think about whether it was time for the Winnipeg Jewish Review to have an Auto section.
There's only one hitch. I really don't know anything about automobiles. I could tell you what colour a car is, how many doors it has, whether or not it has a flat tire--- but that's about it. The details of makes and models, mileage, prices, etc are all lost on me, which makes this a challenging task.
Therefore, what I have decided to do is write a periodic column where a vehicle is an important part of the story. I promise to put in as many details about the car but hope to be forgiven if I fall somewhat short.
One of my more memorable car stories occurred on my way to Fargo. When I went to Camp Massad, it was a tradition that at the end of the summer, counselors would get together and go to Fargo for the weekend. It was by no means a Camp sponsored or approved trip--it was just friends who got together and organized a weekend. They were called "Va'ad Fargo"--which loosely translated means "Fargo committee"
Needless to say, one of the "rules" of the trip is that no one would ever try to bring any contraband or illegal substances across the border. As it was since we were a group of teenagers, we would quite often get stopped and checked at the border and if ever anyone had an illegal substance it could jeopardize the whole group of us and potentially even future weekends to Fargo [This "rule"was generally a totally unneccessary precaution as I, for one, never knew any teenage counsellor at any Jewish summer camp to have ever even considered use of such substances].
There was one extremely rare time I can recall where this rule was broken (unknowingly by other group members). One of our carloads was stopped, with everyone in it being searched. The offending person had a marijuana joint on his person and hid it in his sock. Luckily for him, his runners weren't searched, otherwise events would have turned out differently.
In any event, suffice it to say, that as a driver going across the border I never would have contemplated ever allowing anyone in my car [which for the record I remember as a four door maroon coloured American car of some sort, possibly not registered in my name but in that of one of my parents] who had any sort of illegal substance on them.
I only had one passenger as I recall, but suddenly this passenger opened her purse while we were chatting and realized that she had something in her purse which if found could get us in trouble. This item was quite small and wrapped in slightly crinkled white paper and looked like what would be described in the common vernacular as a joint [not the kind that you get arthritis in].
"How could you forget that you had that in there?" I asked. But it really was the truth--she had been running late and had grabbed her purse without checking it. We both agreed we were going to have to get rid of it pretty quickly.
The issue was that we were supposed to meet up with the group just before the border so we would all go over the border together, such that if ever a carload of us was stopped for an extensive period the others would know about it and wait. We didn't have a lot of time to think of what to do with my passenger's little item.
We were nearing Morris Manitoba, where there was a motel just off the highway. I slowed down. There was a little stone fence near the motel.
My friend got out of the car [which again for the record I remember as a four door maroon coloured American car of some sort, possibly not registered in my name but in that of one of my parents], and she bent down and stuck her little contraband item in one of the cracks in between the stones, [sort of like putting a note in the Western Wall] and then jumped back in the car.
And away we went.
I should add that the car was an automatic--I have never driven a gear shift.
We had no trouble at the border.
We had a great weekend.
Sure enough we stopped on the way home at the motel in Morris for a cup of coffee.
And to my friend's delight, all was well in the cracks in the stone fence near the motel in Morris.
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