This really old guy at work, Jasper, was finally going to break down and buy a new car after having no other choice. He wanted to get as bare bones a model as possible, and didn’t even want a radio in the car.
“A radio? Why would I want a radio in my car? They charge extra for that, don’t they? What is it, both AM and FM? I don’t even know the difference, and you know what? I don’t care.
“Back in my day we didn’t have confounded radios in cars to entertain us. Me and my mammy would drive along and have whistlin’ contests. You know, who could whistle the longest, who could whistle the loudest. Sometimes if we got tired of that we’d play Name That Tune by whistlin’ a little ditty and tryin’ to guess each other’s song. Of course, we only had three songs back then.”
(There was no way I was going to tell him that I have media overload in my own car, with my AM/FM, six-CD changer, satellite radio, and auto-suck installed.)
Jasper continued on his nostalgic roll.
“In fact, I think we would get along just fine without these car contraptions. When I was a youngster, we would wait all day for the Pony Express to come along and deliver our mail. I still remember that snorting, fine brown steed dropping road apples as he ran down the dirt path to our farm. Later on, Pa and I would mosey on down to the fishin’ hole for a spell and catch a perch or two. We’d grill those up, untie Ma for a while, and maybe fuck a couple of sheep.”
And it was then, as the old guy was staring skyward, eyes in the back of his head, a little stream of drool slipping down the corner of his mouth, that the clowns came and finally took Jasper away.
The next day, the entire office staff celebrated with special cupcakes. Mine was vanilla with rainbow sprinkles and a little plastic tractor on top. “This is for you, Pops,” I said as I swallowed the tractor and danced the Funky Chicken, to the amusement of all.