Chapter 9

Friendly Fire

The load of potatoes felt heavy. We were within spittin' distance of the California line and a bit south of Kalamath Falls, Oregon. After getting the last pallets of boxed potatoes on the truck, I asked the shipper at the potato shed for directions to the location of the nearest private scales so that we could 'axle out.' The load was destined for the south central produce markets in Los Angeles and I did not want to get an over weight ticket from California's notoriously difficult scales.

The shipper gave us directions and Dallas and I made our way over to another potato shed that had a scale so that we could 'weigh out' and make sure every thing was legal. Pulling the steer axle up onto the scale I watched a woman behind the counter inside the scale house write down the information from our truck. The scale house also served as the business office for the farm. She made eye contact with me and after getting the first axles' weights, she waved me forward onto the scale. Again, after recording the weight of the next axle grouping, she waved me forward until the entire truck was on the scale platform. I set the brakes and left Dallas with the idling truck in case it needed to be moved so that another truck could use the scale.

As I walked into the scale office, I noticed out of the comer of my eye three men wrestling with some large white plastic PVC piping in the middle of the gravel yard. They were quite intent on maneuvering the pipe into place. It seemed odd since there was nothing within sight to connect.

Entering the building, I was greeted by a large heavyset woman dressed in a very vibrant sundress which appeared to portray the dangers of over fertilizing floral patterns. I said hello to her as I approached the counter and she walked down the length of the counter to meet me with the scale ticket. "Hon, it doesn't look real good. You're over on your drivers by 1500lbs." She paused and studied our truck which was totally blocking the view out of the office. "But ... oh hell you can slide your tandems and fix that." Her fleshy arms were resting across some of the paperwork and I could see that something on the other side of the truck

Something was troubling her. She kept shifting her weight to try to get a better view of the wide yard out behind the office. But the truck was totally blocking that view.

"My husband still out there?" she asked. I shrugged my shoulders. I did not know but before I could mention the three men in the parking lot she continued. "You would think that a man his age who has raised six kids could grow up. I just don't know about him sometimes..." She stopped, lost in thought. A huge frown seemed to spread across her face like an oncoming dark cloud and without realizing it I backed away from the counter. It was instinctive and the movement seemed to break her thoughts, returning her attention to me.

"Look I suggest that you go clear over to the other side of the yard to slide your tandems and get things legal. You'll see a Lincoln over on the far side. I parked it over there because I don't think those idiots are capable of getting THAT far." She emphasized 'that' and proceeded. "I just love that car. It's in perfect condition. Much better than Lisa Smiths. Not a scratch on it. Not one."

I got back into the truck and idled over to the far side of the yard. Dallas jumped out and pulled the handle releasing the axles so that they could be slid forward. As he did, I noticed that the intensity of the three men had increased. The PVC pipe was positioned in such a way as to remind me of a small cannon. Their activity was furious and fast as they huddled around the pipe. I could not figure out what they were up to…

After the axles were slid we re-weighed the truck. Parking on the far side of the lot, Dallas and I walked back towards the office to get our final weights. Reaching forward to open the glass office door, the force of a small explosion which seemed to shake the whole building stunned me. In the reflection of the glass, I could see a blinding dust cloud where three men had just been standing a minute before. Still holding the half open door, the woman behind the counter called out, "Hurry up boys -You better get in here and wait it out. I'm sure we should be hearing from them any minute now. I wonder if they even managed to get to the other side of the road this time?"

Dazed, we stepped into the office and out of the corner of my eye, I caught three figures running past us, along the windows towards the corner of the building which would give them a vantage of their intended target. The trio could be seen peering around the corner, looking down the highway, towards some unknown destination. Soon they were hi-fiving each other, half doubled up in laughter.

Then, as if in answer to her previous question - the phone rang and there was a very curt conversation with someone who was quite agitated on the other end. "Look here! As far as I am concerned, ALL of you need to grow up. You are grown men, acting like children. I don't care who STARTED IT! Time all of this stopped, before somebody gets hurt, I mean it! This has been going on long enough!"

The woman was now frowning: her face burned red as she moved to the other side of the office. She stood, staring through the window. We followed her line of vision, down the highway towards a tire dealership which, according to the conversation, was now missing a very large plate glass window. Up until this time she had remained silent, pacing, then glancing out the window and shaking her head. The door slammed as she stormed out of the office into the yard.

Dallas and I turned to watch her as the men returned to their canon. Making a mad dash, one of the sheepish men, still holding smoking PVC pipe, was hoping to avoid her chisel-point finger- stabbing through his chest. At his feet, was a small pile of potatoes. Using wild gestures and exclamations with arms extended, she was pointing towards the tire dealership. It became obvious that the man under siege was her husband. Eventually she returned to the office, exhausted and out of breath.

"I don't understand it. Those two have been pulling this for long enough. Why can't we just be a normal little town? NO, we have to suffer grown men and their practical jokes turning this into another Beirut. Shooting at each other with their little guns across a highway for Chissakes ... I've had it with them." She looked up from her calculator, making sure the PVC gun was now rapidly being dismantled. "That's black powder they are messing with and I DO NOT CARE that they're only shooting potatoes' at each other. This foolishness is over."

In the distance, there was a muted bang - suddenly the gravel yard became a series of small puffs of dust lifting off the yard, where potatoes rained down from the heavens. In the middle of all the chaos there was a large crash as the ammo made contact with the cherished Lincoln. Thrusting the completed scale ticket into my hands, the woman rushed back out into the yard.

The beloved car was now missing both the front and rear windshields. Her brilliantly colored sundress exaggerated her already animated motions. She was clearly beside herself, her arms thrashing about, alternately between agony and anger. Her husband and his two accomplices emerged from the shelter of a tool shed, in which they had sought shelter, now stood in silence surveying the devastation and destruction strewn across the yard.

Dallas tapped my shoulder. "C'mon we better get out of here. She is pissed." Reclaiming our truck, we walked past the disturbed woman who was walking around her car and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as the wind caught the folds of her dress and playfully tossed her hair. As we approached our truck we were relieved to find that our rig had managed to avoid any damage, though there were battered chunks of potato everywhere. I quickly made a notation in my logbook and started to ease the truck out of the vast yard.

The last sight we caught, as we made our way around the scale, the office building, and out onto the relative safety of the highway was the husband and the two other men frantically reassembling the PVC pipe. Standing over him was his wife, supervising, with her hands on her hips, waving her arms in the direction of the tire dealership.