The Stump and the Camaro - An Idiot’s Confession

Sometimes in your life, you do something so incredibly idiotic, so spectacularly stupid, that even though you’re embarrassed you did it, you think that it should be written down for posterity.  This is one of those stories.   

Ummmm...ok, in truth, my wife Carol reminded me that I did it, and threatened to write this story if I didn’t.  So here goes. 

It was December of 1972 and I had been dating Carol for six months.  It was the end of the first semester and we were out of school for about 3 weeks. So, what should two college students with a lot of time on their hands and no money do?  Go to the mall, of course.  Maybe we could scrape up enough cash  for gas money and a trip to McDonalds.  Student nirvana. 

I headed to her house to pick her up at the appointed time, and of course she wasn't ready.   So while I waited on the primping, I decided it would be a good idea to quickly wash my car.  It had rained for a few days, and I figured I could get some of the road grime off of it.  

At the time, a clean car was a high priority with me.  Because  like most 19 year olds, a car was my prized possession. It was a 1969 Camaro - an ugly light green with a black vinyl top.  It was by no means anything  special, but it was mine and I liked to take care of it. 

The garden hose was located in the back of the house, so I opened the double gate of the chain link fence and drove thru. “This won’t take long,” I thought to myself, as I put water and soap in the bucket.  

Within a few minutes, the car was clean, once again a twinkling emerald. Carol finally appeared on the back porch to tell me she was ready, and to meet her out front.  Perfect. This was going to be a good day.  

Or so I thought.  In a matter of seconds,  everything changed.  I cranked the car, put it in gear, and made a tight turn to go out the gate. That’s when I heard it, a dull bump near my rear wheel.  I think I speak for all drivers when I say a dull bump is not a sound you want to hear when you’re in your car.  What’s worse, it suddenly stopped moving. 

So, I did what any self respecting driver would do in this situation -  I stepped on the gas.  The engine raced louder, but the car wasn’t moving. It was as if something was holding it back. 

Something was. When I got out the car and looked underneath,  I made the discovery. I had somehow run over a tree stump - that’s right, a mimosa tree stump that was on a gentle slope of their yard.  Now it was underneath the rear axle impeding my forward progress.   I’m sure you’re  asking yourself, “How can you a miss a tree stump?”  That’s a question that I still don’t have an answer to.    Even though a Camaro is low slung and close to the ground, that’s no excuse. But I do know this was a special kind of stupidity.  It’s not the, “I forgot my wallet”,  kind of stupid.  Oh no. It’s much more. In fact, if there was a Heisman Trophy for morons that year, I would have earned a trip to New York. 

What to do now?  Only one sensible thing:  I screamed  at the car, and kicked the tires.  Carol re-emerged on the back porch. 

“What have you done?”, she asked with genuine concern. Clearly, no matter what question she asked, it was going to met by the same answer, “I’ve got my **** car stuck on a tree stump in your yard!   Why do you even have a tree stump in your yard?”

She replied calmly, “I think the real question is, why is your car stuck on a tree stump in my yard?”

How dare her fight dirty, using calmness and common sense against my anger and sarcasm.  

No matter.  I yelled,” Come over here and help.”  She carefully picked her way to the scene and said, “What do you want me to do?”

“Get in the car.  When I give you the word, step on the gas and I’ll  try to push - maybe that will work.”

She nodded, and got into position. I went to the rear of the car, put my hands on the trunk, girded myself, and shouted,”Gun it!”

She stepped on the gas pedal, and the engine roared.  However,  instead of moving the car forward, the tires spun, sinking the rear end of the car even lower, and absolutely showering me with mud.  In an instant, I looked like a Navy Seal who was trying to camouflage himself.  

I yelled, “Slow, slow!” But over the sound of the engine, she thought I said,”Go, go!”, and accelerated even more.  Now the spinning tires spewed even more mud and water all over me.   

Quickly, I ran away from the car, yelling words at the top of my lungs that a good Methodist would never say.  Come to think of it,  I don’t even know if a rapper would have said them.  I’m sure you could have checked my blood pressure at that moment, and it would have been about 600 over 400.  Steam may have been coming out of my ears, and why not?   This scene had all the makings of a Roadrunner / Wil E. Coyote cartoon.  It would have been hilarious to watch, unless you were Wil E. Coyote, and in this instance, that was me. 

Carol came out of the car, looked at me, and said,”What do we do now?” 

“Well, I don’t think killing you will help anything.” I thought it - didn’t say it.  Instead, I answered,  ”I have no idea,” and sat down on the porch.  I put my muddy head in my muddy hands.   This situation had defeated me.  

Fortunately, Carol’s Mom knew someone who owned a towing service, and within an hour they arrived. I bided my time until they got there by having my clothes washed, while sitting On the couch in a woman’s bathrobe.  It took them about 30 seconds to hook my car up, remove it from the stump, and pull it back in the front yard. And there it stood, once again a muddy mess.  

We got in the car and took off. This time, I scraped up my loose change, and ran it thru a car wash. We didn’t need to go to McDonalds anyway.

Please like and share! 

#dumbestthingieverdid

#istillhearaboutthisone