I had a man deliver two face cords of wood for $150 about two weeks ago. If we’d picked it up, it would have been $50 per face cord. $25 delivery charge. He had to make two trips so he charged the $25 delivery charge twice. I get it. Gas is expensive and loading the truck is time and labor. I’m fine with that part.
This morning, I shoved the wood into the wood stove and waited a few seconds. There it was. The hissssssss of wet, not properly seasoned wood on the fire. My daughter walked by and muttered, “Capitalist rat”.
He told me, “It’s been seasoning in my yard for three whole years.” Liar. My handy moisture meter thingy tells me different. After he unloaded the wood in my driveway, he told me some story about a hoity-toity couple from Minnesota who just moved here who he’d had sour business dealings with recently. “These richies from out of state move here thinking everyone is liberal and is going to give them everything they want for free. Sometimes you have to work for things,you know?”I can hear each sentence he speaks punctuated with “Make America Great Again.”
I know. I worked my ass off this past summer bringing home fallen trees and salvaged wood so that I wouldn’t have to give my money to dudes like you. But here I am, with some of that wood on the verge of but not quite being burnable and the rest of it to even split yet. This guy stands in my driveway telling me this story, wearing the typical redneck uniform. He’s even missing teeth but so am I . I’m sure people think I’m some white trash redneck and maybe that’s why this guy thought I was the perfect audience for his tale. Instead I’m thinking, “Fucking hell, I hate giving Trump supporters my money. Do I tell him to take the wood back and ask for my money back? But then I have to find someone else to deliver wood right now and there’s a snowstorm coming. Dammit. This guy doesn’t know how lucky he is but he better shut up and leave.”
That was all before I realized that the wood wasn’t just wet from the rain that day. Burning unseasoned wood is like burning money and when you’re burning it in a house built in the literal olden days that hasn’t kept up up with the times, the house becomes a giant metaphor for the #GrabYourWallet movement and maybe the whole Trump presidency.
And now all I want for Christmas is a wood splitter so I can get the rest of that salvaged wood split without killing myself and a pick-up truck so I can go into business delivering good firewood to cold people while not being a capitalist rat.