My poor grandmother really has no choice but to believe her first grandson (not oldest, because screw you) is on drugs. Not prescription ones like Oxycontin. Not vaguely legal but not exactly completely legal ones like marijuana. Nope, she has to think I've got a heroin needle sticking out of my arm while doing lines of coke and washing it down with some crack and/or crystal meth. (Too soon for an Amy Winehouse picture? Yeah, probably too soon.) And something something acid and shrooms. For the record, and in case I ever decide to run for office, I'm not. (That's almost entirely true. As far as you know.)
Why would she think this?
I'm glad you asked. (No, I really am. Thank you for not assuming all of the above was true. It means a lot.) So I'm in the car, heading home, when I hear the soothing sounds of the Emergency Broadcast System interrupt a song. And holy crap, it was a real one! Not a test! This was exciting! Tornado warning! Like right this minute! Get in the basement! Kiss your ass goodbye if you live in a trailer! Woohoo!! (Hey, I live in Connecticut. This is how we do excitement here. It's either that or throw things at the Yale kids, and the New Haven PD doesn't have the sense of humor they used to.)
But then, disaster! (Because tornadoes are only disastrous when they're within 10 miles of you or someone you care out.) A house in Goshen had its roof torn clean off. Where do my grandparents live? If you guessed Goshen, you would be correct. So I run and grab the phone. I just happen to have it right then. Usually Tara does. It must be fate! I call my grandparents, and my grandmother picks up. And really, thank God for that. Not only does it mean they are NOT halfway to Oz already, but also because it wasn't my grandfather who picked up. I love Grampa, I honestly do. But his half of the conversation consists entirely of "Yellow!" (which is how he answers. One of these days I WILL have the guts to say "purple!" and hang up. But not today) and "Uh-huh" and "yeah" in various combinations. (My mom reads this blog. She will vouch for me.)
Getting back to the phone call, I mentioned that I "ran" to get the phone. If I'm being honest, it was more of a brisk walk. And it was a maximum of 5 steps. If I'm also being honest, I'm not in the best shape of my life. Pear-shaped is not the best shape, although it is a delicious one. So I was a tad winded when Grammy (shut up) picked up. "Radio... tornado... Goshen... roof... all gone... Toto..." is more or less what I was able to get out.
Nope. No tornado.
(What?? A house. Had its roof. Torn off. In your town. And that town is about the size of a Walmart parking lot. Odds are, you should be in the basement with the dog and some rosaries or something.)
Yeah, no. It's sunny. No wind, either.
(*Blink blink.* No. Sorry, but you're wrong. It's a tornado in a town that doesn't have a police department, just one (one) resident state trooper. How would you not know this?)
Ok. But there's still no tornado.
That last part was said in a tone of voice that is exclusive to grandmothers who just discovered that their first (still not oldest, don't start) grandchild is doing enough drugs to make Keith Richards say "Woah, dude. You have a problem." I was confused. It's a tiny town (in case you didn't pick up on that). The hell is going on? Are my Gram's marbles not all where they should be? Oh God. They live alone. I'm gonna have to move up there.
Right. Did you know that "Goshen" isn't a town name exclusive to northwestern Connecticut? Did you know that there's also one in upstate New York? The same upstate New York in which a god damned tornado had touched down just minutes before I made my wheezing call to my "sunny and no wind" town-living Grandmother?
Because I do now.
Why would she think this?
I'm glad you asked. (No, I really am. Thank you for not assuming all of the above was true. It means a lot.) So I'm in the car, heading home, when I hear the soothing sounds of the Emergency Broadcast System interrupt a song. And holy crap, it was a real one! Not a test! This was exciting! Tornado warning! Like right this minute! Get in the basement! Kiss your ass goodbye if you live in a trailer! Woohoo!! (Hey, I live in Connecticut. This is how we do excitement here. It's either that or throw things at the Yale kids, and the New Haven PD doesn't have the sense of humor they used to.)
But then, disaster! (Because tornadoes are only disastrous when they're within 10 miles of you or someone you care out.) A house in Goshen had its roof torn clean off. Where do my grandparents live? If you guessed Goshen, you would be correct. So I run and grab the phone. I just happen to have it right then. Usually Tara does. It must be fate! I call my grandparents, and my grandmother picks up. And really, thank God for that. Not only does it mean they are NOT halfway to Oz already, but also because it wasn't my grandfather who picked up. I love Grampa, I honestly do. But his half of the conversation consists entirely of "Yellow!" (which is how he answers. One of these days I WILL have the guts to say "purple!" and hang up. But not today) and "Uh-huh" and "yeah" in various combinations. (My mom reads this blog. She will vouch for me.)
Getting back to the phone call, I mentioned that I "ran" to get the phone. If I'm being honest, it was more of a brisk walk. And it was a maximum of 5 steps. If I'm also being honest, I'm not in the best shape of my life. Pear-shaped is not the best shape, although it is a delicious one. So I was a tad winded when Grammy (shut up) picked up. "Radio... tornado... Goshen... roof... all gone... Toto..." is more or less what I was able to get out.
Nope. No tornado.
(What?? A house. Had its roof. Torn off. In your town. And that town is about the size of a Walmart parking lot. Odds are, you should be in the basement with the dog and some rosaries or something.)
Yeah, no. It's sunny. No wind, either.
(*Blink blink.* No. Sorry, but you're wrong. It's a tornado in a town that doesn't have a police department, just one (one) resident state trooper. How would you not know this?)
Ok. But there's still no tornado.
That last part was said in a tone of voice that is exclusive to grandmothers who just discovered that their first (still not oldest, don't start) grandchild is doing enough drugs to make Keith Richards say "Woah, dude. You have a problem." I was confused. It's a tiny town (in case you didn't pick up on that). The hell is going on? Are my Gram's marbles not all where they should be? Oh God. They live alone. I'm gonna have to move up there.
Right. Did you know that "Goshen" isn't a town name exclusive to northwestern Connecticut? Did you know that there's also one in upstate New York? The same upstate New York in which a god damned tornado had touched down just minutes before I made my wheezing call to my "sunny and no wind" town-living Grandmother?
Because I do now.
4 comments:
LMAO!!!! I can picture some of this going on, and you getting this face while trying to spit it out to your Grams and her being like " No, its Sunny.." and looking at the phone. Nice Josh!! JL
Yep, that's pretty much exactly how I pictured her, too. Poor Gram.
I will absolutely vouch for "Yellow" and "Uh-huh." The "Yeah"? Not so much. I used to have to pay him a nickel if I said yeah instead of yes. True story.
LMAO...so needed this in my otherwise tornado-ish life at present. ;)
Post a Comment
Comments: