Are you Ready for the Country?

Being that it is the season of giving and stuff, I shouldn't have been too surprised that one of the elderly ladies that we at the taxi company transport everyday gave all the drivers and employees gifts. I will admit though, that I was shocked to find a nice twenty dollar bill in the card I got from her, which was identical in shape, color, and content as the rest of the employees' cards.

Happy Holidays indeed.

I don't know how to say that she is very nice for doing that without it sounding like a cliche, so won't even speculate, except for pointing out that this is one old lady will never ever be late for a Bridge game, EVER.

Unfortunately, the good will and mood would be strained through the rest of the shift, as hard as that may be to comprehend.

I hate the Wisconsin countryside.

I should say that I love the nice long curvy roads that you can get lost on during a Sunday afternoon and then find yourself five miles away from where you started, two hours later. The kind of roads that can only be found in Wisconsin.

What I mean is, PROFESSIONALLY, I hate the Wisconsin countryside.

Particularity at night.

After about a half hour of driving down mile long driveways, I finally found the one I was looking for. Up a winding gravel road into a grass yard with no definable driveway except for where the tire tracks had decimated the grass all the way up to the garage.

Only one source of light peaked through the cracks of the boarded up windows covered with plastic sheeting. The house looked as though it had been being remodeled since the early nineties with all the lumber stacked up outside and visible carpentry tools strewn about.

...And of course a very large, vary loud, very harry dog.

I waited outside for about two minutes, but wanting to get on with the night, I went up to the door and knocked. Almost removing the door from it's hinges. This made the dog bark ever more, not to mention jump up against the door. I don't know, maybe the dog was trained to do that so that the owner wouldn't be bothered with putting the door back on it's hinges. I doubt it though.

The thought that I may be in the wrong place occurred to me when I realized that I was in the middle of nowhere, trying to talk to the inhabitant of a decrepit house, with an address that was told to me by somebody who isn't the best reader over a CB radio that really kind of sucks.

The vision of a very large man with a very large beard and an even larger shotgun occurred to my imagination the moment I heard the guy yell at his dog to shut the hell up.

Fortunately, a small man with a grey handlebar moustache poked his head out the door and said, "'bout damn time you got here. I was supposed to get to the Red's Repair to pick up my ride an hour ago. You do know where Red's Repair is, don't you?"

Red's Repair was also in the Wisconsin Countryside. Go figure.