I Miss John Candy

I loved that movie Planes, Trains and Automobiles - some of it was filmed in Gowanda, New York - about ten miles from where I grew up. Much of the movie was based on the fact that weather played a part in Steve Martin and John Candy not being able to make it home for the holidays. The greatest scene in that movie is when Steve Martin lectures Candy about telling stories that have a point - "It keeps people interested," is one of the funniest lines ever - I use it all the time.

Anyway, I played the John Candy part yesterday.

I was in Syracuse as the storm rolled across the East coast - it's just 140 miles away and I usually make the journey in two hours and six minutes - door-to-door. I didn't exactly beat my record yesterday.

I left the 'Cuse at 11:15 AM just as the snow began - and I drove straight into the teeth of the damn thing. I've never been a good snow driver, and it got worse a couple of years ago when I crossed the Thruway and was struck by a little Japanese car - since then - I drive like my grandmother might have - thirty with the hazards on, and people sounding their horns all around.

So, I did that for 50 miles or so - and in complete white-out conditions - I found an exit. Thankful, I jumped from my car and went into McDonald's for lunch - I hate McDonald's, but what can you do? I had lunch, and then decided to enjoy the storm - I walked to a strip mall and did a little shopping. I read the baseball news (keep spending cash Yanks! - it helps the economy) and I just wandered around like a bag lady for a little while. The snow finally let up a bit around three - so I decided to try it again.

Just a couple of problems - remember the hazard light? I never turned it off. So, with my keys nestled in the cup holder (I could see them through the window) I punched in my code on the door unlock - nothing! I went back into Mickey D's - got some warm water and poured it over the keypad - still nothing! I begged for a lighter inside to warm up the pad - uh, zippo.

So, I headed back inside and admitted that my car was locked and the keys were inside - there wasn't anyone willing to help - "If we even give you so much as a coat hangar you can sue us if the door gets damaged," the pimple-faced manager told me. I tried contacting the Sheriff's office - "4-hour wait," I was told. I called a locksmith - he could get to me in 3.5 hours.

Bitch! I stood outside by the car, placing my frozen hand over the keypad to see if I could warm up the damn thing - time went by. I called my wife - she gave me the combination to the keypad as though I might have forgotten it - "Thanks anyway," I said. "Find a hotel," she advised.

Then, out of the snow came a solitary figure - just a real old man, with a worried look on his face - "Locked out?"

"Yeah, shit, piss, son-of-a-bitching bastard," I said.

The old bat actually pulled a slim-jim out of his coat - "I'll give it a shot," he said.

Three minutes later, the door was open, and the old man disappeared before I could even thank him.

Yet the door wasn't frozen as I'd thought. The battery had died because I had left the freaking hazard light on! "Shit, piss, son-of-a-bitching bastard."

I hung out for a few more minutes, with the hood of my car open - finally another old man stopped and jumped the car for me.

It was now 5:15 - six hours in - with 90 miles to go.

I made it home at 7:30 PM and began my Kitty Dukakis impression - drinking everything in the house that had alcohol in it.

I felt a lot like John Candy at the end of the movie.

"Shit, piss, son-of-a-bitching bastard."

At least the dogs were thrilled to see me.