Neanderpundit

I’m standing in line at Jewel waiting my turn, and ahead of me is this relatively tall woman with two fairly hyperactive kids. She’s relentlessly pushing them out of her way as they try to prevent her from putting her groceries on the belt. She finally gets everything done, writes out her check, and I place my container of juice on the belt. She says “Come on bobby” and reaches behind her and GRABS ME IN THE CROTCH, and as she does, sees both of her kids at the OTHER end of the counter. She turns to look at me- She had grabbed a solid handful, and looks down at her hand as if she suddenly saw a crocodile in it. She lets go as if it was all of a sudden red hot, and gasps. I smile.

She turns as red as any human being I’ve ever seen, and then I say “Hey, it was the high point of MY day” and she turns even redder. She’s so flustered she can barely get her stuff in her cart, and pushes it out into the lot. Just as she’s about to go out the door she turns my way and says “nice, er…. nice!” and red as ever, leaves.

The checkout girl, oblivious to all this, rings up my apple juice and I leave. After waiting for the Phantom Crotchgrabber to pull out of the lot. Didn’t want her to get in a damned accident.

In 72, Dad had several surgeries, so he was off a lot that summer, and we took advantage of that time off to do some camping. We’d leave early inthe AM, and drive off to one of the small INdiana campgrounds like Pokagon or Lake Shaffer.

We were at Pokagon, I think, that time, and my uncle Frank and aunt Rosie had come up to join us. We had an Apache Ramada pop up camper. It was easy enough to put up that I could do it, saving Dad the strain on his most recent stitches.

Mom, my sister, Frank and Rosie were inside playing pinochle and dad and i were siting outside by the fire, watching the sun go down. Next to us was a vacant spot, and we watched as a couple backed in their little Coleman pop-up, and hastily erected it. It was one of the tiny ones, one bunk only, and no hardtop. They left it attached to their car, and flipped it open.

In a minute or two they were inside and beginning to go at it like rabbits. The camper rocked back and forth with some ferocity.

Me: “They forgot to put the struts down”
Pop: “Yep”

The bunks on pop-ups were rarely self-supporting, but had to be held in place by struts or legs that go underneath. The “proper” procedure was to level the camper with jacks, and then put struts up underneath the bunks when folded out.

In less than a minute, the bunk had collapsed, dumping the couple, naked, still…. mounted, on the ground, less than ten feet from Dad and I.

Dad coughed in surprise, and since his pipe was still in his mouth, blew a perfect smoke ring out of the top of his pipe, which rose, amber and red in the light of the woodfire. The couple stared at us in painful astonishment. We stared right back in amused astonishment.

They grabbed clothing from the camper and jumped into it, hastily and incorrectly closed the camper, hopped in the VW notchback and pulled away.

Mom opens the door and sticks her head out. “Did someone pull in next to us?”
Dad: “Nope”

Dad and I looked at each other.

From that moment on, “putting down the struts” was a euphemism we used for getting laid. Just between the two of us.

I have never told this story to anyone else, ever.