The Friend Times

 

I don’t have many friends. Why would I? It’s an onerous task maintaining relationships through text or everyone’s favorite new high-end tech, Face Fone. You must be familiar with it by now. It’s where you take a regular smartphone and duct tape it to your face, stubble be damned. That way, when you’re walking around glad-handing local pets and pols, people see another face on your face. While I suggest shaving before installation, some use their FF as a replacement for their monthly waxing. Sadly, rotary phones and old-fashioned landlines are too heavy, and lack an essential camera function. 

But I’m not a member in good standing of the Geek Squad, here to regale you with the latest technology. I’m here to talk about friendship. You see, I have one friend left. He’s a loyal, working stiff. Don’t believe me? Head out west to ol’ Bill Freeland’s Ford dealership and see for yourself. My pal, my buddy, my closest confidante is an oversized wood cutout of a man. Bunyanesque in physique, he’s there to greet potential buyers on Route 17 near Binghamton (yes I realize that Johnson City is a more accurate location, but this is for out-of-towners). Maybe that explains why I’ve taken to calling him Paul. He’s got the beard, the ax, the overalls, and a stoic personality. Although it’s not clear to me why a man with those attributes would help you find a car, I’m not here to question the universe or the marketing decisions of ol' Bill. 

What’s great about a friend like Paul is how little I have to think about him. There he is, somewhere sturdy enough to weather the harsh conditions of Central New York, never asking me anything in return. He never calls me late at night asking why I haven’t started watching Breaking Bad. He isn't incredulous when I give a mediocre answer. He doesn’t text me over the holidays wishing me glad tidings. He doesn’t give me things that require gratitude. He’s just there, waiting.

Is there a chance the dealership could go out of business and I see him in one of the many overpriced antique outlets lining the East Coast? Sure. But buying back one’s friendship is a small price to pay. 

However, Lars Freeland, ol Bill’s mercurial brother, just got word to me that Big Paul was destroyed during last week’s 40 incher – the blizzard that blanketed most of the Southern Tier. Even in my relative grief, things are great. Now it’s onto the next inanimate roadside attraction. I heard there are a few highways in Northern Vermont that look promising from a purely signage perspective.