Two Recent Adventures: guest post by Tamsin
The first story involves my car, a slick country road, and a (presumed) coyote. And soon, a replacement license plate because Illinois is a two-plate state and Rita’s front plate will never be anything near flat again.
Last Sunday morning I left the farm and headed north, as I am wont to do when going to Metropolita and wishing to avoid the everpresent road repair and construction crews. About two miles from home, and just as I was remarking to myself that everything looked amazingly WET – not just the actual pools of water here and there, but the trees, crops, roadside flowers and grasses, and the road itself – SOMETHING largeish and black-and-tan-ish and possessed of pointy ears and a long tail came leaping out of the flowers and grasses and crossed just in front of my car, or rather just in front of where my car would have been if I hadn’t reflexively stomped on the brake pedal and caused myself to (a) fishtail (from which I could recover on a dry road) and (b) hydroplane (oops, dang, it’s a wet road…) and then (c) spin madly and slide sideways until we (Rita and I, that is) came to a stop with Rita’s rear end in a ditch and her hood – covered with mud and weeds- pointing towards the road.
I got out to have a recce and found that Rita’s rear fender was approximately one inch away (whew!) from the first row of my neighbour’s corn, that all of the books, magazines, garden tools, horse-related junk, etc. that had been occupying various containers in Rita’s back seat and the cargo area was now – along with the upside-down containers – one big jumbled pile in the cargo area, and that Rita’s rear wheels were buried in very wet, deep soil. There was also a big pile of similarly wet, deep soil under her midsection, and her front tires were resting on a whacking great pile of crushed weeds (brome and chickory mostly) with (you’ll never guess) wet, deep soil underneath.
It was a very low-impact event; the airbag didn’t even deploy (probably because I didn’t bump into the steering wheel). It was a VERY hot day (this was several hours before the big storm). So I sat in the car, made a few desultory and useless attempts at rocking it out, and sat some more.
All of this took approximately two minutes. That bit of road is NOT particularly well-traveled, so I was very pleased when a nice red truck came along. I was even more pleased when the occupants turned out to be my boarder Sandy and her husband Joe (“he who is mighty and strong and can do everything”). Joe left Sandy with me – in case I was upset or damaged, I suppose – and drove back home to get a chain for pulling purposes. Sandy said “Wow, if we hadn’t come along you’d still be here in two days!” I was just pointing out that NO, after all, my farm was all of two miles away, half an hour’s walk or a little more, even in the heat… when cars began appearing – FOUR neighbors came by, saw us, stopped, and asked if we needed to be pushed, pulled, given a ride somewhere, brought something to drink… So much for quiet country backroads; I obviously took the road MORE traveled by. And – I have nice neighbors.
Joe returned with his magic chain, managed to get it hooked to Rita and then got her out of the ditch, yay Joe! He was very dirty. I think he had originally been on his way to church… so I pointed out that he still got church points because even on a Sunday it’s okay to get one’s ox out of a ditch, right? so all he had to do was think of Rita (or me?) as his ox. I think I make quite a nice, presentable ox.
Days later, I am still pulling weeds out of various odd bits of Rita – between the tires and the rims, for example, and inside the draw bar for the hitch, and around the headlamps and EVERYWHERE in her undercarriage. And her tailpipe. And of course the word gets around very quickly here, so the next morning at the gym at least five people asked me whether I was okay. I was. I am. I’ll have Rita checked over by my mechanic but I expect – I hope – she’s okay also.
Just, you know, all wet and muddy and weedy, like Ophelia, or the Lady of Shalott. Only, of course, not dead.
* thus endeth Adventure Story The First *
The second adventure story is much shorter and not at all outdoorsy or even physical. Now that I think of it, it’s not even particularly adventure-y, but no matter. It’s a story. It involves two highly amusing telephone conversations with a New York attorney (who sounds suspiciously like a New Jersey attorney, but whatever). I’m trying out an agency that is supposed to provide experts to lawyers in search of experts. We’ll see. They basically double my charges and pay me half, so clearly it’s quite profitable for them if any work actually comes of our association. So far, I’m monumentally unimpressed, because the only attorney who has rung up is this New York fellow who told me several times exactly what conclusions he wanted me to come to, what statements he wanted me to make in court, and what my specific expert opinions needed to be. I said “That’s fine, I understand everything you’ve said, and you’re welcome to retain me. If my review of the case materials and my interviews with interviews with various authorities and other experts lead me to exactly the conclusions you’ve suggested, then of course I’ll be happy to say so.” He hemmed and hawed for some time, and finally said “I have to discuss this with my partner before I can retain anyone.”
(Translation: “You are NOT getting this, and you probably will NOT do!”)
I send a short e-mail to the agency suggesting that they should add a question or two to the information sheet filled out by attorneys, because it would save us all a lot of time if the attorneys were asked to specify whether they wanted
a) a consultant for behind-the-scenes work
b) an expert witness for court purposes
c) a sock puppet
But the agency didn’t seem to think this was a good idea. Rats. These people lack vision! I still think it would be a major time-saver.
In any case, the attorney has now rung back – still not able, apparently, to understand what’s happening, and still, obviously, on the track of the ideal expert who won’t insist on seeing any of those boring old case materials and will cheerfully read or recite his wee script for him in court. This time around, I said “Look, this relationship just isn’t meant to be, you know? You want me to work without any information, and I can’t function that way. If you wanted me to stand up in court and swear that a piece of string was 3′ long, I would STILL need to review the case materials, look at the photos, handle and measure the string, and talk to an engineer – and then I could stand up and say that it was, in fact, (a) a piece of string and (b) precisely 3′ long… unless, of course, the object in question proved to be an 8′ length of hawser or a 5′ length of chain, or a boa constrictor, in which case I could NOT stand up and announce that according to my professional judgement it was a 3′ piece of string. Capisce?”
He was SO not a happy camper. I did my best to explain to him that (contrary to his experience?) not all experts are “guns for hire” and some of us aren’t for sale, and that attorneys – himself included – are welcome to purchase my TIME, which often IS for sale, but my opinions… not so much, in fact not at all. Too bad, so sad.
* thus endeth Adventure Story The Second *
So what did I learn from these adventures/experiences?
1. Don’t drive certain backroads right after heavy rainstorms. Also, boarders can occasionally be useful.
2. If at all possible, take a good hard look at anything that trots across the road in front of the car, and make a quick decision about what to do. Braking might not be the best choice. I might still end up in the ditch either way, but then again I might not. And depending on what it IS, I might actually WANT to hit it. Oh, I wouldn’t want to hit anyone’s dog, perish the thought, or even a comparatively innocent coyote, for that matter, but if the critter trotting across the road happened to be a New York/New Jersey attorney in search of a sock puppet, I just might be tempted.
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