01/18/2024 Even in insanity, you gotta love bubbas.

 

I do business with McDonald Energy in Barre, Massachusetts.

They supply my off-road diesel, the number 2 fuel oil that keeps me warm, any heating equipment maintenance that I can't do, and propane. I love them because they provide excellent service, dispatch friendly, competent personnel, and are as honest and decent as the day is long.

They also employ delivery drivers who have "personality" (and I use that term in a most complementary fashion).

Having them visit, is the high point of my day.

This morning, my oil driver calls, telling me that he's about 10 minutes away.  Due to my fences and backhoe, he has to pull the hose a ways to fill the tanks, so since I'm responsible for the stuff in his way, I put on gloves, and help him pull. Since he's usually here for 20 minutes filling the house, the garage and the rental house, we chat - about anything and everything.  The guy is a real character.

Why do I care about characters?

If I could use any adjective to describe me, that word would be “silly”.  When it comes to a sense of humor, I stopped developing in elementary school. I love stupid jokes, funny stories and crazy tales coming from almost anyone.

And "characters" are where the best stories come from.

(If you're not sure of what I'm talking about, listen to this guy).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zzabmVIU6EQ

Even though I'm silly, I don't laugh a lot in the course of my daily routine, but when someone or something pushes the right buttons, I can laugh until I pee my pants.

I literally can't stop, to the point where I end up gasping for breath. It can easily get out of control.

Anyway, during previous visits, my driver told me how me bought a piece of property near Lake Erie as a retirement roost, and an investment, so I asked him how the property was coming.

The property had a ramshackle house, an old restaurant, and nearly a century of junk that had been dumped there. Old double wide house trailers, cars, tractors, utility trailers. You name it. It was out there in the weeds.

The area also had all the usual problems associated with the economically depressed areas in upstate - crime, drugs, and most important to our story, meth-cooking, crack smoking, “good ole boy” druggies.

Theses were not the violent, shoot-em-up, gang bangers that you read about in big city newspapers.

Think Bubbas with a dirty, black lab mutt, a rotten pickup truck, a couple of days growth of beard, a constant hangover, and a need to make money to keep them in crack. In other words, knuckleheads. Lots of em. Loveable, but knuckleheads that "don't have the common sense God gave a rock."

My friend didn’t know this when he bought into this town, but he soon figured out the lay of the land when he started working on the property. That's when the phone calls started.

The first call came from the cops. They caught Bubba(s) cutting the catalytic converters off the barely road-worthy truck in his yard. When asked how the cops knew that Bubba #1 was the culprit,cops looked at him as if he was an idiot. Apparently drug users were really sloppy criminals.
Luckily, my friend kept the barely road legal truck registered and insured, so when he reported the theft, the insurance company sent out an adjuster.  When my friend pulled up, he spots the insurance guy pulling up floor mats, opening doors, and peering under the truck.  My friend and the insurance guy see the gaping holes in the truck floor, the coat hanger wire holding up what’s left of the exhaust, and the bungie cords holding the passenger door closed, the piles of rust that dropped to the ground when Bubba was sawing at the exhaust, and the cracked windshield.  The adjuster awards my friend $3000 to replace the converters.   

 My friend is flabbergasted. 

“You’re shittin’ me?”

“I really can’t give you any more than that.  We think we're being more than fair”.

“Fair?  That’s insane.  How do you stay in business? I’ll take it before you come to your senses.” 

Apparently pickup trucks hold their value, even when they are 30 minutes from the crusher at the recycling yard.

The next week, the cops caught Bubba (or Bubbas) smoking crack, and cooking meth in a falling down trailer dumped behind my friend’s house. Think the nastiest, filthiest, moldy trailer with leaky roof, rotted through floors, and asbestos. Apparently, that was the perfect spot to cook, and smoke. 

That bust prompted another set of Bubbas to call my friend, asking if he wanted someone to get rid of that trailer for him at no charge. My friend has no idea how the drug bust in his trailer got out on the coconut telegraph, prompting this new phone call, but he doesn't really care. He thinks he's hit the jackpot on how to get rid of this asbestos-ridden white elephant My friend tells him to have at it, not knowing how knuckleheads really worked. 

First, the pair showed up with a big farm tractor, and successfully pulled the 55 foot trailer out of the muck and weeds, and got it to the edge of the property near the town road.  This was an amazing feat in itself, because the unit was buried in mud, brush and debris that had been dumped after the trailer had been situated there.  Even so, their luck did run out, just before the trailer got onto the paved roach. The hitch part on the trailer disintegrated, dropping the load off the tractor.  Five seconds later, there would have been a traffic obstruction problem with a 55 foot trailer in the middle of a state highway.
  The Bubbas swore they had crack welding skills, and they’d be back to fix the hitch, and get the trailer out.  They head off, leaving their tractor and the trailer nearly in the street.  Worse, what was once hidden behind trees and brush, is now front and center in front of his house.

The next day, the code enforcement lady calls, and starts ripping my friend a new one.  She informs him that starting a junkyard was not allowed in his zoning district, and she was going to fine him if he didn't get that thing off of his property.

My friend calmly explains that the trailer was there when he bought the place, and that he wasn't bringing junk ONTO the property.  He was hauling it OUT.  One of his neighbors offered to take the trailer after they heard about the drug bust, and they hauled it out of the woods to dispose of it. 

"Go look at the drag marks.  You’ll see where it once sat.  The guy promises he’ll be back in a few days to get it out. He even says he’s taking the boat, the other trailer and the appliances.”

The enforcement lady laughs.  Looking back, my friend thinks that she knew how this was going to turn out, but she decided to play along.  She drives out to the property, confirms his story, thanks him for the cleanup, and hangs up.

That was in October.  It’s now January, and the trailer is still there, the $40,000 New Holland Tractor is still there, and no crack welding squad is anywhere in sight. 

Worrying that the code enforcement lady is going to have kittens, he calls around, but he can’t get a hold of the crack welding squad Bubbas.  He hears rumors that the welding squad is doing a hitch in prison for meth, or stolen property or illegal pogo sticking or something, and they are gone for an undetermined amount of time.  

My friend starts to worry.  The trailer is nearly in the street, and he has no idea when the Bubbas are going to return.  He comes up with a plan.  

He hotwires the tractor, pulls up a hoodie to hide his face, hooks up the trailer, and with his girlfriend riding shotgun like Smokey and the Bandit, drags the rusting hulk to the welding squad's house.  Amazingly, the move actually works – a full sized doublewide, being pulled by a farm tractor, threatening to break apart in the middle of a state highway for miles.  And no one says a word. 

Like last time, luck runs out, but it lets go in the front yard of the welding squad’s property, The hitch breaks apart again, but the trailer completely disconnects from the three point hitch on the tractor.  My friend is thrilled, because  this eliminates the need to do any jacking to get the trailer off the tractor. 

My friend returns the tractor to his driveway, un-hotwires the ignition, to await pickup by the welding squad. 

As of this week, the tractor is still there.

My friend is not sure if the welding squad is back, will be back, or has discovered the trailer gift that he dropped off.  He's practicing playing a decent impression of "Mickey the Dunce."

The code enforcement lady calls the very next day.

“You got rid of the trailer.  Where did it go?”

My friend responds.  “You probably shouldn’t ask that question.”

“Is it anywhere where you and I are gonna have to have a talk?”

“No.  And it’s not in sight of anyone whose going to bitch.”

“You’re right.  I don’t want to know.”

“The boat, second trailer and discarded appliances are going next week."

He thinks he hears the woman snicker.  She hangs up.

A week goes by.  This time it's another call from the cops.

“You know anything about a full-sized, tandem axle, trash truck that was stolen last weekend?”

“No.  Why would I know about a trash truck?”

“It’s in your front yard.”

“No shit?”

“Shit.  OK if we tow it out of there?”

“Hell yes.  Know who stole it?”

“Yeah.  They took it for a joy ride, got drunk, and put their trash in it before they abandoned it.  We arrested them.”

The same day, the trash truck company calls my friend, apologizes for the inconvenience, and thanks him for taking good care of their truck.  When my friend asks them if the thieves have a connection to the company, he hears "Probably.  Everyone here is related.  You know how this shit goes down.”

Finally, he gets a call from the cops again.  They caught some crackheads breaking into the boarded-up restaurant next to his house, and stealing stuff.  They send him a picture, and ask my friend if he can identify the stuff.  My friend confirms that it’s his stuff.  The cops tell him that they will have to hold the stuff as evidence, but will get it back to him as soon as they can. 

“Hell no.  It’s garbage.  Toss it in the dumpster.  In fact, tell all of your crack arrestees to help themselves, and clean the restaurant out for me.  They are doing me a favor.  Maybe crime DOES pay!”

There is silence on the cop's end of the phone.  My friend thinks he hears laughter in the squad room.

I’m hearing these stories while the oil tanks are filling, and due to the insanity of the story, and the way the guy is telling it, I am nearly passing out.  I'm laughing the whole time oil is flowing.  I can’t stop.  The whole situation is insane, and everyone involved knows it, and embraces the insanity.  Except for the knuckleheads.  They’re too clueless to see the comedy, even though they’re over the head in the deep end of the pool.  I literally can’t get a word out because I’m laughing so hard.  It’s insane, but it’s reality insane.  The Kardashians got nothing on upstate NY.

My friend wrapped up. 

“I can’t be angry, because they’re not vicious, mean or violent.  They’re just bubbas, and the cops keep the insanity slightly controlled so it’s not totally out of control.  I guess that means I’m becoming a local.”

No shit.  I can’t wait for the next chapter.