When I was in college I managed the Egyptian Drive-In Theater near Herrin, IL. The theater is long gone, but there are some things I’ll never forget. I was in my early twenties, and I had two teens working for me, Monty and Jeff Rose. They were great kids and partners in conspiracy. Early on, when we were getting ready to open the theater for the first time in many years, we all had to go to the doctor for a TB test. Jeff was scared to death of needles. Monty and I had a plan. I went in to the doc first. I got my shot, and then I explained to the doctor to not mind me for a minute. Then I let out a loud scream. Monty followed suit and did the same. By the time Jeff got in, he was shaking like a willow tree in a hurricane. But I digress, that’s not the best story.
One night we were closing up the theater. The kitchen was cleaned, the film was put in cans, and we were all done. I made myself a scotch and water, the kids each grabbed a soda. We went outside to enjoy the summer sky and chat. Then, all of a sudden, a huge, and I mean huge, meteor appeared in the western horizon. That thing looked like it must have landed nearby, it was so big. We thought about trekking over to see it, but it was way too late, so we marked the direction using a speaker post and a far away tree so that we could make the attempt in daylight.
The next day we gathered by the speaker post, compass in hand. We made note of the direction on the compass and began our journey. We passed through a very short stretch of woods and came out into a farm field, each time noting a landmark in the distance to keep us on the right path. Farm fields are not very easy to walk in. The land is uneven, littered with rocks and stones, and the furrows ran counter to our path. Nevertheless, we forged ahead.
After maybe forty five minutes of hiking, we saw something unusual. It was a crater the size of a small swimming pool. This was beyond our wildest dreams. We started arguing over the naming rights to the meteor. I was the oldest, surely it should be named after me. Jeff thought he was entitled, as he was the first one to say “Hey, look at that!” Monty wasn’t as vain as us, he thought it should be named after himself, but only because of the alliteration. The “Monty Meteor” had a cool sound to it. Much better than the “Rob” or the “Jeff”. And screw the guys who would say it was a meteorite, “Monty Meteor” sounded much better than “Monty Meteorite.” We could go with that as long as we were all given credit for the discovery.
As we approached the crater, Jeff said “If this is it, how come we don’t see any smoke? It should still be smoking, shouldn’t it?” Monty said “How the heck should we know, we’ve never seen one before.” The first thing we saw was metal and glass, stuff that doesn’t come from meteors, or so we thought. There was also insulation, and styrofoam, and an old bike. But the thing in the bottom is what stoked us.
It was an old Volkswagen Beetle. Monty screamed “It’s not a meteor, it’s a UFO! The made the spaceship to look like a VW Bug!” We all laughed. It wasn’t a meteor, it wasn’t a spaceship, and the crater was not a crater. It was a farmer’s junk pit. As much as we liked to envision a VW hurtling through space, that wasn’t the case.
After we were done laughing, we turned around and went back to the drive-in, story in hand. We figured nothing could top this. This was better than a UFO, better than a meteor, better than a meetup with aliens, but swell for a few giggles around future campfires.
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