MORT'S WORLD

Lunch time. The sun is actually out. A break from the craziness that is work is much needed. Not five minutes away is a very nice boathouse/venue for functions with a couple of small parking lots on either side of it. By small I mean only about 8 cars can fit in each one. Sometimes I am the only one there, other times the lots are full with other escapees from their own asylum looking for a little peace and quiet. Seldom are there tourists as this is off the beaten path a bit.

A sandwich with a view
Photo: Deb

I am in the lot to the left of the boathouse. Four cars can fit up front along the water's edge, four cars in the rear of the lot. You can drive in the middle between the two rows of spaces, but it's a dead end and you have to back out to exit the lot if there is no available space. I grabbed the last remaining spot, 3rd one in at the rear under a tree. I backed in so I could sit facing the water.

I am the only one sitting in my car, enjoying my ham salad sandwich, watching the boats sail by when a Taurus with Florida plates drives in. The driver, who looks like a "Mort", is in his mid 80's. He drives right in front of me so our cars are perpendicular to one another. He looks at me then his arms start waving frantically, his mouth spewing words that don't look like they're very nice, and a face that is getting redder with each arm wave. WTF?

I tilt the rear view mirror to look at myself. No lettuce in the teeth. No mayo on my chin. I look back at him. Nothing's changed on his end. I'm convinced he's going to have a stroke in his Taurus which would then make me late getting back to work and screw up my day royally. So, I did what any other hard working, tax paying Mainer would do: I smiled and waved at him.

Mort is now beyond irate. He must have thought I was in my car about to leave. There is a God and he sent me Mort from Florida to make my day.

Mort then drives forward only to realize the lot ends when he hits the curb. This does not make Mort any happier. He throws it in reverse and backs out of the lot like his butt's on fire. I can see a little blue head in the passenger's seat: Mrs. Mort.

Mort then attempts to go to the other lot which I can see from my vantage point, and that too is full. What's a Mort to do? He does what all the other Mort's in the world do, he parks here:

In front of the sign that says:

...because in Mort's world, all road signs say "...Except Mort" in fine print on the bottom.

I wait to see what will exit the Mort Mobile. Both doors of the Taurus fling open but almost one minute passes before Mort emerges doing a great Tim Conway Old Man impersonation. He shuffles at old man warp speed over to the passenger's side to assist Mrs. Mort. A bejeweled hand sticks out from the door opening. Mort grabs the hand and starts pulling. Back and forth the pulling goes on until the law of physics kicks in and Mrs. Mort gets her momentum going and finally gets out of the car. Mort drops her hand like a hot potato and shuffles off ahead of her towards the boathouse with Mrs. Mort left far behind.

Upon walking over to the Mort Mobile to take the photos above, I learn that not only are Mort and Mrs. Mort from Brevard County, Florida, but they have visited OOB (Old Orchard Beach, ME) and they support the troops with a ribbon magnet. I also discovered that Mrs. Mort is a wood carver. How do I know that? On the side window there is a "Wood Carver On Board" sticker and in very small print on the bottom it says "...Except Mort".