The following story is true. It could happen to anyone.
It was June and I was with two buddies fishing the lower Owens River just east of Bishop California. We started mid-morning and were using worms. The morning mist was just beginning to burn off and the temperature was a comfortable 75 degrees. We were drinking coffee and Baily’s and enjoying some fine pastries from a Swedish bakery in town. In an hour of fishing we were fish-less and I had hung up twice in the reeds and had to cut the line both times. We hadn’t seen a soul since we arrived and were thoroughly enjoying the serenity and man lies and practical jokes that happen when you put three middle-aged boys going on twelve together.
Coffee always makes me regular and I usually conduct my morning business like clockwork after a banana and cup of Joe. That morning was no different. I had felt the need to hold a hurried meeting and found a smooth oak tree just off the berm of the road from which to conduct it. The tree sat down perhaps 20 feet from the edge of the road and was by all accounts a lovely work station.
I dropped my shorts to my ankles and braced my back against the tree in a sitting position and waited for the important call. Just as the meeting was solidly getting underway, out of nowhere, as if pre-ordained by the synchronicity of the devil and my two best friends, a station wagon full of kids pulled to a stop directly above me on the road.
The look on their faces was one of bewilderment and awe. The mother appeared ready to scream. I panicked and dropped my business into the direct inseam of my shorts. It was solid, big delivery. I looked up first. All I could see was the mother’s wide eyes. The kids were pointing and laughing. I was in a bind. The business had been parcel posted to the direct in-seam of my shorts. I had to act, or continue to sit against a tree with a carload of boy scouts staring at my lazy ruler and trouser full of snickers.
I reached down and tried to remove the delivery from the depository. Ever tried grabbing a melted Baby Ruth? I was unsuccessful. The mess on the desk had fallen deeply into both pant legs. The One-Minute-Manager forced me to act quickly, before the driver in the car pulled a gun. “Looythere dad, that mans naked! I think he pooped his pants.”
I pulled up my shorts and crab-walked in the direction of my buddies. The brush was too dense; otherwise I’d have disappeared into the woods. The station wagon sped off, with its tires screeching and sending up a huge cloud of dust. That wagon must have done 0 – 60 in five seconds. They never looked back. When my two buddies realized what had happened, as evidenced by my stench and the quick removal of my shorts, they laughed so hard that the heavier of the two, came within an inch of a comical, cardiac arrest.
To this day the interruption of that important business meeting stands as one of my most embarrassing moments.
