I'm starting to see a trend here -- that either my memory tends to serve me better for the WV moments for which most WV'inz might not be so proud, or that they're just more interesting to write about.
My first night in WV after taking the position at WVU was in August. I arrived in Mo'town on a Sunday evening only to find out that I couldn't get in to the apartment that I had rented. Fortunately, Jeremy (see Git 'r Dun, below) was staying at his place of employment, Emma Kaufmann Camp, just down the road, so I was able to slip in and out and stay there (no kids at camp makes this an easy task). The following day, I got in to the apartment, moved most of my stuff in, and got to work.
That evening, Jeremy showed up to see the place, and he brought a few friends of his from camp. They stayed for a few beers, oohh'ed and aahhh'ed a couple of times, and out the door they went (is George Thorogood popping into your head? Then you're a classic rocker!), only to come back, sans Jeremy, to let us know that Jeremy's Wrangler (again, see "Git r' Dun") was already up on the lifts and the tow truck was about to pull away. I decided to pretend it wasn't happening (denial is just fine when it's not my car).
I even went as far as to get back to work unpacking my stuff while the others went out onto our patio to watch Jeremy negotiate with the tow-truck driver, who was determined to be about 6'4", 250. Hot headed tempers began to clash while I organized the ties that I never wear. After a few minutes, I gave in and went outside to watch.
I shouldn't have been surprised that most of our neighbors, generalizable as upperclass or graduate WVU students, were out on their patios enjoying the scene as well. The scene was a full-size tow truck, engine running, in gear, lights on, with the aforementioned 6'4", 250 pound driver behind the wheel. Where was Jeremy? He was in front of the tow-truck, pulling a Tienanmen Square bit. Civil rights, however, were not at stake, though you might consider towing your precious Jeep uncivil in this part of the globe.
Before long, the driver is back out of the cab and engaged in a shouting match with Jeremy, who has pulled out the cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. "What's the emergency?" you might ask. "Is he threatening you?" the operator asked Jeremy, aloud on speakerphone. "You're goddamn right I'm threatening him!" boomed the driver, "I'm gonna run his ass over in a minute!" Jeremy continued to call the big man's bluff, and the two continued to shout at each other.
I must admit that recollection is spotty at this time, and I have a feeling that stories will begin to diverge anyway. However, convergence occurs at the moment when the tow truck driver swings at Jeremy, who somehow is missed, and begins chase. Fortunately, neither of the two men are very fast at this point in their respective lives, so those of us spectating were delighted with a nice, long dash across the parking lot. The driver stopped halfway, exhausted, after seeing that Jeremy was gone (he had ducked behind a car), but not until after exclaiming, "I have a fu**in' gun, and I'll fu**in' use it on you!"
The man then casually walked back to the truck and drove away with Jeremy's Jeep.
Naturally, the police showed up shortly thereafter, and I stood next to Jeremy to ensure he kept his cool. I'm happy to say that he did.
The irony of elevated situations such as this is that, around here, the elevation is not carried in excessive costs. Jeremy paid something like $85 to get his Jeep back, a small fraction of what it would have cost anywhere else. Was it worth the drama? From the perspective of a spectator, absolutely!!
Git r' Dun.
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A catalog of West Virginia Moments
