It won’t be long now.
Forget staring into the refrigerator wondering what you were looking for. Forget changing rooms for reasons lost during your brief walk.
Last week, I got into the wrong car at the Camden post office. Well, I didn’t actually get in, but I did open the door only seconds after laughing at Keith May in his prolonged search for the outgoing mailing slot.
It wasn’t even a Honda.
All right, the color was kind of close. I am totally red-green colorblind and colors mean little to me. It wasn’t until I was sliding into the seat that I looked at strange objects in the back seat … objects that were not mine.
Imagine if a woman were sitting in the passenger seat. Imagine if Chuck Norris, Texas Ranger, were sitting there. Could I explain before the police or the ambulance arrived?
That problem has been solved before. For many years when I made my annual pilgrimage to Fort Myers, Florida, to see my beloved Red Sox, I would take my trusted, valuable, canary-yellow Ocean Prowler 13 kayak strapped very carefully and lovingly on the roof racks with L.L. Bean tie-downs. Truth be told, the Prowler has logged many more miles on the Honda roof than in the water.
This solved several problems. I have found that the Fort Myers parking lots are bigger than those in Camden. Hell, some are bigger than the entire town of Camden. I have spent many sweaty, angst-filled Florida walks looking for my car. They all looked the same to me. In the years before I placed the kayak on the roof, I would have to pop the trunk to locate the car.
Last week, I walked out into a Wal-Mart parking lot in Naples, Maine. I had no idea in the world where my car was. Wait. I had taken the Prowler on the roof to my annual visit to Four Seasons Campground. There was the huge, canary-yellow kayak yelling, “over here.”
I could leave the kayak on the roof all summer (possibly winter) to find the correct car with ease.
Naturally, there are complications. Either I am getting weaker in my dotage or the damned Prowler is getting heavier. My Honda bears the scars of my efforts to load the thing alone. I would get a new paint job to hide the scratches and dents but the car has 160,000 miles on it. It deserves a few dings.
I had to use my grandson Matty and his campground posse to load the kayak to get out of Naples. Ah, youth.
Because I can’t get the yellow beast off my roof without assistance (unless I want more dents in the Honda), I guess I will leave it on, at least until it snows. Damn the gas mileage.
But there are further problems. Apparently, I was torpedoed by U-Boats on my annual paddle across Damariscotta Lake to Phil Island. When I got to shore, I begged a passer-by for assistance for the roof loading. We could barely lift the yellow beast off the ground. It was at least half filled with water.
It leaks.
When the Niagara flow stopped, the passer-by opined that there must be a “breach in the hull.” There was barely any chop on the lake and the accumulation of water was a mystery.
Now what? Do I dare take the Prowler on the annual trek across Megunticook Lake to Norton’s Pond? Do I water-test the kayak like an old inner tube? Who fixes leaking kayaks?
If it leaks like David Grima’s roof, do I abandon ship? Or do I leave the canary-yellow kayak on the Honda roof anyway, as a beacon for those confused in the post office parking lot?
I fear Chuck Norris.
Emmet Meara lives in Camden in blissful retirement after working as a reporter for the Bangor Daily News in Rockland for 30 years.