The Grass Is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank (9 page)

They grabbed, pawed, sifted through, examined, and tried out anything that wasn't nailed down, but they weren't buying.

“What's the matter with them?” I asked.

“It's your junk. It's priced too high.”

“Too high!” I exclaimed. “These heirlooms? Do you honestly think that $8 is too much for a box of candle stubs? And this stack of boots for $5 each. They don't make rubber like that any more. And besides, who is going to notice if you're wearing a pair that don't match? Dare to be different. And take this potty chair ...”

“For twelve bucks, you take it,” said a potential pigeon. “You can buy a new one for $15.”

I wanted to hit her. “With training wheels? Why, this potty chair can take a kid right into football season. When collapsed, it will fit snugly in an Army duffle bag. It's not for everybody. Only the discerning shopper.”

“You are going to have to lower your prices,” whispered Grace.

Grace was right. Of course, but she should have prepared me for the personality change I was about to experience when I sold my first piece of junk.

I became a woman possessed. As one by one the items disappeared from the card tables and the nails on the side of the garage, I could not stand to see the people leave.

They bought the boots with a hole in the sole, electric toothbrushes with a short in them, a phonograph that turned counter-clockwise, and an underground booklet listing the grades of Harvard Medical School graduates 1927-1949.

The junk began to clear out and I knew what I must do to keep them there. Running into the house, I grabbed dishes out of the cupboards, clothes out of the closets, and books off the shelves.

I snatched my husband's new electric drill and marked it $3. I ripped the phone off the wall and sold it for $1.75. When my son came home from school, 1 yanked him off his bicycle and sold it for $5.

I grabbed a woman by the throat and said, “Want to buy a fur coat for $1 ? I was going to give it to my sister, but she looks like a tub in it.”

“I am your sister,” she said dryly.

To be perfectly honest, I lost control. Grace had to physically restrain me from pricing the baby who was being admired by a customer who cooed, “I'd like to take you home with me.”

It was seven o'clock before the last car left the driveway. I was exhausted mentally and physically.

“Did I do all right?” I asked Grace.

She hesitated, “In a year or two, when you are well again, we'll talk about today.”

“I don't know what happened to me,” I said.

“You were a little excited.”

“Are you trying to tell me I went crazy?”

“I am trying to tell you it was wrong to sell your garbage for 40 cents.”

“But she insisted,” I said.

“By the way,” said Grace, “what's that under your arm? You bought something.”

“It's nothing,” I hedged.

She snatched the package and opened it. “It's your laundry!” she said, “that you keep in a plastic bag in the refrigerator. How much did you pay for this?”

“Two dollars,” I said, “but some of it still fits.”

LAW AND ORDER

Who's Watching the Vacant House? Everyone.

I had only met officer Beekman on two occasions.

The first time was when I inadvertently rammed into my husband's car when I backed out of the driveway and he was summoned by my husband. (The case is still pending.)

The second time was when he helped me over a rather lnid spot in my driver's test by chalking a B on the brake pedal and an A on the accelerator.

“I suppose you are wondering why I have summoned you,” I said as I let him in the front door.

“Yes Ma'am,” he said, removing his crash helmet and his dark glasses.

“My husband and I are going on vacation and ...”

He held up his hand for silence and looked around him anxiously, “Are we alone?”

“I think so.”

“Fine. That is the first rule. Never tell anyone you are leaving.”

“I understand.”

“We handle hundreds of house-watching assignments each year and the key word is: secrecy.”

“Don't people become sorta suspicious when they see a police cruiser in front of the house every night?”

“I don't park in front of the house every night,” he explained, “I just sorta cruise by and give it this.” (His head jerked like he was having a neck spasm.) “Now, the second key word is Jived in. Make your potential burglar believe you are home by leaving on a light or a radio playing. If you'll just tell mo where you are going, when you'll be back, and give me a number where you can be reached, we'll take care of everything.”

“That's wonderful,” I said, seeing him to the door. As he climbed into the car I shouted, “See you in two weeks!”

He touched his finger to his lips and said, “Remember, secrecy is the key word.”

Helen was the first one over after he pulled away. “Why was the police cruiser in your driveway?”

“Shhh,” I said, looking around. “We're all going to Yuuck Village for two weeks and Officer Beekman is going to watch our house to see that no one burglarizes it. Don't tell anyone. He said the key word was secrecy.”

For a change, my husband agreed. “That is the smartest thing you have ever done,” he said. “Who are you calling?”

“Officer Beekman's second suggestion was that the house look 'lived-in.' I'm calling Margo to tell her when we are leaving so she can come in every night and turn on a different light. Then I have to call the paper boys and the dry cleaner—and the postman.”

“What about discontinuing the milkman?”

“Discontinue the milkman? Why don't you just stand out in front of the house in your underwear and hold up a sign reading, 'come in and browse.' Thieves follow milkmen like flies follow a garbage truck. Let me handle this. I'll just have him deliver four quarts every other day like he's always done.”

“Won't the crooks get suspicious when he drinks all four quarts and takes the empties back to his truck?”

“He'll just rattle a few bottles and pretend he's delivering,” I sighed. “Now, where was I? Oh yes, I have to tell Mike we're leaving so he can come over and cut the grass, and Mark so he can plant garbage in our cans and put them at the curb on garbage day and ...”

“I don't believe this,” said my husband.

“You'd believe Maybcllc Martin, wouldn't you? She .and Dave were going to Disneyland for a few days. She dressed up her sewing form in a pants suit and a wig and propped it against the mantel with a drink in its hand. lirr house was robbed the next morning. They took almost everything but the form. Do you know what gave her away?”

“Someone noticed she had a pole for legs?”

“The ice cubes in her drink melted and even crooks know no one stands around with a warm drink in his hand.”

“You have told seven people already that we are leaving. How many more are you going to tell?”

“Well, I have to tell Charmaine to bring her children over to play in the yard, and Frederika said to call when we leave so she can bring her dog over on a weekend to bark. Naturally, I'll have to call my hairdresser, my clean-ing lady, my insurance agent, my car pool girls ...”

“That's sixteen.”

“My Avon lady, AAA, the soft-water man, the utility meter reader, the Cub pack ...”

“That's thirty-three.”

“Of course our family vet and the check-out girls at Willard's market, my foot doctor, the guys at Bufford's service station, our minister and Miss Baker, who does that chatty column in the Tattler . . .”

“Roughly, how many people are you telling we are leaving town?”

“About 683.”

“Why don't you just take an ad in The New York Times?”

"Glad you reminded me. Grace said a great way to get phone calls while you are gone is to put an ad in the paper selling a toaster or something.

“Or you might even let a dozen insurance agents think you are in need of a good liability policy. There is nothing like a ringing telephone to scare robbers away from an empty house.”

“I think you are overreacting to the entire situation,” said my husband. “All these elaborate measures to make the house look lived-in are insane. If you get any more people running in and out of here, we'll have to stay home and park cars.”

We both dropped the subject until a few days ago when my husband came into the kitchen where I was preparing dinner. “I met an interesting fellow today in the garage where I park my car,” he said. “He arrived here two days ago from Chicago. When I introduced myself he said, ”Oh, you're the fellow who is going to Yuuck Village for ten days beginning the fifteenth of next month."

“How could he have known that?” I asked, my mouth falling open.

“It seems his wife's nephew had a corn removed by a foot doctor who attended a cookout the other night at the home of our meter reader.”

“Gas, electric, water, or taxi?” I asked carefully.

“It's not that important,” he continued. “What was rather interesting was a story he told me regarding their vacation last summer. He said they were only gone a matter of hours when their house was ransacked. Picked clean.”

“Didn't I tell you!” I shouted triumphantly. “Let me guess. They forgot to leave a radio playing low so burglars would hear sound. Or they didn't hire a cat to sit in their window. I got it. They didn't plan a party in their house while they were gone or leave bicycles lying around in the driveway.”

“They did all of those things,” my husband said softly.

“Then what did they forget?” I shouted.

“To lock the front door.”

Suburbian Gems Police Blotter

Stolen grocery cart spotted

Dog complaint

Fire hydrant buried by snow

Officer requested for women of the moose law enforcement appreciation dinner

Summons issued for DWI, driving with 0.10 percent or more alcohol in bloodstream and illegally parking in lobby of drive-in bank

Woman having trouble with neighbors

Rescue unit answered call of cat in dryer

Went to gas up police car and pump went dry

Report of strange-acting car. It was running well

Call from supermarket that young male trying to purchase beer for his sister to shampoo hair

Found door open at town hall. Nothing missing

Woman reports harassing telephone calls from ex-husband

Owner of dog in heat demands thirty dogs be evicted from his property

Had brakes and drums replaced on police car

Young boy hitchhiking claims he was running away from home. Sought assistance in crossing highway

Bread delivery tipped over on sidewalk. Notified store manager. Restacked bread

Report of septic tank odors

Checked out burgled car wash coin box

Got police car washed

' Woman reported car lights in cemetery. All three cruisers responded to call

Women reported large dog from next door deposited a mound the size of Mt. Olympus on their lawn each morning. Requests gun permit

Man reports having trouble with house builder. Thinks wife may have been harassed. His attorney working on problem

Bicycle stolen while chained to bike rack

Supermarket reports bike rack stolen

Restaurant files missing report for twelve steaks and five bottles of booze. Possible party in progress

Flat tire on police car fixed at garage

Illegal burning of leaves at 8486 N. Platinum Lane

Bad check returned to woman who thought her husband had made deposit

Fire gutted Suburbian Gems library. Loss estimated at $143.95

Subject observed urinating in parking lot

Man reports kid plugging flow of creek

Principal holding suspected drug user. Subject revealed pills to be breath mints

Private citizen complains churchgoers blocking his driveway every Sunday. Warned of legalities in letting air out of tires

Officer requested to speak to Rotary Club on “Crime! It's a jungle out there!”

Officer called to investigate dirty word scratched on exit ramp freeway sign. Sign out of jurisdiction. Also misspelled

Expectant mother requested assistance in getting out of compact car

PUT YOUR WINNEBAGOS INTO A CIRCLE AND FIGHT!

You couldn't help but envy the Merediths.

Every weekend, they left their all-electric, three-bedroom, two-bath, w/w carpeted home with the refrigeraition and enclosed patio and headed for Trailer City.

Here, these thrill-seekers parked their trailer between a tf'nt holding thirty-five people, and a public toilet. They did their laundry in a double boiler, cooked over an inverted coffee can, killed mosquitoes that had their own air force, and watched the sun set over a line of wet sleeping bags.

We never dreamt that someday we too could escape all of our conveniences and head beyond the suburbs where the air smelled like kerosene and the streams were paved with discarded beer cans.

Then one day my husband pulled into the driveway with a twenty-one-foot trailer hooked behind the car.

It was the biggest thing that had happened in the neighborhood since home milk deliveries. The entire neighborhood turned out to inspect it.

Standing in the middle of the trailer, I felt like Tom 'I'humb. It looked like a miniature doll house. Those dear little cupboards. The little beds. The little stove. The miniature doors and windows. The tiny closets. What fun it would be keeping house. Of course, there would have to be a place for everything and everything would have to be in its place, but I could hardly wait to hit the open road.

“You know,” said my husband, “it might be even more fun if we went with another family.”

“You're right,” I said. “Things are much better when they are shared.”

“Are you thinking about the same couple as I am thinking?”

“Get serious,” I said. “Who else would I be thinking of but Eunice and Lester?”

Eunice and Lester had moved to Suburbian Gems the same time as we. Their two children were between our three agewise and there had never been a cross word between us.

“Lester is a prince,” said my husband. “Why I'd use Lester's wet toothbrush.”

“And I've never had a sister closer to me than Eunice,” I mused. “If Eunice was pregnant, I'd volunteer to carry it for her.”

We called Eunice and Lester that night and together we planned a two-week vacation. Originally, we talked about the first of June but Lester had an appointment to have his teeth cleaned and he needed a few days to get back on his feet and Eunice's horoscope forbade her to travel until her sign got off the cusp, so we juggled the schedule around and came up with the first two weeks of July.

The Mayflower never had a bigger send-off. The four of us packed provisions for three months. There were Eunice's astrology charts and her wok (“I never go anywhere without my wok”), and Lester's pills and ointments and of course the gear brought by their children Beezie and Wendyo: a four-by-six baseball return net and an inflated walrus (which when we tried to deflate threw Wendyo into terminal paranoia), the food and the extra linens, and the motor for the boat—but it was fun.

Then we all waved good-bye and climbed into the wagon and were off. “Isn't this going to be fun?” I said, clasping Eunice around the waist.

“Watch it!” she winced. “My kidneys.” “What's wrong with your kidneys?” I asked. “Nothing, now that your son has his guitar out of them.”

“Maybe we should trade,” I giggled. “I'll take my son's guitar out of your kidneys if you take your son's bubble gum out of my left eyelash.”

We both laughed so hard we almost fell out of the car.

Several miles out of town a pattern began to form. Our two families and our little travel trailer were only part of a caravan of campers which snaked in a thin line all the way across the United States.

At one point, we tried to pass a motorcycle, which was attached to a U-Haul, which was pulled by a trailer, which was hooked to a boat, which was hitched to a Volkswagen, which was being towed by a station wagon laden with vacationers.

They were all winding around the highways looking for the same thing—a picnic table. Hours passed and everywhere we went it was the same story. Someone had gotten there first. I looked at the children. Their faces were white with dust, one was coughing from exhaust fumes, and the others were staring silently with hollow, vacant eyes out of the rear window.

“Maybe,” I said, touching my husband's arm gently, “we should turn back. We should never have left the suburbs to come to this God-forsaken scenic route. It's not for myself, I'm begging, but—for the children. Soon they are going to need fresh air ... fresh fruit. . . restrooms ...”

“Just hang on a little longer,” said my husband. “I heard at the last pit stop there was a picnic area about eight miles down the road.”

“Do you suppose it would have a shade tree nearby?” I asked. “Don't get your hopes built up,” he said. “It was just a rumor.”

We bumped along another ten miles when Eunice spotted it. “Look! A picnic table!”

Tears welled in my eyes. “All right, children, get ready. The moment the car slows down, you all jump out and run over and throw your bodies across the table until we can park and get there.”

They poised their bodies at the door ready to spring when panic set in.

“There's an Airstream coming in at four o'clock,” said Lester.

“There's also a four-wheel drive bearing down over the ridge,” said my husband, shifting gears.

We all skidded in in a cloud of dust as the children spilled out of the cars and flung themselves on the table. When the dust had settled, we discovered we had all been too late. A dog was tied to the picnic table to stake it out for another camper.

We pulled our vehicles into a circle to plan our next strategy.

Somehow, after a dusty lunch standing around a gas pump, we all felt better and continued on toward the Ho Hum Campgrounds, arriving around dusk.

“Parking the trailer is a little tricky,” said my husband. “I'd appreciate a little help.”

“What are fellow-campers for?” said Lester. “I'll direct you from the front.”

“And I'll stand near your left rear wheel,” chirped Eunice.

“I'll stand near your right rear wheel,” I said, saluting smartly, “and the children can relay any messages you can't hear.”

My husband pulled up and started to back in.

“Turn your wheels,” yelled Lester.

“Which way?” answered my husband.

“That way!” said Lester.

“What way is that way?” returned my husband.

“To the left,” said Lester. . “Your left or my left.”

“Your left.”

“Hold it!” screamed Eunice.

“What's the matter?” yelled my husband, jamming on the brakes.

“Not you,” yelled Eunice, “him.'”

“Who me?” yelled Lester.

“No, Beezie. He's making those faces at Wendyo again find ...”

“For crying out loud, Eunice,” snapped Lester. “This is no time to yell at the kids.”

“Okay, when Wendyo cries, I'll send her to you.”

“What did I just hit?” yelled my husband.

“Just a tree limb,” I shouted.

“I can't see. It's on my windshield.”

“You should have been watching for him above,” said Eunice.

“It wasn't my side, sweetie,” I purred.

“Turn! Turn!” shouted Eunice.

“Which way?”

“The right way.”

“Not right,” yelled Lester. “She means left.”

“Don't speak for me, Lester,” said Eunice, “I can speak for myself.”

“Are we level?” asked my husband.

“What's this little hole for?” I asked.

“Where is it?” asked my husband.

“Right here in front of me,” I said.

“I mean where is it?”

“Under your tire.”

“Good heavens, that's my hook-up.”

“Straighten it up,” said Lester.

“Pull forward,” said Eunice, “you've only got this far.”

“How far?” asked my husband.

“Look at my hands,” said Eunice.

“I can't see your hands,” said my husband.

“I can see them,” said Lester, “and she's crazy. You got another three feet back there.”

“Let's just leave it,” said the driver, “until it stops raining.”

“It's not raining,” said Lester, “you just hit a water hook-up on the next trailer.”

“My God,” I groaned as the water hit me, “and me without a hairdresser for two weeks.”

“Moooommmmmeeeee,” whined Wendyo.

“Did I tell you, Lester?” (To Wendyo:) “Tell your father.”

“What is she doing out of the car?” yelled Lester.

“If you get your foot run over don't come skipping to me, Missy.”

“Dad! If Wendyo is out of the car, how come we can't get out?”

“I think we're in quicksand,” I yelled. “The car and the trailer are sinking.”

“It is not sinking,” said Lester. “The tire is going flat.”

My husband got out of the car. It had taken nine people and forty minutes to help him back into a spot that was a pull-in . . . accessible by two roads.

The next morning, we all felt better about our togetherness—so much so that I decided to keep a diary.

the first day: This is going to be such fun. All of us have a job on the duty roster. The children are in charge of firewood. Lester is the camp doctor. Bill is in charge of camp maintenance, and I am the house mother. Eunice is the social director and is picking out songs to sing around the campfire.

The men are having a wonderful time. As Bill said this morning, “That Lester is a prince. Do you know what he is doing? He is out there fixing the motor already.”

“What's wrong will) the motor?” I asked.

“The pin dropped out of it in 12 feet of water at the dock.”

“Who dropped it?”

“Lester did, but it was an accident. He reached back to swat a mosquito and lost his balance. Lester said he had a balancing problem.”

1 can believe that.

the second day: As Eunice was out on a nature hike with the children (they are labeling trees) Bill said, “What are you doing?”

“Washing out the public garbage cans,” I said. “As Eunice pointed out, you don't know where they've been. She is so meticulous. You know, we are so lucky. Can you imagine spending two weeks with a couple of slobs? Yuuuck.”

the fifth day: Didn't mean to miss so many entries in my diary, but I've been so busy. Isn't it funny, the things you worry about never happen. I was wondering how two cooks could occupy this little kitchen. Eunice hasn't been in the kitchen but once since the night we got here. It's not her fault. Poor dear has been trying to find a store in the area that stocks bean curd cakes and lotus roots for the wok.

Lester is a klutz. I don't know how poor Eunice stands it. Always running around with a nasal spray hanging from his nostril. Right after he dropped the pin from our motor in the water, he dropped our flashlight down the only outdoor convenience. It's still down there lit. Now we can't see where we're going— only where we've been.

I have to tell myself fifteen times a day that Lester was wounded at Ft. Dix when he stapled his elbow to a private's request for transfer.

the sixth day: What kind of animals leave hair in a brush on the kitchen table? At first, I thought it was little Beezie or Wendyo but neither of them has combed his hair in a week. It has to be their parents.

Tonight, just to break the monotony, we invited the Parkers over from the next trailer to spend the oven inn, Eunice told that amusing story she tells about the nun not knowing what to order in the bar and having a little booze in a coffee cup. I love the way she tells it. Eunice is funny. Her horoscope told her she was going to have an adventure on water. I hope so. I've carried every drop of it!

the ninth day: This trailer is driving me up the wall. There's more room in an oxygen tent and it's better arranged. The other day I took the cap off the toothpaste and had to open the window.

The refrigerator holds a three-hours' supply of meat, the oven makes one piece of toast at a time, the sink converts to a bed, the bucket doubles as a bar stool, and yesterday when Lester and Eunice slept late, we had breakfast on Lester's chest.

Tonight, Eunice sleeps with the wok!

the eleventh day: As I said to Bill when we undressed for bed, “How long have we known Eunice and Lester?” He said, “About six years,” and I said, “Isn't it strange that we never noticed that Lester snorts when he laughs. When Eunice told that ethnic slur about the nun again, he sounded like a '38 pickup truck with water in the fuel line.”

“He's a prince though,” said my husband. “I mean the oil slick wasn't really his fault. He was only trying to wash the dust from our car by backing it into the lake and just accidentally hit the crankcase with a rock. It would never have happened had he not had one of his blinding migraines.”

the twelfth day: Are you ready for this? King Lester said this evening, “Why didn't you tell us the mosquitoes were so bad this time of year?”

“If Eunice had gotten off her cusp in June, there wouldn't have been any mosquitoes,” I said. “Besides, my kids have taken all they're going to take from Heckle and Jeckle or whatever you call your two weak chins with the overbite.”

“It's not the season,” said Eunice bitterly. “It's the fact that your children are on the threshold of puberty and still don't know how to close a door.”

“Speaking of doors,” I said, “when was the last time you opened an oven, refrigerator, or cupboard door?”

“I suppose my braised prawn sandwiches did not meet with your middle-class taste?” she snarled.

“I don't pretend to be a connoisseur of bait.'”

“Just a second, Erma,” interrupted Lester, “if it hadn't been for Eunice's wok, we'd have starved to death.”

“Only because you used my only large cooking pan to store a snapping turtle for Sneezy.”

“That's Beezie!”

“It's one of the seven dwarfs!”

“Someone had to play with the children,” said Lester, “since Bill was too busy cleaning out his tackle box.”

“Only after you spilled the suntan lotion all over the lures. Fat Fingers.”

“Hold it!” I said. “We are all exhausted from having such a good time. Let's sleep on it.”

the thirteenth day: Tomorrow we go home. No more marshmallows catching fire and burning black. No more sand in the butter. No more bathing suits that smell like fish. No more soggy crackers.