Old Doswell Road resident Mike Coffman broke down and scraped his Bush-Quayle sticker from the bumper of his 1984 Crown Victoria, the last vestige left almost anywhere of that 1988 election year.
“It’s been a good one,” lamented Coffman as he wiped away the lingering glue fragments with a Sham-Wow that was given to him for his 73rd birthday by his wife Agnes. “I celebrated my 52nd birthday with dinner down in Richmond at Wright’s restaurant in northside, then as a surprise Agnes bought me the bumper sticker at a gas station. I didn’t put it on right away because I didn’t know which side of the bumper it should go on. The joke was, I put it on the left, because when those racecar drivers on I-95 passed me, they could see it. It wasn’t meant to be ironical (sic).”
“I liked that sticker because you could still read it, all the way to the end,” Agnes said as she watched Mike apply bumper cleaner with a rage and buff the area. “Maybe next Mike can trade in those bicentennial license plates for something more up-to-date.”
Mike suddenly stopped his buffing, stood and turned. “Now look here,” he said, gesturing with his rag, “It makes no sense to get rid of a perfectly good license plate, and spend $10 on a new one. You might as well just throw your money away.”
Agnes rolled her eyes. “Yea, you certainly don’t wanna spend $10 on anything – especially on your wife. How much did you spend on those tube socks you got me for my birthday last month? I don’t even wear tube socks!”
“Listen, those socks had that reinforced toe, and they last for years as long as you take care of them,” Mike yelled back, “but what do you know about taking care of anything? I had to buy you a new skillet last year at the Target because you insisted that the old one was too worn out, and it was only 12 years old!”
Agnes suddenly turned to this interviewer. “Talking about big spenders, listen to this, “ she said, “One day last year Mike discovered the gas pump at the old Gulf station in Ashland was malfunctioning – it wouldn’t turn off, it was pumping gas and not registering. Mike filled up the car and every container he could find, including empty coffee cups he fished out of the trash. He even stuck the nozzle in his mouth and drove off with a mouthful of gas, but he swallowed some of it before he found another cup to spit it in . . .”
“Don’t start, Agnes!” Mike said, waving his Sham-Wow.
“He burped and tooted gasoline fumes for three days, and he was too tight to go buyPepto!”
Mike threw down his Sham-Wow and stomped into the house. “Well, I better go make his dinner,” Agnes said with resignation, “Should I pee or spit into his food tonight?”
