The Best Part of the Song

They were running late for their road trip. It didn’t really matter whose fault it was. It was his. It was always his.

“Just for the record, we are late and it’s totally not my fault, yet again.” She said to him.

“Are you keeping count?” He asked.

“Nope, just making an observation. Let me make sure we have everything. Hydration? Check. Road Chips? Check.”

“What are road chips?”

“Chips you eat while on the road, duh.”

“Of course, how could I not know that?”

“Probably because you’re always late. Okay, I’m in charge of the music.”

“What? No, the driver is always in charge of the music.”

“Really? Since when?”

“Since forever. You’ve never seen that bumper sticker?”

“What bumper sticker?”

“Driver picks the music, Shotgun shuts their cake hole.”

“That’s a stupid bumper sticker.”

“I didn’t make the sticker nor the rules, little miss missy.”

“You’re just enforcing them?”

“Damn Skippy.”

“Hey speaking of bumper stickers, look.”

“Look at what?”

“That car in front of us.”

“What about it?”

“They’re from the same town as you are, Bogota.”

“What? How can you tell that?”

“They got a little sticker in the back of their car of the Bogota High School mascot, the Buccaneer.”


“You told me that the mascot for Bogota was a buccaneer. That’s a buccaneer right there.”

“Ummmm, I hate to break this to you, but…”

“But, what?”

“That’s a sticker for Seton Hall.”

“It is?”

“Yes, that’s the Seton Hall Pirates.”

“Hmmmm. Looks like a bucanner to me. What’s the difference between a pirate and a buccaneer anyways?”

“I have no clue.”

“Google to the rescue!”

“How about we pick out some music and identify the best part of the song instead?”

“Best part?”

“Sure, it will be a fun little road trip game. We’ll listen to a song and then afterwards we will both guess as to what the best part was.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What, that there’s the best part of every song or it will be a fun road trip game?”

“A little of both actually.”

“I’m telling you every single good song has a best part to it.”

“Every single song?”

“No, not every single song. Every single good song.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, if it’s a bad song, it won’t be able to have a best part.”

“I see. So can you name the best part of any good song?”

“Of course.”

“Cool. Let me see your phone.”


“We’re going to play your game and I’m going to test you.”

“There’s no music on my phone.”

“What? That’s impossible. Everyone has music on their phone.”

“Not me.”

“Why not?”

“I use my iPod.”


“Seriously, what?”

“Seriously Grandpa.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m old.”

“I’m just messing with you. Give me the iPod, Grandpa.”

“I’ll tell you this, the iPod has never failed me. It has everything you can imagine – including but not limited to stuff from back in my pirate days.”

“Don’t you mean your buccaneer days? Let me see if I can even figure out how to work this thing.”

“Just hit the button and used the click wheel.”

“Got it. Okay, first up: AC/DC – Long Way to the Top.” 

“That’s an easy slam dunk.”

“Oh, is it now?”

“Sure, everyone knows that it’s the bagpipes.”


“Everyone who’s heard the song.”

“Okay, okay, next up: Anthrax – Indians.”

“Are you going alphabetically?”

“It just makes a whole lot of sense to me. I mean they’re right there all in a row. So what’s the best part of this one?”

“When he goes like this, he goes, WARDANCE!” He screams.

“How doe he go?”

WARDANCE!” He screams again.

She looks at him and can’t help herself but to laugh.

“You’re mocking me.”

“You make it so easy.”

“Okay, okay. What’s next?”

“Bob Dylan, really? You have Bob Dylan on this thing?”

“Sure, I love Bob Dylan. Who doesn’t?”

“Ummm, me.”

“Really, why? What did he ever do to you?

“To me nothing, but to my dad…”

“What? Your dad knows Bob Dylan? Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“I don’t know. I guess it just never came up.”

“What could Bob Dylan have possibly done to raise your father’s ire?”

“He borrowed $20 from him and never gave it back.”

“What? You’re making this up”

“Nopes, totally not making this up. They were living in the city. He wasn’t big and famous yet and he asked my father for $20. My father gave it to him and never got a penny in return.”

“That seems a little hard to believe.”

“What’s so hard to believe? Bob Dylan is a mooch.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t believe it. It just seems very unlikely.”

“You calling my father a liar?”

“No, I’m just saying he’s probably not remembering it right.”

She looks at him and musters up her best Al Pacino impression. “Fredo, you’re my brother and I love you, but don’t ever take sides against the family again.”

“Okay, weirdo. Next song?”


“Whoa what?”

“You have Hall and Oates on here?”

“Of course. My musical tastes are ecclectic.”

“I see. Okay, Hall & Oates – Private Eyes.”

“You’re picking all the easy ones.”

“I am? Well what’s the best part then?”

“It’s the clapping. Any song that has clapping in it automatically makes that the best part of the song.”

“Well there you go. You really do learn something new every day. Who woulda thunk you’re a big fan of clapping.”

“Go deeper into the pod for the next one?”

“Since for some reason you are set against me going alphabetically, let’s spin the wheel – no whammies, no whammies, no whammies, stop!”

“Pulling out a Press Your Luck reference and you call me old?”

“Ha ha ha.” She said sardonically.

“Okay what did you come up with?”

“The White Stripes – Black Math.”


“Seriously, what?”

“That’s another easy one. It’s when Jack White goes like this, he goes, Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.”

“Wait, how does he go?”

“Nope, you’re not going to get me to do it again.”

“I thought I could, sometimes you make it too easy.”

“Give me another one.”

“Okay, here’s a good one, Pearl Jam’s Jeremy.”

“That’s a toss-up.”

“Did I stump you?”

“Not yet, I’m narrowing it down but I think I got it.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“The Oooo Ooooo’s.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say the Oooo Ooooo’s?”

“Yeah, at the end of the song. The Oooo Ooooo’s”

“This game is boring me. I just want to listen to real music and eat chips.”

“In all faireness, we were supposed to listen to the song and then discuss.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can I turn on the radio?”

“Sure, I’m not an animal?”


“Sam Malone.”


“Sam Malone. The TV show, Cheers? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it?”

“A little before my time, Grandpa.”

“Seriously, you’re only 5 years younger than me.”

“Okay, cradle robber.”


“Dude, I’m totallhy messing with you again, of course I know Sam Malone. I just don’t get the reference.”

“There was an episode where he’s describing how he’s about to have sex with someone.”

“Oooooooooooo babu! Sounds steamy.”

“As steamy as NBC could be back then, I guess. He’s telling this story and says, I’m folding up my socks and Carla asks you fold up your socks before sex? and Sam replies, Sure… I’m not an animal.”

She just looks at him blankly.



“We’ll watch it tonight and you’ll laugh.”

“Challenge accepted, but now it’s radio time.” She tunes the satellite radio in the car to the Alt Nation channel and catches Riptide by Vance Joy playing. He’s about to say something to her when she interrupt him.

“Wait, wait, waaaaaaaaaaait.”


“Ssssshhhhhhhhh. This is the best part of the song.”

The End

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2 Responses to The Best Part of the Song

  1. Lawrence says:

    Hahahaha who doesn’t like a good road trip✅

  2. Mary J. Truesdale-Jenkins says:

    Love your stories!

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