Hello everyone. Just got done reading B_Deserter's partial life story and it sent me drifting down memory lane. This is a long, rambly story, so if you're not in the mood, I'd recommend clicking on another thread.
Did you happen to grow up in "God's Country?" You know, a rural or semi-rural part of the country that is far superior morally to the "sin den" I moved to, California? If you're not sure what I'm talking about, then you didn't grow up there. Trust me. Those who still live in God's Country are quite smug about it.
Well as I was reminiscing about my childhood growing up in one of the many "God's Country" States, I remembered working rural territories and some of the situations we encountered. One of those situations was:
The long, steep, rutted, gravel/dirt driveway.
Now I don't know about you folks, but where I grew up, it seemed like every JW had their own version of acceptable rural territory etiquette. A couple guys I can remember insisted on walking up any driveway where you could see the house from the bottom. They felt it was less intrusive. A valid point, except for the almost inevitable territorial dog encounter that would usually ensue. One time a guy took a 2 x 4 that was laying on the ground and whacked the attacking dog while the owner looked on. The dog backed off some and then the owner came out to give us what for. Yeah, that's a nice way to start a conversation.
I definitely preferred driving up to the house to avoid the potential canine conflicts. But then comes the question: Where to park? The most discreet JWs, IMHO, would try to park just out of sight of the front door, so that the householder wouldn't be staring at a car full of Cultists. If the coast was clear of dogs, two dubs would hop out and take the door. That's how a Faithful and Discreet Watchtower Slave goes about it.
Now for the Unfaithful and Indiscreet method. Drive right up to the door, engine still running and then start arguing about who's "turn" it is to go to the door. Make sure you sit there at least one or two minutes before getting your a$$ in gear. Ever have this happen? Real comfortable for everyone concerned. Not.
OK, now for the worst driveway experience I can ever remember. We're out in the country with Brother Gung-ho from the City. He's got this big Ford LTD (FBI style) and he's been beating the $hit out of the bottom of this boat all morning. We get to the last driveway on the road (often the worst maintained) and there's the ubiquitous "No Trespassing" sign. Well, in those days most dubs totally blew these signs off. We're on a mission from the man upstairs and that takes priority. As we scrutinize the driveway, the rest of us are thinking, "Uhhh, how 'bout we write a letter to this one?" (Yeah right. Like one of us is really going to do that. But it makes us feel better to at least say it like it might happen. ) This driveway looks like someting out of the movie "Deliverance". Deeply rutted. More mud than gravel. Steep. Narrow. Curvy.
Brother Gung-ho isn't gonna back down on this driveway. He's already taken lots of ribbing from "God's Country" JWs on plenty of other issues, so he feels testosterone-bound to make it to the top. He guns it. Gravel and mud fly everywhere. Makes it about 1/3 of the way up and spins out. Backs down to the bottom. Take two. 2/3 of the way up. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
The third time is indeed the charm as we roar into the front yard of a very irate old man. Can't imagine why. He's just been listening for the last 5 minutes to the systematic removal of what little gravel was left on his road. And here sit the cultists in his yard in a car covered in mud. Steam pours from under the hood. Brother Gung-ho tries getting someone else to go talk to this potential sheep. None of us budge. So he turns off the engine, (which somewhere during the morning's activities has picked up a couple more exhaust leaks) and climbs out. He is greeted with a torrent of cursing from the old man. He takes about 60 seconds of it before retreating to the safety of the mud cruiser.
It gets worse.
Gung-ho turns the key. RRruurrr. Rrrrurrr. Won't start. This was long before the days of cell phones and of course none of us had AAA road service. Old man looks like he's about to make good on his promise to shoot us the next time we set foot on his property. So we all pile out except for Gung-ho who sits inside the car and attempts to steer while we push him out of the yard. We all hop in as the car clears the edge of the yard and head down the driveway. Ever try steering and braking when the engine's not running on a car with power steering and brakes? Herculean efforts are required. Gung-ho was up to the task. Almost. Gung-ho makes it all the way to the bottom of the drive and takes the last corner a little too wide. Takes out the old man's mail box. Me and another dub walk down to the next house and use their phone to call a friend with a pick-up truck. 45 minutes later the pick-up shows up. He spews gravel all over pulling the LTD mud cruiser out of the ditch and tows us into town. Old man never came down the driveway. The last thing I remember seeing was the mailbox lying in the ditch.
I'm sure someone wrote a letter.
Open Mind