What I’m Absolutely Sure Will Happen The First Time I Go Metal Detecting
The Weekly Lately #054
What I’m Absolutely Sure Will Happen The First Time I Go Metal Detecting
I don’t read the user manual because I suspect I’m a natural. I park on the edge of a sprawling wood and unpack my gear. I carry the main long stick thing that beeps and a shovel and a compass which I fully understand how to use. A grizzled park ranger approaches from the tree line and asks me what I’m doing there. I show him the beeping machine and he reaches for his pistol.
“Here, have this,” he says, handing me the gun. “You look like a natural. Lots of treasure in these here woods behind the mall. You need this more than I do. Be careful. It's my Daddy's gun.” I see a tear in his eye.
He salutes and walks away. I wait for him to recede from view, because I don’t want any third parties sniffing out my chosen detection spots (industry term).
I turn on the beeping thing and take one step. Beep beep beep. This thing is on fire! I take my shovel and confidently plunge it into the earth. Clang.
My gut cries out: Saxon gold. The metal kind.
Dozens of coins and swords and chariot wheels emerge from the ground within minutes. I text my wife a photograph of a priceless metal ruby. I told you so, I write. She instantly apologizes for criticizing my initial investment. I should have known you would find Saxon gold in the woods behind the mall. Please forgive me. Also, you ARE six feet tall, not five foot eleven!!! You were right!!! The DMV messed up : ) . Her pleas fall on forgiving ears. I smile and put my phone away without responding. I’ll let her sweat a bit. Besides, we’ll talk the whole thing over en route to Paris or Australia.
I double check the surrounding area for additional metal and find nothing but some old beer cans and the Holy Grail.
My phone rings. It’s President Obama, who kindly informs me he is now the President and Donald Trump is not, due to a technicality that everyone agrees is fine.
“I heard you’ve found quite the horde of Saxon gold in the woods behind the mall, Max,” he says.
“Please, call me Maximilian,” I say. For once, using my full name seems right: I’m rich after all.
“We’d love to have you up to the White House, Mr. Maximilian. I’ve got a hunch there is some more metal gold somewhere on the grounds, and I’ve got a second hunch that you’re the only one that can find it. Can you be here by noon? I’m sending a chopper.”
“I hear the chopper, Mr. President.”
“Please, call me Barack," he says.
We laugh. A lifelong friendship has begun.
The helicopter lands gently in a clearing, decapitating zero deer, and I hop in.
“To the White House, sir?”
“Yes please,” I say. As we lift off I think about how far I’ve come since I ordered the metal detector on Amazon three days prior. There’s so much metal out there, I think. Much more than people like my wife realize.
Just waiting to be detected.
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