A Man’s Worst Social Nightmare

Help came from a most unlikely source

Photo by Mario Amé on Unsplash

Warning: if you live in the suburbs, don’t be the only one in your neighborhood to own a pickup truck. You will be guaranteed a certain notoriety with those who may want to borrow it for any number of reasons.

Like: Hauling dirt to cover the towns Little League field ( how could I refuse, both my boys played ); letting the family down the block take their belongings to the Jersey Shore for the entire summer and back at the season’s end; every fall when the local kids report back to far flung colleges and universities, their parents plead to borrow the truck.

Joe Hamon (a neighbor) borrowed my pickup last year for his family’s shore run. He must have dropped the clutch so much on the damn thing it cost me $500 to get fixed. He, of course, denied it but the clutch was fine when he took the truck and slipping when he brought it back — you tell me!

I offered to split the cost of the repaired clutch. That fucker wouldn’t even do that!

I felt like giving him two smart raps in the chops!

I disliked him intensely after that little ha-ha.

Preparing

We’ve all had them. A seasonal get-together with the neighbors. They tend to be more important than they should be. The women looking at how everyone else has aged. The men comparing business triumphs.

“It’s not enough to succeed, others must fail” attitudes almost always prevailed between genders.

My wife and I, not in a position or of disposition to have the party catered, worked our butts off to make everything as perfect as we could.

After all, we knew full well our neighbors would be judging us on how we ran the gathering.

I knew we’d rise to the occasion. I didn’t like the fact cheap-ass, disagreeable Hamon would be there. He WAS a neighbor though and his wife was my wife’s friend. My kids hung out with his too.

The party

People started to file in for the Saturday evening affair around 7:30.

Eventually there were close to 40 people, mostly families from the block.

That damn Hamon was there but kept his distance.

I tried to hustle around, being the congenial host. Mingled with some folks I hadn’t seen for a year.

“Mrs. Bell, what a delightful sweater real autumn colors”

“Johnny, how’s that hamster? Still alive and kicking hee-hee!

“Hey George, I saw that fish you pulled in, much of a fight?”

Host stuff like that!

I also minded my drinking.

Redemption

One curious thing though.

About a half hour into the frivolity, I felt people looking at me and holding their gaze a couple of seconds longer than natural. At first I thought it was because I looked so nice, specially dressed for the party.

But, I could only speculate.

It was then I saw Joe Hamon staring at me. I wondered whether he wanted to start something right then and there.

Back at him with the stare.

I caught his eye and noticed an almost imperceivable nod of his head. It was meant for me.

What’s that fucker want now?

While holding my gaze I saw his right hand make an upward motion.

His nod and his eyes subtlety fixed on my groin area now, he still hadn’t uttered a word.

I peered down, just below my waist, I saw the object of his attention.

While dressing for the party I had inadvertently left the fly on my pants open — bad enough. Making matters even worse, my shirt-tail was sticking out of my unzipped fly.

What a disaster! I excused myself, leaving my current conversation partner, and went into the downstairs powder room to straighten things out.

I almost kissed Joe Hamon on the way for bringing it to my attention without fanfare.

Would it be too corny to say he came through in the clutch?