The new guy had potential, even if he was an arrogant jerk. My father-in-law, who’d worked at the Fireman’s Fund Headquarters in Marin County for years, had a devilish sense of humor and decided to prank him.
My wife’s parents lived in San Francisco, and her dad, like many of his coworkers, commuted across the Golden Gate Bridge to Marin County across the Bay. The new fellow, who’d just moved to the area, wanted to join my father-in-law’s car pool.
“There isn’t room,” he was told, “but you can follow behind us in your car.”
New guy did.
When they approached the toll booth on the Golden Gate Bridge, my father-in-law paid for his car and told the toll booth operator, “I’m also paying for the car behind me.”
The new guy was surprised when the operator waved him through without payment.
Later at the office, new guy said to my father-in-law, “That was weird. They wouldn’t take money from me on the bridge.”
“Of course they wouldn’t. It’s Blue Car Tuesday.”
“Blue Car Tuesday?”
“Yeah. Blue cars get to cross the bridge for free on Tuesday.”
A week later both cars crossed the bridge and again my wife’s dad paid for the car behind him. Again the new guy was spared from paying.
On the third Tuesday, my father-in-law only paid for his car. When new guy sped through without paying he was startled to find motorcycle cops chasing him as if he were Pretty Boy Floyd. He quickly pulled over.
I still laugh when I imagine the poor fellow rolling down his window and explaining, “But officers, I don’t need to pay! It’s Blue Car Tuesday.”
My eighty-six year old mother is sharp as a tack, and she can be as annoying as sitting on one. She doesn’t do crossword puzzles, which I’m told is good mental exercise for the elderly, so I do my best to keep her mind active. Once a year I ask her the same question: How many “T”s in pizza?
Our last exchange went something like this:
“Mom, how many ‘T’s are there in pizza?”
“Dammit! I hate it when you ask me that. Let’s see—last time I got this wrong. There’s one ‘T.’ No wait a minute; that’s what I said last time and I think I got it wrong. There are two ‘T’s. No, wait just one minute; you’re trying to fool me and there’s only one. Heck, there’s probably two. Stop annoying me with such a stupid question!”
“Your final answer…?”
She sighed. “There’s only one ‘T’ in pitza.”
The same answer that she gave last year.
“Stop shouting at our customers!” the bank manager said.
“Sorry.” I hadn’t realized I’d been yelling.
It was 1977 and I’d only been out of teller school a few months. This was my first week working in a real bank.
The manager came up to my window several minutes later and said, “Our customers are complaining about your yelling. You need to get your ears checked.”
I took the next day off and went to the doctor. He told me I had an inner ear infection. The infection would work its way through both ears and eventually I’d be totally deaf—for a week. I wouldn’t be able to work at the bank, and took the week off. Sue, my wife of three years, also took it off to keep me company.
We were living in San Francisco and this was like a second honeymoon, at first. We’d explore Chinatown and Ghirardelli Square, Fisherman’s Wharf and Golden Gate Park, and at some point during our wanderings I’d turn toward Sue and see an angry face. She’d been talking to me, forgetting I was stone deaf and couldn’t hear a word she was saying. Then she’d get angry with herself for treating me and my affliction so callously. Back in our little apartment on Union Street, Sue stopped asking me to do chores because it was too complicated writing down what needed to be done.
I don’t want to make light of those afflicted with deafness—a permanent loss of
hearing would undoubtedly be devastating—but my experience in a world without sound was…glorious. Of course I had the benefit of knowing my hearing would return completely. But while it was gone I never felt more relaxed, more invigorated and in sync with my other senses. I touched things as if for the first time. Food never tasted so good. San Francisco couldn’t have looked more beautiful. Neither could Sue. When my hearing finally returned it felt like I’d lost something precious. This had been my best vacation ever!
I tried to keep the fact that I could again hear a secret, but Sue wasn’t easily fooled. She snuck behind the chair where I was reading and whispered, “Why don’t we go into the bedroom and you can enjoy my new see-through nightie?”
When I whipped around she was grinning at me. She was dressed in street clothes.
“Nice try,” she said. “Now take out the garbage.”
New guy did.
