It’s that time of year again. That time of year that I honestly don’t enjoy all that much, which could refer to quite a number of times, but…the family Ute Party has to take the cake. All the Jacoby clan come together from all over Australia, and I hear even Aunt Mabel is coming over from New Zealand. Her and Uncle Foster must’ve patched things up since the whole muddy pug wrangling wrestling racket incident.
Anyway, it’s all pretty straightforward. Everyone comes together to show off all the stuff they’ve added to their utes in the past year. So…Dad just got some new under body boxes fitted at the garage down the lane, since it was his fiftieth fitting for under tray drawers. He’s going to be glowing about that one. We all gather in a circle, with the only lights being from the headlamps, and there are a bunch of contests. First everyone gives speeches about the cool stuff they’ve added to their vehicle, and then there’s usually a contest to see who can pull a tree stump out of the ground the fastest, there’s a lot of drinking, and then…the bush dance. It’s probably the most important part of the whole event, and there’s never been a single way for me to get out of it.
Until now, that is. See, before the event when everyone meets up, there’s a exchange of gifts. New aluminium accessories, special additions to their ute canopies, some fancy new tools…and then they all have to leave a little bit earlier than they’d like so they can add them to their vehicles before getting up for farm work in the morning.
But what if I volunteered to be the mechanic for the night? I can’t service any car that isn’t a ute, but all of them ARE utes. So if I say that I’ll be busy fitting all of these new aluminium accessories, then it’ll leave me far too busy to get involved in the bush dance. I can skip the whole thing! And no one will notice me being gone anyway. Story of my life.
-Forrest Jacoby Jr.