Janice and I met while on a weight loss program in North Carolina. No need for further explanation. At 7:30 each morning we dragged ourselves one mile to exercise class. We always arrived exhausted, but optimistic that the walk would contribute to at least a five pound loss.
It never happened.
One morning we awoke to a foot of snow. In my state of New Jersey snowfalls are routine, but in the South, schools close, shopkeepers lock up, and residents cower behind closed doors and pray they’ll have enough food to carry them through the siege.
The state is not equipped to handle snowfalls with their limited amount of snowplows. Only a handful of courageous motorists chance driving the unplowed roads. Most of them end up crashing because they’re unable to avert their eyes from the unfamiliar white stuff falling from the sky.
I looked at Janice. “Did you bring boots?”
“To North Carolina? Get real. Let’s take my car.”
We wrapped plastic shopping bags over our Reeboks and trudged to the parking lot where we scraped ice and snow from car windows, got in, warmed up the engine and thawed out our hands.
Janice put the car into reverse. It wouldn’t move. The wheels spun defiantly.
“This is not good,” she said.
We sat staring at each other, trying to come up with a doable solution when we heard a knock on the driver’s side window, and saw the face of a nice looking man — probably in his forties.
“You gals need help?”
Janice lowered her window. “We sure do!”
“Put it in reverse,” he instructed. “I’ll go in front and try to rock ‘er. Gently, okay? Real gentle.”
He pushed the front of the car with a slow, steady, pulsating motion. The wheels spun and melted the snow beneath them. After ten minutes of pushing and rocking, Janice was able to back the car onto the street and we waved thanks to our gallant hero.
Slight problem. The angle of the wheels had forced the car to back out of the parking lot onto the one way street, in the wrong direction. The rear of the car pointed toward our destination, but the front looked straight ahead at oncoming traffic.
“Holly shit! What should I do?” Janice asked.
She was paralyzed. I was terrified.
“Put it into reverse and accelerate!” I yelled.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Now!”
Janice looked in the rear view mirror and shifted into reverse. “I hate driving backwards. I’ve always hated driving backwards. We’re gonna die!”
Had traffic been moving at it’s normal speed of 50 plus miles an hour instead of eight miles an hour, we’d have been instant road kill. As it was, we stood a better chance of getting a ticket.
Janice whined. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. We’re crazy.”
We looked at each other, giggled and acknowledged our insanity.
As we continued going backwards a Toyota moved closer to our front bumper and our restrained giggles accelerated into full blown laughter.
Janice drove looking over her right shoulder.
“Omigod! A red light,” she screamed. “I have to stop.”
The Toyota that was all but attached to our front bumper, also stopped, and we stared into the face of a stiff, straight-laced man whose furrowed brow clearly displayed his disapproval of our caper. One look at him was all we needed to throw us into uncontrollable, sidesplitting hysterics.
With tears streaming down my face and hands pressed hard between my legs, I managed to spit out the words, “Get me back to the motel. Now! I just wet my pants.”
That was all Janice needed to hear. She was laughing so hard she could barely drive.
“I’m not turning around. Not even for you,” she said. “When we get there, jump out, roll in the snow and wet your whole body. Do that and nobody will notice your pants.”
I did as she instructed.
The following day we shopped for boots. I bought new pants, also.