LIFE CHANGES
The NYC Cop, a Screwdriver, and the Gay Neighbors
A summer campground tale
Our immediate neighbor at our summer campground retreat was a former New York City cop. Like most of our neighbors, he and his wife owned a golf cart. Our resort lacked a golf course, but it had plenty of hills, so there were times when I thought of buying one myself.
What dissuaded me was my dislike of noisy gasoline motors and their often noxious fumes. I thought of buying an electric, but the hills were too steep; people who had tried that route had not been able to blaze a trail I could follow.
So we walked.
Let’s call my neighbor Bruce. The guy in the cartoon above looks nothing like Bruce. Bruce was stocky, but much thinner and he had a mustache. Also, Bruce never looked angry when he was working on his golf cart. But one day I did find him looking quite unhappy.
I was sitting on our porch, sipping a beer. I called out to him, asking what was wrong. He looked up, shaking his head.
“Carburetor. I don’t have the right screwdriver.”
“Watcha need?”
Bruce waved his hands a bit describing the length, the thickness, the type. Something not too long, flat blade, not too wide because it had to be…
