This is the final chapter of a six part story
CLICK HERE to read Part One
CLICK HERE to read Part Two
CLICK HERE to read Part Three
CLICK HERE to read Part Four
CLICK HERE to read Part Five
CLICK HERE to read Part One
CLICK HERE to read Part Two
CLICK HERE to read Part Three
CLICK HERE to read Part Four
CLICK HERE to read Part Five
I had thoroughly enjoyed my time with Hog. Lots of fun. Lessons learned. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for the Hog life, after all. Not worth the risk of life and limb. Besides, Cass and I were soon to move to Connecticut for my first job out of college. Baby was on the way, too. So I sold Hog. To Stu. He had always wanted Hog anyway. Just couldn’t afford it the first time. He paid me the outrageous sum of $210, which meant I had made a $35 profit. And I knew Stu would be a great owner.
Thinking back, if I knew then what I know now, I would have kept Hog in storage for 50 years. You know what she’d be worth today? Oh, no less than 50-thousand-dollars. Really. Who knew?
I end my story with another story. Like all my stories, this one is absolutely true. No embellishment required. Before leaving for New England, Cass and I made one more trip across the Peace Bridge into Canada. This time by car, of course. We spent a wonderful couple of days in Toronto. One of the most beautiful cities. Anywhere. Found a little gift store in Yorkville. In those days, Yorkville was like Greenwich Village. Hippie town. Inexpensive. The place to be. A nice little tea pot caught Cass’s eye. We bought it. Something to remember Toronto by. Put it in the trunk of our very old Pontiac. Headed for the Peace Bridge one last time. On our way back to reality. In the U.S. Stopped at the Custom Agent’s booth. No, not the same one as before. Thankfully. Now, before I conclude this story, I must remind you that I had the bushiest beard ever seen on man. And long curls on top of my head. All the way down to my shoulders. Dressed in the garb of the day. You remember, right?
I pull to a slow stop at the booth. The agent eyes me carefully. Real carefully. He looks across at Cass, no doubt wondering what this lovely young lady was doing with me in this car.
“How long have you been in Canada?” he asks.
“Just a couple of days,” I answer.
“Was this a business trip or pleasure?” he prods.
“Pleasure,” I reply.
“Did you purchase anything while you were in Canada?”
“Yes, sir, we did.”
“Anything you’d like to claim?”
This question confused me. Dummy that I am.
“No,” I said.
He looked at me with that hard stare.
“I thought you said you purchased something.”
“Yes, I did.”
“What did you purchase?” Voice now rising.
“Oh, just a little pot.”
End of Story.
© Jeff Resnick 2018
All Rights Reserved
All Rights Reserved
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