The Farm’s regulars were gathered around the community campfire one night when someone blurted out “So George, how is it that you became Bonner County’s room rental mogul anyways? Just curious.”
“Welp . . .” George started, popping open a tall can of OkieDokee, and the story began. “I guess I got the idea to rent out rooms from my buddy Lance Lamborghini. He used to teach with me at the reform school.”
“Lamborghini?” Larry sputtered, choking on his beer. “What kind of car did he drive, a Ferrari?”
“Never mind Lamborghini,” Jim interrupted. “Lance? What was he, a gender diversity hire at the school? Was there a rainbow sticker on the back of his car?”
The quips were lost on George, who plainly answered “That’s right – Lance. And I think he drove one of those little sports cars at the time, a Miata maybe, but I don’t remember if there were any stickers.” The whole group chuckled as George continued. “Lance had gotten mixed up with this woman, one of those real crazy broads who tried to set fire to his house after they had a fight, and––”
“Wait wait wait,” Jim interrupted again. “You had a friend named Lance who drove a Miata, with a girlfriend? You sure about that? I mean, did you ever actually see her? I’m gonna go ahead and choose gay for $200, Alex.” A couple of the guys burst out laughing, and even quiet-as-a-mouse Eva let out a giggle with that one.
“Well now, I don’t think he’s gay, at least he never made a pass at me. I’ll have to ask next time I see him. He moved down to Wallace, but I still sign him up to be my treasurer every time I run for office, and he sometimes comes to visit when he goes to his Mandom support group in Athol.”
Copyright © 2020 J.J. West. Campfire Tales.
All Rights Reserved.