"is a generic name in the United States to denote a hypothetical member of society deemed a "common man." He is presumed to have no strong political or social biases relevant to whatever topic is at hand, and to represent the randomly selected "man on the street."
Further according to the Wikiwikis, Joe Sixpack, is a term of deprecation. It seems to those making the Wikipedia entry, Joe Sixpack does not rise to the level of respect due to John Q. Public, John Doe or John Q. Taxpayer, to name a few. Too bad for the snobs at Wikipedia.
Joe and Mary Sixpack live in Hometown, USA. They have a median income and own their own home of median value. They have the statistically average number of children, cars, pets, and friends. Their very ordinary-ness makes them rather uninteresting to anyone other than demographers. Other ordinary Americans know the Sixpacks. They know them by many names. They are the neighbors that we know just well enough to say "Hi" to when we see them in their driveway. They are the neighbors whose kids are always coming and going from some kind of kid-thing (soccer, baseball). They're OK.
Lost in the all the naming and labelling of our neighbors the Sixpacks, is who they really are. From time to time I will address the perspectives of Joe and Mary Sixpack. With an election year coming up, I believe that their voice will ultimately be drowned out by shape-shifting candidates and their paid parrots. Regardless, we'll keep the Sixpacks centered on our radar screens.
Before we ever get to the politics of Joe and Mary Sixpack, however, I wanted to give you a little background. What we all forget is that the Sixpack's, just like all of us, have an extended family. And that extended family, just like all of ours, is pockmarked with colorful characters of all sorts. Some of us have crazy aunts or uncles, for the Sixpacks, it's their alcoholic cousin who I met last July 4th. Here's the story:
Michael and I were sitting on the front porch of our home near downtown Albuquerque relaxing and enjoying the sunset on our greatest national holiday. It was a warm Tuesday night and the front porch brought a cool breeze. The big beautiful blue sky was beginning to turn sunset colors. Every now and again someone walked by with their dog or rode by on a bicycle. A car hadn't passed by in over an hour.
Around 7 pm a particular bike rider caught our attention. He was moving kind of unsteadily as he approached from the south. In fact, he was pretty much wobbling northward as if he were going to lose control any moment. One hand was on the handle bars of the bike, but it was something else that really caught our eye: in the other hand and perched in between the bicyclist's legs was a 30-pack of beer. That's right -- a 30-pack!
Ever seen a 30-pack? It's bigger than a 12-pack by far. It's bigger than a case by six. It's a giant box of beer meant for the serious volume beer drinkers in this world. When you go to put a 30-pack on the counter at the store, you use two hands. When you put the 30-pack in the car, it's a two-handed affair. It's not something you'd normally see being transported on a bicycle.
But as our intrepid bicyclist rode by he held the 30-pack between his legs. Wobbling. Wobbling by he went, an intense look on his face. He was and became in that instant Joe Thirtypack. Slowly, unsteadily, but most earnestly, Joe disappeared down the street and -- we thought at the time -- out of our lives.
"Did you see that?" Michael said as he turned his head away from the street.
"I think so. Another sighting, I suppose."
"Sighting? What?"
"You know. How many times have we seen something out here that defies explanation? Giant lizards, for God's sake? A bicyclist with a 30-pack of beer between his legs? Sightings. That's what they are. Like aliens, UFOs, and liberal gay Republicans. If you admit to seeing one anywhere else in this country, people think you're crazy. But out here, they're all normal."
"We have seen some seriously crazy stuff out here, haven't we?"
"The problem is there's no context, ya' know. How do you describe that guy? That. . . that was. . . I don't know, I've heard of Joe Sixpack -- you know the average American? -- but this guy was . . ." The name popped into my head. "Joe Thirtypack. Anywhere else in this great nation we would never have seen him. But there he went."
"Weird somewhere else, normal here."
"Exactly. Oh, well, where are we going to watch fireworks?"
We like our front porch. It's a refuge from the phone, the television and the computer. It's western view is great for peaceful sunsets. So, it wasn't that odd that exactly one week later we were out on the porch again watching the sky. It was 7:00 or so -- Tuesday the 14th -- when Joe Thirtypack rode by on his bicycle again.
Just as last time, Joe rode by with only one hand on the handlebars. This time, he didn't have a huge box of beer between his legs. It was a sixpack. But something was still wrong: he had a cast on one arm. The arm he had been holding the 30-pack with the week before was in a cast from the top of his elbow down to the top of his hand.
"Another sighting?"
"A pretty good one, I think. How do you think he broke it?"
"Transporting a 30-pack?"
"Joe Thirtypack!"
It's hard to remember all the sightings out here in the Hinterland. It's a great place to live, believe me.
We remembered Joe Thirtypack and even told our friends about him after the second sighting. Everyone got a chuckle out of the story. None of us really knew Joe, but we let our imaginations run wild and came up with all kinds of scenarios involving Joe, his bicycle and that 30-pack of beer. We weren't trying to be mean. There was just too much irony. Too many hilarious possibilities. As with the first sighting, we never thought we'd see him again.
Tuesday, July 21. 7:00 pm. The front porch. Nice sunset. Calm, quiet neighborhood. A bicyclist approaches from the south.
"You're not going to believe this."
"Don't tell me . . ."
It was Joe. One hand on the handle bars. A sixpack between his legs. But something new: the cast on his arm had changed -- dramatically. It's called an "external fixator." "Scary immobilizer" is a better term. This cast ran from his shoulder down past his bent elbow to his fingers. It had a bar running from his chest to his wrist. Pins were visible running from one side of the cast, through the arm, and out the other side. It was nothing less than an emotional earthquake to see.
Joe pedalled by. He disappeared down the block just as he had before. Beer in between his legs, one hand on the handle bars. Arm, permanently immobilized at a right angle to his body, turned at the elbow.
We didn't -- couldn't -- say a word. Nothing came out of our mouths for over half an hour. I looked at Michael and he at me. Have you ever wondered what someone's face looks like when they've been simultaneously -- instantaneously -- horrified, shocked and amused to the point of peeing? It's a queer look, trust me. I can only imagine what my face looked like.
The "real" world melted briefly. It collapsed into a small speck on top of a rock in our yard. A different world came into focus. Momentarily I lived on a different planet. Planet Albuquerque, where giant Iguana's run toward oncoming traffic, goats ride atop open trailers on the freeway, rainbows lie flat upon the horizon, and torrential rain falls but never reaches the ground.
Whooosh. I was back.
We were out of town the following Tuesday and missed Joe. Sadly, we haven't seen him again. It's a shame, really.
It was a sighting. And here's the "so what?" Sightings open us up to questions. They make us briefly step outside our own worlds and into those of others. You can't think about them too much. But you do have to tell other people about them.
Finally, after it's all been said and done, here's what I've been able to definitively figure out about Joe:
I live down the street from Joe Thirtypack. He rides his bicycle in the evenings. He drinks a lot of beer. He broke his arm around July 4. He broke it again about a week later.
I'd like to tell him this: "Hope your arm gets better soon, Joe. Say 'Hello' to your cousins back in Hometown. See ya' next Tuesday?"
1 comment:
I first heard the term Joe Sixpack from Barger also. I think it was even earlier than 1980. I took a class from him in Fall 1980 and I could sweasr he said it then.
Post a Comment