“Face to Face”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(3-17)

Note to Readers: I often say that the best columns write themselves. What follows here is an example of that truism, delivered with the kind of authenticity and passion that is impossible to resist. Or to manufacture artificially. This is a tale from the era of “Thoughts At Large” which was my former column for the county’s most successful weekly print publication. It ran for 16 years and encompassed diverse subjects including local history, politics, religion, music, sports, transportation and culture. Along with fanciful flights of fiction that I spun out of a literary fabric based on friends from the area. Read on and decide for yourself if this was a worthy cause or merely a detour from reality:

It was a winter night, around five years ago. I had just finished my work routine in Geneva and was passing through Chardon on my way home to the rural hinterland of eastern Geauga. Only a need for fuel and snacks lay between my stop in the county’s capitol city and home. I made a mental count of the beer bottles still left in my refrigerator. Plus, the pork rinds, potato chips and pretzels that were nestled by the microwave. I added a percentage for error, knowing that my memory was not always accurate. A walk inside was deemed necessary. I could not finish the night without a proper ration of supplies on hand.

The convenience store was nearly abandoned at such a late hour. Innocuous music wafted from their PA system. I pondered a cup of coffee. It would help with the last leg of my journey to Thompson. While pouring the cup, I noticed a tall fellow arriving to begin his work shift. His jacket was covered with snow, almost as if he had walked to work. But the night seemed too cold for such an activity.

I approached the counter with my coffee and a package of donut sticks. The frosty fellow had already taken his place at the register. He had the look of a computer nerd, overgrown with healthy meals. “Find everything you needed tonight?” he said, politely.

“Yes, thank you.” I nodded. “It will be good to get home on a night like this.” I guessed that he did not live on a gamer’s diet of Cheetos and Mountain Dew.

He raised an eyebrow. “Ah, this is lovely weather, I think. Great to ride here for work. Especially this time of year when it is brisk at night.”

I was unprepared for his comment. “Ride?” I exclaimed.

Mr. Frosty chuckled audibly. “Yes, ride! I take my ten-speed here, it would be silly to foul the environment driving a car just over the hill.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” I replied, pretending to agree.

“I stay in shape on my bicycle,” he added. “That matters, too! I ride all year round.”

My political skills were aroused. “Indeed. That almost sounds like a story I would read in the local newspaper. Wonderful! Environmental consciousness and health discipline.”

Suddenly, Mr. Frosty’s voice shifted in tone. “Local paper? I never buy that thing. They have a horrible writer on the team. Can’t stand his weekly column.”

I took a deep breath. My face had gone red. I could feel the blood warming in my cheeks.

“Really?” I said.

He slammed the register drawer. “His name is Ice. That sounds fake to me. I am sure he would not put his real name in the newspaper because he is so bad at what he does.”

I was going numb. “Undoubtedly so!” Silently, I thanked God that my identity remained a mystery to this agitated clerk.

“He writes about things that never happened,” Mr. Frosty continued. “About Rhonda Ronk, we’ve never had a Rhonda here. About Carrie Hamglaze. Who is Carrie Hamglaze? And what is Irish Tea??”

My lips strained not to let a belly laugh escape. “I have... no idea!”

“I am surprised the other writers do not get together and have him fired,” he admitted. “They should all have him banned from the paper. He is making them look bad.”

My lungs were out of breath. “Other writers could do that?”

“They SHOULD do that!” he roared.

The coffee tasted cold. “Was he joking, perhaps?” I posited. “Writing a bit of satire? Trying to lighten the mood of local court reports and legal transactions?”

“Satire?” Mr. Frosty coughed loudly. He enunciated the word like it was a bit of foreign terminology. “The guy has no talent. None at all. I wrote a letter about him and mailed it last week, to the editor. He is a complete moron! I wrote another letter to our company office. We shouldn’t be selling a newspaper that would hire anyone like him!!”

My face was blistered with the imprint of unseen hot coals. “Well, thanks for ringing me out. Have a good night, sir.”

He sounded unsatisfied. Almost as if I should have volunteered to listen longer. “Yeah… have a good one. Good night to you.”

As I walked back to my truck, the feeling began to return in my cheeks. This verbal ‘dressing down’ had arrived like a mortar strike. Or a boxer’s knockout punch. I never saw it coming. Yet it was clear that my new ‘frenemy’ had invested the time to read my columns word for word. I was impressed and intrigued. Such devotion to fortifying his opinion was laudable. I could not be angry. Instead, I respected his harsh critique, even as I disagreed.

He had actually read my work. Thus, the mission was accomplished.

At home, I opened a brew and took my Pomeranian and Black Lab for their nightly walk. The air felt crisp, more so because of the heat generated by the fuel depot encounter. Undeniably, it felt good to be away from the blast furnace of opinion. Still, I considered the effort required to examine each column in depth even as a reader recoiled with negativity toward what I had penned. I could think of no better example of genuine study and preparation for a real debate. It was humbling to consider.

Would I work so hard to refute someone or something which I considered to be so abhorrent?

My day ended in reflection at the keyboard. I returned to the craft as always, ever ready for the inspiration of daily life to carry me forward. Years would elapse before I could render my story of this face-to-face encounter in print. Yet the meaning was indelible. From that night forward, I have gone forth with the knowledge that out there, somewhere, dedicated readers are receiving the message.

And they are ready to respond.

Comments or questions about Words on the Loose may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P.O. Box 365, Chardon, Ohio 44024

Published weekly in the Geauga Independent