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Post by jackscrap on Mar 3, 2024 22:48:28 GMT
Over the weekend we went on some questionable roads, single lane, gravel surfaces and around some very tight corners. Either someone has ditched this piano on purpose or it has fallen off the back of a truck, either way it's played its last tune.   |
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Post by BuckSkin on Mar 4, 2024 5:04:48 GMT
either way it's played its last tune
I bet it fell off a truck; someone like my father or my father-in-law or my neighbors no doubt; as, no matter how many things they lose out of the truck, they have this inbred abhorrence to strapping things down.
I will be strapping and chaining a load and my father-in-law will be following me around the trailer trying to convince me that I am wasting my time, days after he has lost something himself --- they never learn.
Way back when I was five-yr-old, my mother purchased an antique chair and settee (love seat) in a neighboring town.
Later that day, my father, mother, and I hooked a homemade trailer behind his 1946 Dodge Coupe complete with "Fluid Drive" three-on-the-column (Google it), and went to retrieve her purchases.
I was intrigued with having that homemade trailer following along everywhere we went and stood in the back seat looking out the back window; no need for seat-belts and car seats; we didn't intend on having a wreck.
Once we got there and got said chair and settee on the trailer, the antique dealer came out with a big spool of grass string (hay baler twine) and offered to help my father tie them down.
"No; there ain't no need for that; I believe they will ride just fine" and away we went, me standing in the seat looking out the back glass, watching the show.
I noticed the chair sort of lift up a couple times; and then, when we set into the Creamy Whip Curve, it jumped clean out of the trailer and slammed itself into cook wood right in front of a big black Pontiac which proceeded to run straight over it and finish it off.
I spoke up and tried to make my parents aware of the situation and quickly got told off for my troubles "You hush up back there; us grownups are trying to talk; see this switch I've got here; I will peel the hide off the back of your legs if you don't shut up."
I kept my silence the rest of the way.
When we arrived and they finally noticed the missing chair, suddenly it was all my fault; "Why, you were supposed to be watching; why didn't you say anything; where did we lose it; why didn't you speak up ?" all the while trying to remove several layers of my skin with that peach-tree limb.
They unloaded the settee and we headed back; I didn't see any need to try and explain that it was a wasted trip; they never ever listened to me anyway; I reckon they thought they would find that chair sitting unharmed in the middle of the road.
When we made it back to the Creamy Whip Curve, the location of the missing chair was no longer a mystery; it looked like a plane load of furniture had fell out of the sky and crashed.
I never did learn the fate of the big black Pontiac; they were most likely too busy making evasive maneuvers and trying to not get killed to make notice of the license plate numbers; and, besides, that old homemade trailer had the plate obscured from view anyway.
Of course my mother, who I have long since decided must be Satan's older sister, never missed an opportunity to bring up the fact that those guys done all but beg my father to tie things down, were even providing the string, and he adamantly over-rode them.
I wouldn't doubt for a minute that my father has resurrected down there in Australia and went into the piano moving business; you have the photographic evidence to the fact. |
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Post by BuckSkin on Mar 4, 2024 5:15:18 GMT
either way it's played its last tune. |
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