THIS MORNING I WENT TO ST. ARBUCKS EARLIER THAN USUAL. I figured I could get some time to write and calmly sneak up on the day.
It didn’t work out that way.
I should have known that things weren’t going to work out for me.
Throwback Thursday From September 2016 – “What Drives A Person To Do That?”
I HAVE MADE A NEW FRIEND HERE IN TERRE HAUTE, (That’s French for, “Is he housebroken?”). He comes into St. Arbucks almost every morning on his way to work. He is also there whenever I drive past the place. I think he has a cot in the back room and that he actually lives there.
When he says that he is on his way to work and drives off I wonder… what does he really do? He is wearing a uniform that has, in bold letters across the back, “Animal Control.”
I think he is The Dog Catcher.
When I go to St. Arbucks and he is there reading I sometimes go over to chat with him. We talk about what he is reading – mostly nonfiction, 20th century history – never anything about dogs.
Lately I started asking him about the bat infestation of a local school and what was being done. To me he pleads complete ignorance about it all.
“Not my area of responsibility,” he says. He must be a Specialist. I didn’t know that one could be a Specialist in the Animal Control field. I guess he knows dogs, but bats? Not so much.
Of course, his claims of non-involvement fall on deaf ears when it comes to me. Every day for the last two weeks I have been asking him for “Bat Bulletins,” and he keeps telling me, “Not my area of responsibility.”
I know that I shouldn’t keep after him like that, but – he’s the Dog Catcher – one of the most hated job titles in Post-Renaissance Earth. The Dog Catcher is reviled only slightly less than 
Human Organ Thieves, Schoolyard Drug Dealers, or Members of Congress. You never hear of a kid aspiring to grow up and become the Dog Catcher. Most parents would rather have little Johnnie or Susie announce that they want to become Cannibals or Circus Geeks.
I would never say anything to him about the stigma that goes with being in “Animal Control.” He seems to be a nice guy and I’m sure he’s had to deal with a hostile society. Plus, I don’t want him to key my car in frustration if he can’t find that missing Rottweiler he’s been chasing.
A year or so ago the two dogs who live next door took off for a little doggy “stay-cation” around town. I asked my friend what he would have done to apprehend them.
“Nothing, unless someone complains.”
He has got a sweet deal going.
His shirt says “Animal Control” instead of “Dog Catcher.” A wise choice. “Animal Control” is not so obvious a target. It sounds so benign, so soft and cuddly, like the bartender on Noah’s Ark.
I have no idea what he did before the Animal Control phase of his life. Being the Dog Catcher (by any name) is not a career. One doesn’t go to college to become the Dog Catcher.
“Yes, I went to Indiana State University where I majored in Dog Catching, with a minor in Squirrels.”
Whatever he did before he must have truly hated it. What job is so bad that you would leave it to become the Dog Catcher? Selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door to the Suicidal? Bulletproof Vest Tester? Blogger?
I’m sure that I’ll see him again tomorrow. I’ll have to ask him how they are doing with the bat problem at the school.
WHEN WE WERE CHILDREN we all had fantasies about what we wanted to be when we “grew up.” I wanted to be a cowboy. Dawn wanted to be a Playwright – a rather precocious child. My brother wanted to be a baseball player. In one of my father’s high school yearbooks he listed that his career ambition was to become a “Traveling Silk Stocking Salesman.” I’m sure his mother was thrilled when she saw that. He ended up as a Roofer.
I’M GOOD AT GROCERY SHOPPING. I’M NOT GOOD AT DANCING.
Everybody has those little slices of life where they excel and others where they stink like the next morning in a fraternity house. No matter how hard we try to master a certain skill it evades us.
For example:
LOOK AROUND. WHAT CAN YOU SEE? Kids are finishing their classes and… and… Looking for summer jobs!
AAAAIEEEEE!!!!!
The time for the dreaded “Summer Job” has reared its ugly head once again! God, I am glad I don’t have to get involved with that insanity any longer.
My teenage summer jobs were back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth and we were paid in shiny stones. Times have changed in many ways, but today’s kids still have to go through the same job searching rigamarole for the same lousy equivalent in today’s currency.
“But it will look so good on your resume!”
No it won’t.
IF ANY OF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR A JOB – come see me. I know of a very special job opening that calls for a very special person.
Dairy Queen is Hiring!!!
Imagine being behind the counter at Dairy Queen with access to everything – Blizzards of any size and flavor at your fingertips. All of that and, to top it off, you are living in Terre Haute (That’s French for, “Put cheese on it!).
THERE ARE SOME THINGS IN THIS WORLD I WILL JUST NOT AGREE TO DO. I have standards – they’re low, but they’re mine. A lifetime of making the decisions that have kept me alive this long have proven to me that, as unlikely as it may seem, I must be doing something right.
For example:
No matter what the political climate I will not run for any elective office – not now, not ever. As far as I’m concerned the only office I relish is the corner table at St. Arbucks where I sit and write these…these…these things whatever they are.
HOT DOG! HOT DIGGITY DOG EVEN!
Don’t tell anyone, but I am seriously considering coming out of Retirement. Why you ask? Because the job of my dreams has opened up and I think that I am the ideal candidate! If I work things right and put my best foot forward I, your friend and charming as all get out dude, might just be the next “Hotdogger” driver of the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile! Oh, yeah!
Eat your heart out.
The official job title for the lucky person chosen to drive the Weinermobile is “Hotdogger” and it is not a term to be taken lightly – at least not in my world. You can call me “Mister Hotdogger.”
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN START YOUR ENGINES!”
Today is that day when we really start the New Year. It is time to put away the Aspirin bottle and the Ice Pack. Get dressed in something other than your Snuggie and Hospital Footies. It’s time to get back to work – like it or not.
For me today is just a Wednesday. The only thing that could be considered “work” for me today is that I will have to take the trash down to the curb tonight. Whew! I’m exhausted just thinking about that. For just two people we sure do generate a lot of trash.
Throwback Thursday From November 2015
Boo!
There, now Halloween is officially over – the Pre-Season, if you will. It is time for the professionals to take the field. We are into the Big Time, Serious Holiday Season.
When we move past Halloween and we are down to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year it becomes time to put away the cutesy costumes and put on the armor.
At least that’s the way a lot of people see it. The time between Halloween and Thanksgiving is Training Camp with “Black Friday” being the kickoff of the game where it is eat or be eaten.
OH, GOD, IS THIS ANOTHER MONDAY?
I’m retired and I don’t have to get up and go to work anywhere, but my body and soul are reacting like I do. It’s not fair.
I should relate to Mondays like I do to Wednesdays or Saturdays – I think I’ll just roll over and catch a few more winks.
What’s the point of being retired if I respond to Monday mornings by having my stomach clench up like a fist and my brain trying to come up with some good excuses to stay home? Something needs to be done about this – something short of going out, getting a job, and then quitting the job all over again.
I’D SAY THAT CONGRATULATIONS ARE IN ORDER. I noticed while driving about the neighborhood yesterday that there was a new announcement on the sign at the Taco Bell.
“Employee of the month is ‘Nay Nay’.”
Yes, Yes – it’s Nay Nay.
I know that appears to be somewhat contradictory, but it’s not. Yes, it is not.
I don’t know Nay Nay. I don’t know if Nay Nay is a He-Nay or a she-Nay. All I know for sure is that Nay Nay is a good employee at Taco Bell.
If I worked at Taco Bell and I wanted to become the Employee of the Month I’m sure that the Boss would say nay. I’m not Taco Bell material. In my heart I know that I’m not. I’m no Nay Nay. No way am I a Nay Nay. I am closer to a “No Way” than I am to a Nay Nay.
Way to go Nay Nay! Yea for Nay Nay!
SOMEONE KINDLY INFORMED ME this morning that this month has been designated “National Dog Bite Prevention Month.”
Who knew? Nobody told me about it until today. More importantly, I’d like to know if anybody bothered to inform the dogs of the world about this.
I have never been bitten by a dog – other than the playful nips of puppies. To be truthful, I’ve suffered more bites from humans than I ever have from animals. I have been scratched by dogs, but that happened while the dogs were showing me how glad they were to see me. “
HAVE YOU SEEN THEM? I HAVE. It has already started – the Christmas Shopping Season/Frenzy. The Ads are already showing up on TV.
Ye gods and little fishes! We just had Halloween!
I’m going to have to put fresh batteries in the television remote unit because it’s going to be getting a real workout. It just eats up those batteries when I have to hit the mute button several hundred times a day. I’m not opposed to the ads I’m just not ready for the repetitive onslaught that is to come. I don’t need to see the same ads over and over again, day after day. I really don’t.
I CHECKED MY EMAIL THIS MORNING and among the spam and other stuff was a blog posting from a man who was just starting retirement – and he wasn’t happy about it.
“It’s Retirement Day and I finally understand that I mean no more to them than the corner trash can.”
That stopped me in my tracks.
This was a statement from a man who is feeling lost.
From the power of his words I would guess that he was forced to retire, either by circumstances such as health or by a mandatory retirement policy. Either way his world has just been turned upside down. He is being made to enter a new and, it seems, frightening period of his life.
TRAVEL IS ADVENTURE! OK, I’M COOL WITH THAT – UP TO A POINT. Once that point is reached it ceases to be adventure and becomes a serious pain in the Gluteus Maximus.
Tuesday and Wednesday were travel, and I guess, a bit of high adventure. But on Friday and Saturday it all became a pain in my Levi’s.
Friday Morning: I came out to the Toyota to transport my wife, the lovely and officially present, Dawn, and friends Carol and Martin, to a meeting where I was blissfully not needed. En route a sensor light came on telling me that I had a tire in need of air. We took a short detour to a nearby gas station and, for a buck we got the offending tire nice and plump again.
Come Saturday morning I took a peek at the car and I could see the tire in question was looking flabby again. It was time to have the tire repaired or replaced.
I LOVE OLD MOVIES. It doesn’t hamper my enjoyment if it is a film that is 20 years old, or 30, 50, or even older than me.
“Oh, it has sound. What fun!”
Last night, at an ungodly hour, I grabbed the remote and tuned into my 173rd viewing of “The Producers,” a gem of a movie from 1967 with Gene Wilder in his first major role and the completely insane Zero Mostel.
If you have never seen this movie, Shame on you! Go to your room!
IDLE HANDS ARE THE DEVIL’S WORKSHOP or so I’ve heard. I have been officially retired for about six years now and I’m thinking that maybe I should get a part-time job – just to keep active you understand.
On the front page of the local daily birdcage liner I saw a very detailed Want Ad announcing a job opening that looks right up my alley.
It seems that the President of the Indiana State University is retiring. I could do that job in my sleep. I bet that the person who gets that job gets free pens and some ISU sweatshirts anytime they desire and I say that you can never have too many of either item.
WE ARE DOWN IN TEXAS FOR A SHORT VISIT. Not only is that a good thing in and of itself, but the weather is certainly better than up north – no snow and I’m actually going around clad in the season’s first outings for my Hawaiian shirts. I look like a tourist.
Another difference, whether we travel to Texas, Ireland, or wherever is local television. Local television outside of your major markets is where you can see careers beginning, careers flourishing, and careers ending – sometimes all within the span of a few days.
UP WITH THE CHICKENS AND THE NEIGHBOR’S INSOMNIAC DOG THIS MORNING. I’ll be taking the Toyota (Barcelona Red) into the dealer for an oil change, tire rotation, and its 30k mile checkup. That sounds a lot like what happens when I go to see my human doctor, except maybe for the tire rotation bit. I do that myself: Shoes in good weather and my boots when it gets cold or rainy.
I don’t suppose that there was any good reason for me to agree to bring the car in at 7:45 AM. That really disrupts my morning routine.
Down the Hall on Your Left 