There are things that happen in small towns you would never get to see in the Big City. Here’s an example. I was mailing some books at the post office the other day and left the keys in my van, just like I always do when I’m in town.
As we talked, the postmaster, Marie, pointed out the window and said, “I see you’re not alone this morning, but who’s that sitting in your van?”
I looked out the window and saw an older man sitting in the driver’s seat of my van, looking bewildered. Before I could say anything, Marie said, “Oh, I recognize him. That’s Jake Amundson, and he’s in the wrong van. His is parked behind yours.”
I had to admit that the two vans were the same model, but were totally different colorsóand mine has a surfboard rack on top, which is a relative rarity in the Midwest.
The thing that worried me most was that Jake was holding a five-gallon bucket in his lap as he sat in the van. I hoped it wasn’t full of fish bait or something like that. If it was, I might have had more than just a great story to remember the incident!
As we watched, it apparently began to dawn on Jake that he was in the wrong van. He looked between the seats, probably wondering where all those CDs had come from. Marie and I stood back far enough that Jake couldn’t see us, but it was hilarious.
Still, we do live in a small town and there was no need to embarrass the old man, so I waited until he got out of my van, looked sheepishly up and down the street to see if anyone had noticed the bonehead stunt he’d just pulled, and then quickly walked back and got into his own van.
It was a priceless small town moment. I waited until Jake drove away, swore Marie to secrecy, and then left the post office and walked next door to the grocery storeóbut I couldn’t wait to tell somebody! Luckily, Carmen, the cashier, loves to hear my yarns, so I told her about it while she rang up my groceries (discreetly refusing to divulge Jake’s name, and to her credit, she didn’t push).
Carmen laughed and said, “Well, if you want to know the truth, something sort of like that happened to me a while back.”
Now I was intrigued and encouraged her to tell her story.
“I left my car running outside the bank one day,” she said, “and when I came back out, I hopped in and headed for home. I had only gone a block or so when I heard this tiny voice from backseat ask, ‘Where are we going, lady?’”
Carmen looked back and saw a little girl sitting in the backseat! How had she gotten in the car, Carmen wonderedóuntil the truth hit her. In her haste, Carmen had jumped in the wrong car and driven awayówith someone else’s child!
“What’d you do?” I asked, roaring with laughter.
“I went around the block, left the car right where I’d found it, then got in my own car and drove away as fast as I could!”
Apparently no one ever discovered Carmen’s mistake, but I couldn’t help wondering what that little girl’s mother must have thought when her child told her about her short ride around the block with a strange lady while Mommy was in the bank.
Some things can only happen in small townsóbut don’t tell anybody I told you about these two incidents, since lame-brained stunts like those have a long shelf life!
Freelance writer and editor Gary Anderson has published four books of Iowa humor and inspiration. He also owns www.abciowa.com and a publishing company, Paradise Creek Books.
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