There I was . . . alone and abandoned on a windswept hillside with night coming on fast. Where did my staff go? They drove me here and then walked off without a word of explanation or any indication of when (or if!) they were coming back. It was getting cold and the wind was picking up. Would it rain? What will become of me if there is a hail storm tonight? Something was dreadfully wrong. I could sense it in the anxiety and excitement in all the strange cars around me. Before darkness fell I counted at least 50 them, also abandoned, but some at least had been bedded down with soft fleecy blankets and even rain protection.
But there I was--with nothing! Forlorn and longing for my nice, warm, dry Shed I slept fitfully.
Not long after dawn people started coming back in ones and twos, along with more cars. Eventually even my staff arrived (the lazy bums) and started wiping off the morning dew still glistening on my skin.
From their conversations I gathered that the cars around me were all members of my family, and that we were assembled here to somehow be compared to each other. What a ridiculous idea!
An elderly but aristocratic long, swoopy open car pulled up in line on my left. I had difficulty believing he was a relative and could not help but notice that his steering wheel was on the wrong side. I wanted to let him know, but he did not speak English! He acted like he knew what was going to happen next, like he had been here before, and impatient to get on with it--or maybe he was just bored?
Not long after, authoritative men in odd hats appeared and began to swarm all over him. He tried to ignore them, but I could tell he was indignant. Then they descended on me. What did they want? What were they looking for? What was I supposed to do? Minutes later they were gone. As I watched they pounced on car after car up the line.
Things were more relaxed after that. The sun came out and the day was beautiful. More people appeared, staring, pointing, pontificating, snapping pictures, and talking, talking, talking. I dozed off . . . .
When I woke up again there was a new drama. Suddenly I was being videoed. There was a man with a really strange mustache and another man with a really big camera interviewing one of my staff who was trying to explain what he knew about me. He did OK, I guess, but how do you crowd our nearly half a century together into 5 minutes?
Then I noticed that someone had come up and put a white ribbon on my wiper while I was sleeping. People said it meant something, that the Old Man on my left was the best among all the cars in the line, that the little minx on my right was the second best, and that I was the third best.
But they failed to mention why.
After we got home, my staff said I "did well". That the Old Man was Alfa nobility and the little red minx was a "one-of-one" prototype, a progenitor of a successful branch of the family. So that isn't the kind of competition you can beat if all you have is a pretty face.
I don't care. I'm just glad to be back home safe and sound. Adventure is not all it's cranked up to be.
But there I was--with nothing! Forlorn and longing for my nice, warm, dry Shed I slept fitfully.
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| That clear sky means it's going to be close to freezing tonight! Richard Coberly. |
Not long after dawn people started coming back in ones and twos, along with more cars. Eventually even my staff arrived (the lazy bums) and started wiping off the morning dew still glistening on my skin.
From their conversations I gathered that the cars around me were all members of my family, and that we were assembled here to somehow be compared to each other. What a ridiculous idea!
An elderly but aristocratic long, swoopy open car pulled up in line on my left. I had difficulty believing he was a relative and could not help but notice that his steering wheel was on the wrong side. I wanted to let him know, but he did not speak English! He acted like he knew what was going to happen next, like he had been here before, and impatient to get on with it--or maybe he was just bored?
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| The men in funny hats came and looked the Old Man over for a long time. Richard Coberly. |
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| Then they came and poked and prodded me! Richard Coberly. |
Things were more relaxed after that. The sun came out and the day was beautiful. More people appeared, staring, pointing, pontificating, snapping pictures, and talking, talking, talking. I dozed off . . . .
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| What? Me? on TV? When? Richard Coberly. |
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| What does white mean? Second Place was taken by the sexy little minx to my right. She may be more voluptuous--but I have more insurance! Richard Coberly |
But they failed to mention why.
After we got home, my staff said I "did well". That the Old Man was Alfa nobility and the little red minx was a "one-of-one" prototype, a progenitor of a successful branch of the family. So that isn't the kind of competition you can beat if all you have is a pretty face.
I don't care. I'm just glad to be back home safe and sound. Adventure is not all it's cranked up to be.
