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Not in Kansas Anymore

Not in Kansas Anymore

It was a crazy month leading up to our wedding. I got pulled over by a cop one evening. It had been a long day – school in the morning and work at night. Since I was now an assistant manager at the UA Cinemas 150 and 70, I had the responsibility to stay until after the shows were out and lock up. By the time I hit Mercer Island on my way home my Roadrunner was slowing below the speed limit and wandering a bit. Or so the officer told me. He was suspicious that I had been drinking. I assured him that “no officer, I’m just tired.” I guess I passed muster on that count for he let me off with just a warning.

The day of our wedding was both memorable and a blur. We were so thankful to my folks for their insistence that we take time after the ceremony to take dinner with them and the rest of our new extended families before departing on our honeymoon. Besides my (now our) Roadrunner was a mess. Neither Karen’s folks’ home nor mine were adjudged safe places to hide it. We had parked it in a large shopping center lot in hopes that the crew at the Renton Cinemas could not find it to practice their mischief on. We were unsuccessful.

But we were not stressed at all about it. And that was due to the efforts of my sterling best man Dave. We did not learn what had been done to it until he had taken care of the problems. He retrieved it after the ceremony, but he had to clean it out before he could even drive it – it had been stuffed full of popcorn and ballons – about three garbage cans full. He cleaned off the shaving cream that decorated the outside. And then there were the hubcaps that had been taken off and stuffed full of dirt and pennies that rattled around when he tried to drive away.

So we were relaxed and no longer in a blur when we set out on the road for our honeymoon destination, Victoria, BC. Now as you may know you cannot “drive” to Victoria, you have to take a ferry. And we set our first stop – Anacortas – from where we would depart from its ferry terminal the next morning. I’ll never forget the sight we saw as we were driving into this town that evening. There is an oil refinery just outside town that was visible against the night sky, bathed a bright green light looking for all the world like the Emerald City from the Wizard of Oz.

And like Dorothy, when we woke up the next morning, we knew that we were not in Kansas anymore.

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About rwoz2

Poet, historian, writer for stage and screen. Responder to Jesus (Romans 5:8)

2 responses to “Not in Kansas Anymore

  1. John Evans ⋅

    My best man and I hid my ’61 Chevy convertible in the parking garage under the motel Jill and I’d be staying in the night of our wedding. Joe drove us from the church and to our various destinations that evening in his new, black, ’68 Cougar. Nobody got a hand in the Chevy, so you can imagine my surprise and laughter when, a week or so later, a good buddy asked how I liked what he and other friends had done to my car at the wedding. Someone was undoubtedly unhappy when they wanted to drive somewhere. I imagine they had quite a chore on their hands, just getting their Chevy convertible driveable!

    • rwoz2

      Strange customs we have here in these United States. The friends of my folks made my Dad push his bride down Main Street in a wheelbarrow before they let them go.

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