I’m madder than one of those frogs that freezes itself all winter long then wakes up during the spring thaw only to find out he has to live his life all over again over the fact that I found out when my column didn’t appear in the paper last week, people feared the worst!
And when I say the worst, they thought I kicked the bucket!
Look, you all know the ol’Screecher has the blood of a 12 year old transfused into his veins on a regular basis (I call it “Changing my oil”) to ensure that I’ll be fit and feisty for years to come, so if and when my column doesn’t appear in any of the newspapers it is syndicated in each week, you’ll know darn sure that it was some form of other technical difficulty that kept it from coming out — and not because I suddenly and metaphorically cashed in my chips.
Besides, my doctor is shocked — shocked — every week when he checks my blood work to find that my good cholesterol is great and my bad cholesterol is even better despite my mixing of the American, Mediterranean, and Nordic diets all at once. Let’s put it this way: I’m an equal opportunity eater, never passing up an opportunity to do what I love more than anything — shoving my face full of food.
At any rate, here’s the latest news from the neighborhood I call home, which, not surprisingly, is mostly about yours truly.
As you know, my lovely wife Sharon loves to go on leisurely drives down Avenue U in our Plymouth. But what she doesn’t like to do is get T-boned by a truck when doing so, which is exactly what happened to her last week near W. Ninth Street!
I got the call around noon on Friday that Sharon was in trouble, and I hopped on Tornado and headed over to see who I should yell at first — her for getting into the accident or the other guy for crashing into her!
Well, it was tough for me to yell because in my haste I mistakenly forgot to put in my teeth, and you all know how tough it is to talk without your choppers in — not to mention eat, which left me on a quiet liquid diet while I assessed the situation.
Because I don’t like to point fingers, I’ll just tell you that this certainly wasn’t my wife’s fault, but I would remiss in my duties as Screecher if I didn’t complain about how long it took for the police to respond to this emergency situation.
Five hours! And we called 911, 311, 511, 411, not to mention all the local stationhouses, plus a shout out on the CB radio’s channel 9.
Rather than go through the litany of phone calls made — from the first call to me at 11:45 am, informing me of the accident, until the two lady officers from the 61st Precinct finally arrived at 5 pm — I’ll just say it was more than five hours of sheer traffic havoc, because nothing can be done until the police come to make an accident report.
However, let me note that the Mayor DeBlasio’s traffic enforcement agents were hot on the job filling the city’s coffers, much too busy to direct the dangerous traffic to ease the horrendous chaos.
The question that should be burning in your mind is which should have the first priority — safety or money? And I think we all know the answer to that question.
But the worst part about it all is that Sharon is now in a neck brace and sleeping with a heating pad, thus making me turn up the air conditioner way too high, which will certainly affect my electric bill!
As always, though, there is a happy part of the story that has to do with the big hearts of the people of Brooklyn.
So without any further ado, let me thank those that stood by my wife during the entire ordeal.
Vinny Barone, from this week’s shameless plug for Cyclone Collision on Cropsey Avenue, who should be hired by the city to teach concern, care, and efficiency to all those lame tax collectors.
Finally, a belated or on-time happy birthday to myself, depending on if I’m reading this in the newspaper on Friday or online on Saturday. I can’t believe it’s been 80 years since the planet was blessed with my presence!
Screech at you next week!