Fifteen women were here for a scrapbooking retreat. Each woman could easily fill an entire SUV with all of their scrapbooking material. Unloading their material can take three or four trips with our large cart to take their things from their car (stacked in a way so that it makes the rear-view mirror completely useless) to the room in which I cram as much table space as possible. No matter how much table space I am able to grant each guest, within the hour of their arrival the table's surface can no longer be seen and the entirety of the space beneath the table is so clustered that they cannot even swivel if their chair is pulled in. These ladies come prepared. They love scapbooking.
In fact, they love it so much that usually on the last night of their stay, they would much rather stay up all night than go to bed because they know that time spent sleeping here is time not spent scrapbooking. When they get home they can find time to sleep, but they can't find sacred time to scrapbook uninterrupted by husbands, children, cooking, cleaning, or that dreadful thing called "work." Usually our Sunday morning breakfasts are filled with tired eyes and blank expressions. The jokes that I tell them get no reaction... but they didn't get much of a reaction the previous days, either, so I guess we can't count that as evidence.
So the scene is set! We are at brunch and this particular weekend we had a group of fifteen women-- three of whom stayed up all night. Before brunch, two of these women had backed their SUV up as close as they could to the front door so that packing up would be as easy as possible. After brunch was over, the women packed their SUV with their things until its axles were buckling under the pressure. After a last trip, one of the women comes back in and frantically asks me, "Per, do you have any jumper cables? My car won't start."
Sure, I have jumper cables... no problem.
I follow her outside. Just as I'm about to leave to retrieve the cables, I here a terrified voice scream, "MY PANELS ARE MISSING!"
The voice had come from the same women, sitting in her driver's seat.
...what?
"My PANELS ARE MISSING! Come here, LOOK!"
Alright... what the heck is a panel?
She was pointing to the area beneath her steering wheel, above the pedals. "Don't you see? My panels are gone. SOMEBODY STOLE MY WIRES!"
Ma'am, what are you talking about?
"There used to be a panel here under my steering wheel, and see? Somebody has taken it off and stolen all of my wiring!"
... um... alright... I'll go get the jumer cables, just wait here for one minute.
By the time I had returned, the rest of the gaggle of women had gathered around the scene of the "crime" and had done all that they could to ensure that the worst possible scenario could occur. Three of the women were on the phone. I picked out conversations to husbands, to friends, even to a mechanic. The rest of the women assumed the positions of what we all are required to do at times of absolute tragedy. Some had hands on their heads running fingers running through their hair and were shaking their heads with their mouths open in terror. Others were talking with one hand on their hip, and the other in the air as if to say, "I can't believe this! Who would do such a thing," about how a perpetrator could approach the vehicle and steal the "wires" and how they had gotten away. As the owner of the vehicle vehemently flipped through the pages of her Owner's Manual, I slowly approached the vehicle with jumper cables in hand.
"AND LOOK! OVER THERE! THAT PANEL IS MISSING, TOO!"
... oh no...
"YES! Look! They took the passenger-side panel too..."
The gaggle swarmed and the distress and panic had instantly multipled as they saw the sad truth: there was no panel on the passenger side either. It was a controlled chaos when only ONE panel was missing, but TWO?!? TWO ENTIRE PANELS? Not to mention the wires... this was a catastrophe. There is no solution in sight... Oh, wait, that's right... I have the jumer cables.
I flip open both hoods and attach the cables to the batteries. I pass by sobbing onlookers and wailing witnesses and reach my trusty camp-van named affectionately "Decepticon."
I turn the car on.
Then, all of a sudden, in a flurry of activity she IMMEDIATELY turns the ignition, revs her engine, takes her foot off the gas, the engine fails, she takes her key out and gets out of her car with her arms raised in absolute disbelief.
"SEE?!? THE BATTERY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT CUZ THEY STOLE MY WIRES! THEY TOOK ALL THE WIRING OUT SO NOW THE GAS CAN GET THE ENGINE RUNNING BUT IT WON'T STAY ON! THEY STOLE MY WIRES! ALL THE ELECTRIC POWER IS GONE!"
Umm... alright. Well, lets let my van give your battery some juice for a minute. I really don't think anything has been stolen. Please just calm down and let's try again in just a minute.
She stalks off to the passenger side to examine crime scene "B" and I slip into her driver's seat.
Did you back the car up without difficulty?
"Yes, I did, but I guess I just didn't notice it then. But that was an hour ago-- before we ate, so he could have done it then."
We've decided it was a man, then. Okay... So you're saying that within the last hour, someone wandered into camp (our camp is located 6 miles from a town of 176 -- that is to say it's in the middle of nowhere) and approached your specific car to steal your "panels and wires" and left everything else of value?
"I know, it sounds crazy, right? But what else could it be?" She continued her frantic search through the owner's manuel to find the picture of what her beautiful interior was SUPPOSED to look like.
Yes. It sounds insane. I can't come up with a scenario in which that would make any sense. Nobody is out here and they wouldn't dare operate on your car in full view of all of us eating brunch.
"Well then WHY are my PANELS GONE?!?"
How long have you owned this car?
"Ten years! So, it's not like I just got it and don't know anything about it!"
Are you sure?
"I know the panels are gone!"
Do you think I could try to start the car again?
"Sure... you can TRY..."
I did try. It started immediately. I had fully expected it to start, but what I HADN'T expected was that it almost seemed worse once I got the vehicle running. Now, instead of some unnamed man attacking her vehicle, the larger problem was that Per, a man, was right. Stupid logic and rationalty!
"WELL, I guess I'm crazy, aren't I? Yep. I'm crazy. But those panels are still missing!"
Sure they are, ma'am, sure they are. And your wires are gone, too. I know. But your car is running and if ANYTHING isn't working like it used to, give me a call.
I looked at the dash display and saw that there was a CD in the player. I played it and cranked the volume and jammed out to "Sweet Caroline" as loudly and as ridiculously as I could, hoping to be able to laugh out loud without insulting anybody and also to ease the hysteria and transition it into laughter.
It kind of worked. I sure was laughing, anyway.
In the aftermath, one of the women approached me and said, "you know, after dealing with all of us women and our crazy behaviour, you're going to make a great husband someday."
Yeah... how bout that?
