Several years ago, my brother told me
about a colleague that he golfed with. One day after the colleague
relieved himself in the woods, he came out and told my brother, "You
know, if I couldn't piss in the woods, I'd give up golf completely."
Sure, when nature literally calls and
you're in the middle of nowhere, you do what you have to do. But
personally I'm more worried about my reaction if a rattlesnake or
copperhead slithers up while I'm doing my business rather than
embracing the act as some sort of freedom loving, rapturous
experience. As time has gone on, I am apparently in the minority.
Back when we lived almost in the
country, yet still in a housing development of which we were the last
house bordering a somewhat less prosperous development, I walked out
to the backyard one day to mow the lawn. I looked up across the
chain link fence and saw our neighbor relieving himself in his
backyard. Stunned, I didn't know what to do so I just waved. He
waved back, sort of. In his defense, he may have not had indoor
plumbing, but I doubt it.
A few years later, I was at a friend's
house where a big group of mostly guys gathered to brew beer.
Homebrewing is one of those hobbies that's best enjoyed while
drinking beer. And since it takes about five hours, nature will
undoubtedly call. Luckily this house had indoor plumbing; I would
know because I used it. But then I noticed the other guys had some
sort of aversion to walking twenty feet to the house and the
bathroom, because they would just stand by the side of the garage and
let it rip.
I tried to figure out why they couldn't
take the extra two minutes to walk to the house. What would they
miss? Heck, they could even take their beer with them into the
bathroom if they wanted. I finally decided that it was some sort of
bonding experience. By the garage, they were close enough that you
could cheer or shout encouragement if you wanted. Or maybe they were
acting like a pack of dogs where once one dog marked his spot, all
the rest had to do the same on the same spot. I never did bond with
them.
A couple of months ago, St. Pauli Girl
and I sat on the front porch late at night in the dark watching some
seldom seen rain actually fall in our neighborhood. After awhile,
our next door neighbor pulled up in his pickup truck. He has an
interesting relationship with the old widow across the street in that
he mows her lawn, stores his motorcycle in her garage and often parks
his truck in her driveway.
He threw his truck in reverse and
carefully backed into her driveway. We gasped as the truck headed
diagonally across the driveway and toward a tree. He stopped just in
time, straightened it out and successfully parked. He stayed in the
truck for a few minutes with the lights still on. Then he got out in
the rain, went to the side of the garage and proceeded to relieve
himself in her front yard. He then climbed back in the truck, turned
off the lights, and we never saw him come back out. We assumed he
slept in the truck.
"We really need to move out of
this neighborhood," we both said in unison.
I wondered if my brother still played
golf with that colleague. I kind of doubt it after so many years and
moves. But if my brother ever sees him again, I hope he tells the
colleague that he's a prophet. At least in my book.
