Hassa Tyler!

I done told you I'd remember more stories after I published the "New Adventure Every Day" post. So this one involved two trucks to Thermo King, a refrigeration installer in Carlstadt, New Jersey. Jerrell and I cruised up the Turnpike as usual, Route 3 to Lyndhurst as usual, but north instead of south on route 17. We came to Carlstadt, but were unclear about how to proceed to our destination. I followed Jerrell into a gas station. I figured we were using the phone. I was wrong. Jerrell got out and went over the the middle-aged (probably about the age I am now, 32 years later) attendant. He showed the guy the paperwork with the address on it. The old guy frowned and scratched his head a minute, then looked up brightly.

In a thick Italian accent he said, "Okay, so you-a-go-a down-a-here to the light, make a left, and keep agoing until you asee the hassa tyler, and make a right." He handed the paper back.

Jerrell repeated it back. "Left at the light, keep going to the House of Tyler, and turn right. House of Tyler, is that a restaurant?"

"No, no, no! Hassa tyler, hassa tyler!"

Jerrell shook his head. "House of Tyler. What?"

The little guy started jumping up and down waving his arms frantically. "Hassa tyler, hassa tyler! Hassa- you Live in a hassa?" Jerrell nodded. "Hassa tyler, hassa tyler!"

Jerrell and I looked at each other, mystified. "Maybe we should ask somebody else," I suggested. "We could call Thermo King." Meanwhile the little guy was still jumping up and down. "Hassa tyler! Hassa tyler!" suddenly, Jerrell got a glimmer of recognition in his eye. "House Trailer?" "Si!! Hassa tyler!" So we turned left at the light, right at the mobile home park and were there before you could say hassa tyler.