When I was in high school, I worked as a car-hop at a root-beer drive-in called the Frostop. The Frostop was located on the highway about a mile outside of my home town. One of or favorite pastimes when the lot was slow was waving at the cars we knew and at the big trucks that drove by.
One Friday night, one other girl and I were on the curb. It was a slow time and we had split the lot with her taking one side and me the other. It was about ten o’clock when this rusty, ratty-looking old farm truck pulled onto the lot on Shirley’s side. She didn’t want to wait on it so I took it. I wasn’t paying any attention to the two male occupants of the truck as I walked up and asked if I could help them.
“Yeah. Do you have a hammer?”
I looked up into the most beautiful pair of eyes I’d ever seen. (Now remember, I was 16 years old.) I cannot remember the color, only that they were light and had a dark ring around the iris.
Well, he had a coconut he wanted to crack. By this time, Shirley got a glimpse of what was in the truck and sashayed out to ‘help’. She took the coconut and broke it on the concrete curb – it was rotten.
So Joe (that was the driver’s name) asked us when we were scheduled to work again and we told him Sunday afternoon.
When Sunday afternoon rolled around, the boss had me inside washing dishes when a brand-new, 1960 white Chevy Impala with baby-blue interior, wing-shaped rear fenders and twin antennae pulled onto the lot and Joe asked for me.
He had been driving his dad’s truck Friday and picked up his new car on Saturday. He and I dated for a couple of months.
One day he asked me why we girls never waved at him any more. I told him, “John T. got a car just like yours. We can’t tell if it’s you or him and none of us want to wave to him.”
Joe went home and turned his antennae backwards so we could tell who was who. (I don’t think John ever caught on.)