 tires on the car were flat. Now we were in for the duration. I commenced to wait on the other side of the road watching “traffic” (3 cars total) for the next half hour while the man jockeyed his flatbed truck in every imaginable position, trying to back up to a car. My charm with the old Vermonter scenario was waning thin. Very thin.

He finally had the truck where he could pull the car on. Ok, see you later was my attitude as I crossed the road, thinking about my dinner to put on and the phone call to return.

Then he asked if one of my boys could step on the brakes in his truck while he loaded up.  Apparently, we don’t want the flatbed rolling into the road. Well, if a truck starts rolling, it’s not going to have one of my boys in it, so I got inside the truck myself.

I have to tell you that vehicle fumes make me sick. If we are idling the van and someone gets out, the side doors have to be shut quickly. I have a habit of never backing up without turning off the vents. It’s that bad.

Well, there I sat for the next 40 minutes, fuming in more ways than one while the man loaded the car inch by slow inch, with my door open to watch my children on the banks. By now I believed I could have driven his truck and had the job done myself.

At one point he called my older boys over to work the controls on the truck winch. I thought that was nice. He had no worries about allowing them to do that. Back to nice Vermonter.

Yet I railed again, internally. If you need 2 people, why aren’t 2 people here?

Finally the car was fully loaded, chained down and on its way. I stalked to the house, realizing I needed to charge those folks $35-$50 dollars an hour for my time. I already have a job! I was too ill to start dinner.

Much to his utter regret, my husband called soon after. It was no longer ‘our’ car that needed towing. It was HIS car. He got the brunt of my frustration. I believe the phone was burning in his hand by the time he hung up.

Feeling slightly better now for some reason, I watched Snow White for a little while, laughed at dwarf antics with my own little munchkins, and made a quick tuna melt and tomato soup dinner.

During dinner, in between laughing, we prayed for this extremely nice man who needs a different job assignment from his offspring. Truly, he has my sympathy. My husband called the company to say forget the 2^nd car: we don’t have it positioned right for pick-up; we’ll call you back. I didn’t want him saying anything disrespectful about the nice man. I think he gets enough of that already.

We thought the deal was over until my sons picked up a phone call off the answering machine today. “Uh, I’m on my way over there…I’m a little hesitant to pick up that car…I’ll need you to hold the brake for me again…”

Aaaauuugh!

My children told him not to come out, that the car wasn’t ready for pick up, etc.

On one hand, I resent that the job yesterday required assistance from myself and 2 of our sons. On the other, I am still glad to have met another old time Vermonter. I do wish it didn’t require such a price in health and in time. Unexpectedly. Then again, it’s already enshrined as a treasured family memory, Mr. Melancholy Vermonter included, bless his soul. It's the happy unexpected that is usually the most treasured.