Groups, Purple Passion and Drive-in Movies

The stories in this column are true. Averett lives a dull life in rural Southside Virginia with his wife Management, two children and a rotating assortment of goats, dogs, cats, snakes and other local fauna.

I’m getting ready to be philosophical here so if you don’t like Phil, quit reading. Have you noticed that any time a group of people meet they always separate into smaller groups based on a common interest or historical connection?  Then they separate into even smaller groups who have a closer common interest or historical connection.

For example, if Management and I have a party and 100 people show up, they may break up into smaller groups such as those who think Management is a saint for putting up with me and… Wait a minute, that would be the entire group.

Trying again- maybe they would break up into a group of those who think I am somewhat strange, another group who thinks I am weird, another who thinks I am a complete idiot and so on.   The common interest of the whole group would be they like Management.

In any case, there would be groups within the group sort of like Elijah’s “wheels within wheels.”  Possibly that wasn’t Elijah and was some other dead guy, but you get the point.

Anyway, I recently attended a function in honor of an old friend.  Everyone there had a connection with that person.  The interesting thing was there was also a common historical connection between a large portion of the group and a beverage called “Purple Passion.”

Although the connection was over a quarter of a century old I was amazed at the vivid memories these folks shared. Even more amazing is that although I attended many of these same events with the same people and the same beverage we do not share the same vivid memories. I seem to have a vague sort of fuzzy recollection – all I remember is it was purple.

Recently, I was discussing drive-in movie theaters.   In my high school years, the cost of going to the drive-in was a dollar a person.  Actually, the price was a dollar per visible person.  If Shorty was lying in the rear floorboards covered with a blanket and three or four people’s feet, he got in free, as did the folks in the trunk.  Shorty didn’t really get in free, he and those of us in the trunk all kicked in on the combined admission cost.

Occasionally the cashier would ask, “How many in the trunk?”  Our driver once answered, “Five and a cooler.”  After commenting they must be midgets to fit five in the trunk of a Chevelle, he let us in. I still don’t know if our driver was lying or just couldn’t count.  There were at least seven of us in that trunk.

Personally, I always felt the honest thing when questioned was to shout, “I am not in the trunk, I am behind the back seat” and pay the extra dollar. That still worked out to half price counting those who were in the trunk.

Possibly because I was one of the smallest and was not claustrophobic, I usually ended up in the trunk. I spent more time in the trunks of various cars than the average Mafia victim. For that matter, I once received a free pass for a year to the Farmville Drive-In. It didn’t seem fair to use it.  I put it in my pocket and continued to use the trunk.

It really didn’t matter. Going to the drive in was like going to a carnival.  When you left, you left all of your money there. Besides, I don’t know anybody who ever watched a movie anyway.

Possibly the aforementioned thriftiness is a result of my Scots heritage as is my tendency to save stuff because I might need it later.  I also discovered that this condition in my hand called contractures only affects people with Scots or Irish heritage.

This is just another one of those cruel Scottish ancestral jokes like bagpipes, kilts, Irish whiskey and Presbyterians. So here’s my offer. I’ll keep being a Presbyterian and you can take the rest, including the contractures.