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I thought at first my dad was messing with me. But when I called Oscar, he confirmed the story.
Oscar had the toilet—a brand new one left over from his new house—and I was supposed to pick it up and drive it up the New Jersey Turnpike.
And then drop it off at my dad's girlfriend's house. On Long Island.
And the kicker...
My dad wasn't going to be there. Neither was his girlfriend. Her Turkish father was supposed to be there.
And?
Her father didn't speak English. Not a word.
The BootCamp Boys loaded up the old Chrysler station wagon with suitcases, keyboards, guitars, drums--everything we'd need for four months away from home.
We drove to my uncle's house. We picked up the toilet, put it on top of all our stuff and took off.
As we cruised up the New Jersey Turnpike, we decided to have some fun.
It was the beginning of summer. The rest areas were crowded with folks heading to the beaches.
Whenever we'd stop, we'd take the toilet out of the car and carry it into the men's room. And then carry it back out.
Nobody stopped us. Apparently if you're carrying a toilet with confidence, people assume you know what you're doing.
But that didn't stop them from staring at us.
Four crazy musicians with 1980s hairdos that looked like several frightened forest creatures had taken residence on our heads, carrying a toilet in and out of the men's room. And then packing it into an old Chrysler and driving off.
When we got to my dad's girlfriend's house in Long Island, I lugged the toilet to the front door and rang the bell. A short man with wavy hair opened it.
He took a look at me, and then at the toilet. He obviously had no idea who I was, or why I was there.
So, I'm standing there clutching a toilet in my arms, trying to explain who I was and why I was there. The guy understood nothing. Not a word.
I kept saying, "Toilet! Toilet for you!"
I started yelling, as if by saying it louder, maybe he'd understand what I was saying. "TOILET! TOILET FOR YOU!"
He looked at me like I was from another planet.
I finally just left the toilet on the doorstep and walked away. I waved goodbye as we pulled out of the driveway and headed to the Hamptons.
Come to think of it, I hope I had the right house.
Keep smiling, Slim People.
And keep in touch!
Who loves ya?
Uncle Slimmy
Here's my recipe for chicken Milanese.
Buon appetito, Slim Folks!
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