I have a friend who hates guacamole. I asked him why and he tells me: one summer when he was a child growing up in Pennsylvania he begged his mom to take him to Florida for vacation. The mom said they couldn’t afford it or didn’t have the time or whatever, but my friend just kept on bugging her. Eventually the mom says, “If you can find a way to get to Florida this summer, you can go.” This was meant as a bluff, but my friend took it at face value. He asked every teacher he knew at school if they were planning a trip to Florida for that summer. When he finally found one who was, a twenty-something female driving down for a college reunion, he asked for a ride.
Amazingly, she said yes.
So they go in this station wagon, and along the way the woman picks up a friend. They drop off my buddy with his family for a week or two and then they reconvene to head back to Pennsylvania. Well, at some point teacher and her friend had gone avocado picking (I know, right? Who does that?) and they had filled the entire car with avocados. I mean that in the literal sense—these avocados weren’t in boxes, they were just piled into the car like munitions. There was no room for my friend to sit, so they carved out a body-sized space in the rear bed of the wagon amongst the largest amount of loose avocados and he had to just lay there like this was a completely normal occurrence.
A side trip to Chattanooga (again, what?) provided enough time for all the avocados to go bad. At some point during the return to Pennsylvania, the teacher driving took a really hard turn, and my friend who was lying next to all these rotten avocados was thrown into them face-first. In the blink of an eye he found himself covered in rotten avocado junk. What’s even more messed up is the two so-called adults in charge did not take him to a hotel or a YMCA to shower off. He had to wipe himself down with a towel.
I know this sounds like the subplot from an episode of “Leave It To Beaver” but my friend swears it to be true, an honest tale of horror from our modern era. I guess I’d be scarred too.
Somehow no lawsuits were filed in the wake of this incident.
Pigs: they love to accessorize even though they rarely bother with the basic tenets of clothing. Just once I’d like to see a pig race down a highway in a nice pair of slacks with a Ralph Lauren polo. I guess we have to blame Porky, who spent all those years rocking that bow tie and suit jacket combo while his nether regions just dangled in the wind for every man, woman, and child to see. Shame on you, Porky, you unrepentant exhibitionist.