The Catastrophe

Years ago, my parents had an evening out with two of my dad’s colleagues. It ended in such disaster that the two couples have not really spoken since. I am not sure I blame them.

Both of my parents are warm and open. They love life and people and do not take themselves seriously. At the time, my father was a young professor. He still embodies many characteristics typical of that field: curiosity, impracticality, and woeful time management. My mother is his soul mate in these respects. By contrast, the other couple – both also young professors – takes life, themselves, and their role in academia very seriously. They are fastidiously punctual. They are precise. They are serious. The two couples planned to see an evening production of Shakespeare’s Richard III.

Earlier that day, my sister and I were in the back of the car as my parent’s ran errands. We were quite young. It was hot. One of us (I blame my sister) got sick in the car. My parents, late as usual, raced home. While dad settled details with the babysitter, mom did a hasty cleanup of the back of the car.

My parents then raced over to pick up the other couple, who were impatiently waiting by the curb. They got in the back seat. They went to buckle up. That’s when everyone discovered that the seatbelts, which had been retracted at the time of mom’s hasty car clean, were still covered in vomit. There were profuse apologies. The couple dashed into their home to change their soiled clothes. Mom did a second round of cleaning. There was still just enough time to make it to the play.

The car zoomed off to the theatre, a 30 minute drive away through the country. They had gone halfway there when dad discovered that he had left the tickets at home. So they turned around and roared back to town, got the tickets, and took off again. It was now certain they would be late for the concert. The other couple sat in the back of the car, expressionless.

To save time dad tried “taking the backroads”. This is code for getting lost and driving around blindly in the country. Apparently this is about the time when conversation in the car really “got frosty”. Even dad’s joke that at least they would get there in time to see Richard II went over like a lead balloon.

Finally they arrived. They had indeed missed the first of three acts. In addition, the theatre, assuming they were no-shows, had given away their seats for a sold-out performance.

After some negotiation, the theatre allowed them in to see the next two acts. Since there were no longer any seats, both couples were obliged to sit on steps in the aisle.

They drove home in silence following the performance. A thick fog covered the countryside and they again got lost. Then the fuel light went on in the car. Tensions rose to breaking point.

Thankfully, they managed to coast into town on the last fumes of fuel remaining in the car. The couple got out at their curb without saying a word. My parents limped away, then convulsed in laughter. They have not stopped laughing over that evening for 40 years.

This story is dedicated to mom and dad, with bottomless thanks for your gifts of love, laughter, and for not taking yourselves seriously.

[If you know someone else who might enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them the link to WordsfortheWeary. The more the merrier.]