Under the Wire

There is one thing almost every man will lie about. He will give you a straight answer to just about any question you ask except for the one “magical” question. What is it that will turn normally credible, straight forward male citizens into something less than truthful people?

Gas mileage.

That’s right, you’ll never get a straight answer about how many miles per gallon the ole pickup is getting. I guess it’s some kind of macho thing among guys that clouds our judgement when the “taboo” topic comes up.

You know how it works. The guys are standing around looking at one of their newest “loves.” She is a turbo charged, 4-wheel drive power machine with enough torque and horses to climb a tree while pulling a freight train. As fellow farmer and rancher friends gaze longingly over her sleek body, chrome rims and bull-proof grill guard, the proud yet modest owner will answer all questions. He’ll even volunteer embarrassingly personal facts.

“I gave $31,000 for her. Over in the city last week they asked me $35,000 for the same thing. I’m still not sure they didn’t make a mistake.” (I personally think to myself a mistake was made alright but it wasn’t theirs!)

Proud Owner goes on, “Had to borrow $20,000 of it but the bank charged me only eight and a half percent. My payments are ...”

In short, the owner has bared his soul to all who will listen. Then it happens.

“What kinda mileage you gettin’?” Someone will ask. Let the games begin!

Without even realizing it, Proud Owner makes a quick calculation, adds 20 percent, then wildly guesses!

“Checked her yesterday on the way to the sale barn. Got 23 miles per gallon.” In fact, he hasn’t the foggiest notion. Really, he hasn’t even figured out how to read the gauges yet. After admitting what he paid, he just feels he had better come up with some impressive figures to make it seem like a good deal.

Now the gauntlet has been thrown. The challenge is out to the others. Unfortunately the first liar doesn’t have a chance.

“Yep, that’s all mine got before I fine-tuned her myself,” one friend answers. All rational thought is tossed out the window. Sucked up by the turbo, I guess. I get about 28 pulling my 60 foot stock trailer with 94 calves in it,” another chimes in.

“I put a set of headers on mine, filled her up and took off for town with a trailer full of hogs,” still another pipes up, “Got five miles down the road and the tank began to overflow.”

It’s hard to beat a story like that so I tried to ease away without being noticed. It didn’t work.

“Hodgson, how’s your machine doing?” someone asks.

“You know,” I fumble for an answer, “My wife gave me five dollars for fuel the other day and I still haven’t spent it.” I thought it was a good answer but I guess I went too far...

“Don’t lie to us, Hodgson. We know better than that,” they all joined in. "You've never had five dollars in your pocket as long as we've known you."

I knew they'd catch me on that. At least I didn't have to answer the gas mileage things.