Local forecaster Clint Wetheman had not foreseen he would need to pay someone to shovel the driveway and front walk this year, but two days before the recent snowstorm he threw out his back by turning and reaching for the newspaper on the couch at the same time. He has found things like that have been happening more often lately, and he blames it on that 5G tower over by Tiny’s Texaco at the four-way stop. The world was a lot safer when the invisible beams flying through the air were only broadcasting Salty Brine on the radio and “The Movie Loft” on channel 38. All this new technology is just causing bad eyesight, aching muscles, and liver spots on the backs of your hands.
Clint and a couple of his friends were settled in at Mama’s Muffin Stop, where they generally discuss how things just aren’t the same these days.
“So, I needed to get a kid to clear the snow, but all I could get was a girl,” Clint said, adding a couple more packets of sugar to his coffee. “Would you let your daughter go door to door shoveling snow?”
Burt Borden shrugged, “Well, June’s a partner in a law firm on Martha’s Vineyard, so. . .”
Clint Wetheman snorted. “Wow, I bet out there it costs a hundred bucks minimum to get your snow shoveled. What’s your son-in-law do?”
“I don’t have a son-in-law.”
He didn’t snort that time because he had a mouth full of muffin. “Well, anyway, this child with a shovel, I think she’s a member of that Pawsock clan that lives over the barber shop on Water Street, had the nerve to look me in the eye an’ say clearin’ the walks an’ driveway was gonna be thirty dollars. Three-O. That’s driveway robbery. I used to shovel snow for two dollars and fifty cents. What’s happened since then?”
“Fifty years happened, Clint,” said Ollie Olsen. “Back then you paid a nickel for a chocolate bar, too.”
“Necco Wafers,” said Clint.
“Now there’s your problem,” Ollie retorted. “Necco Wafers prove the Catholics might be right about Hell.”
“Anyway, I talked her into giving a senior citizen discount. Got it all done for twenty-five bucks, which is still way too much.” Clint left two quarters next to his empty mug slid out of the booth. “Now with my savings, I’m gonna stop by the packie an’ get some Canadian Breeze.”
When he was gone, Ollie looked at Burt. “They strip paint with Canadian Breeze. Aged thirty-six months. My grandfather made better stuff out of potato peels and molasses.”
Burt sipped the rest of his coffee. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him, but that girl, Liz Pawsock, an honor student at the high school, offered to shovel the sidewalk of the Five & Dime and the parking area of the Clam Basket next door for twenty dollars. We gave her thirty. Pretty sure she didn’t blow the extra on liquor.”
“If she does, I’m sure it’s smoother than stuff you’d use to clean the carburetor.”
“At least Clint has moved up from cough syrup.”
COPYRIGHT © 2021 by Parker M. Wilcox. All Rights Reserved.
