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I'd like to think that this was my attempt at a high-minded millennial gesture. However, if I am going to be honest, I need
to admit that there was nothing "high minded" about it at all. Ultimately, I was only after a misguided sense of revenge,
but, sadly, all I was able to conjure up was a pointless, knee-jerk reaction.
In my memory, it all seemed to happen rather quickly and spontaneously during those pre-dawn hours on July 5, 1999. That
morning as I woke into consciousness I found myself driving north on route 25 in Connecticut. It was 4am. And although I'd
like to blame insomnia for placing me on the road so early in the morning, I was also extremely conscious of the fact that
4am clearly meant no one would be around.
And here I should pause to note that every year, whether I like it or not, July 5 continues to be the date of my birthday.
In 1999 that date meant that I was turning 40. I shouldn't need to explain why, on that morning, the last thing I wanted
to do was celebrate 40 years "down the tube." So, to avoid all of it, I woke early, packed my things and headed north. To
me north has always meant going away, and that morning I wanted to go far away.
As I drove, I passed a Live Bait vending machine outside a convenience store in Newtown, Connecticut. The whole thing seemed
to be a bizarre manifestation of American consumer culture. A vending machine filled with live worms. Someone must have thought
that they hit pay dirt with this one. And, although I wasn't in the mood, the fact of this ridiculous vending machine put
a smile on my face. And maybe it took that smile to break through the depression in my brain because in a flash I knew exactly
how I was going to utilize the $100 that my Aunt Vivian sent for my birthday.
See, every year it was the same thing. Either Vivian bought me a bottle of Crown Royal or it was money. When it was Crown,
Vivian qualified the gift with a reminder about my drinking. She used to say that I had "episodes." And, although Vivian
would lecture me about my alcoholic "episodes," she also seemed to enjoy financing my bad behavior.
Vivian and I used to hang out at the Silvermine Tavern in New Canaan, Connecticut. It was a real upwardly-mobile kind of
joint that was just this side of transitioning into a Stepford Wife kind of country club. No Blacks and no Jews (except for
me). The routine was always the same. Sitting at the bar in all her rouge, perfume, and over-the-top boudoirness, she looked
like a madame from a 19th century brothel. Vivian would slip me money and I would order our drinks (apparently "ladies" never
ordered at the bar). Then, without missing a beat, Vivian would complain about her beer. "I didn't order foam," she'd yell.
"Why would I want a head on my beer, who the hell could drink it that way."
Vivian, who, back then, was in her 80's, always drank Budweiser because in the 1960's, she and her brother made a killing
on their stock. Vivian had an interesting past: Electo-shock therapy throughout her 20's, a mistress to her married boss
into her 50's, and now she was a cranky old eccentric with crusty old stories that I had heard a million times before about
her brother Louie "who had fists like hams" and some guy in Atlantic City named "Fish" whose picture she still carried in
her purse.
It's too bad, because aside from Vivian's racism, anti-semitism and misanthropic tendencies, I actually liked her. I used
to fantasize about us being a Harold and Maude kind-of-couple, and I always relished the confused looks that we attracted
as we entered the Silvermine Tavern arm-in-arm.
Back to my birthday and the morning of July 5, 1999... On alternate years when Vivian gave me money for my birthday, she took
sadistic pleasure in listing all the other cousins to whom she planned to leave her estate. My name was never on or anywhere
near the list. The fact is that Vivian was really, really rich and she loved to rub it in my face. Apparently much of it
was her brother's money that he made through bootlegging, some good real estate investments, and then later, the whole Budweiser
thing. The family continues to prosper from Louie's good fortune. So, in honor of Vivian and her dead brother's good fortune,
I felt obliged to invest Vivian's birthday money in a truly memorable experience.
Thinking back on it, I realize that the logistics of the whole thing were rather complicated. I had to stop at 5 different
gas stations to change out all $100 into quarters. See, my goal was to go back to that Live Bait vending machine in Newtown
and engage it in what I'd like to call "Operation Night Crawler." That is, I was going to purchase all the night crawlers
from the machine (I hoped $100 would be enough) and liberate these poor worms from certain death and their Styrofoam prison
cells.
I only had $10 left when the machine was finally empty. However, $10 was good because it meant that I still had enough money
for a few drinks at Shea's Pinetree Inn that was an hour north in Massachusetts. I was getting thirsty just thinking about
it.
The back seat was now piled with 30 of these Styrofoam containers. My car was alive with worms. What if I had gotten into
an accident? As I took off down the road, the damp earthy smell overtook my fertile, but still half awake, imagination.
I was Renfield, the hapless real estate agent who brought Count Orloff (and the plague) to the town of Bremen in that 1921
movie titled Nosferatu by F. W. Murnau. I moved swiftly through the pre-dawn hours with my cargo of unhallowed earth
from my master's homeland. And, if I made my delivery, the Master would reward me with the blood of freshly killed rats.
I could hardly keep myself focused on the road I was so giddy with anticipation. "Master, I am coming. I will be there
before sunrise."
Daybreak came and the sun drained my energy. I stopped the car at a roadside cemetery to consider my options. I'd like to
think that when I pulled off the highway I heard the sound of a wolf howling, but I didn't. It was an old cemetery and as
I walked amongst the dead I began to hum that children's rhyme "the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, in your stomach and
out your mouth..." Then I knew that this was the place. I figured that if I set the worms free here, in this consecrated
ground, they would be safe to live a full and happy life. And I think they did. Later, I cleaned up at a rest stop just
south of Shea's Pinetree Inn. At the bar I ordered a shot of Crown and a Budweiser. I toasted Vivian, all her money, the
worms and F.W. Murnau.
The next day I gave all the Styrofoam containers to my Dad. He likes those kinds of things. And, although he appeared suspicious
about their origin, he never asked any questions. We all have our secrets.
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