Well, Just Slap My Face

You'll never believe what happened....go ahead, try.

My mother-in-law asked Sweet Wife to ask me for a link to a company that sells emergency preps, survival food. MIL stated she was worried about the condition of the world.

Well slap me silly....

Seven years I've tried to get my wife's family on board. Seven years. Goes to show even the elderly are able to learn new tricks.

Bless her.

Stephen

The Dress Code

When I arrived there was but one space available at the far side of the parking lot, a convenient slot next to a dumpster. I stepped from my truck into the hundred degree furnace. The odors from the restaurant waste slapped me square in the face. Awful stuff.

My mission was to have a blood test, a doctor ordered waste of my time. I began the long walk to the far side of the tarmac. Halfway across the parking lot I stopped and composed myself, muttered, "Don't limp," and opened the door to the building. The waiting room was packed, stuffed full of democritters; the elderly, children, illegal immigrants, seniors in wheelchairs...all of 'em with a cell phone chattering ninety miles a minute.

I hate crowds.

I felt like a marshmallow in a chocolate factory.

All the seats had been taken. It was either stand or I could sit on the little magazine table. I chose the table. Screw 'em. It was a tight fit. A lady and her girl child held the place directly to my right. I removed my hat and placed it on my knee and began to read.

The room was hot and loud and a woman of twenty or so was deep into a loud conversation in Spanish and an older gentleman tapped a steady rhythm with his cane and my neighbor and her child spread out their snacks and began to shoulder the space between us which forced me shift close to the wall, and I was within seconds of walking the hell out. Yet, I held.

The little girl asked, "What kind of boots are 'dem? They sure are shiny."

Me, "They are called engineers boots."

"What?"

"They're just old boots."

"Why they so shiny?"

"Because I shine them."

Her mother glanced over and told the child to not bother the man, gave me a 'look.' I scooted, some more.

I went back to my book - Private Battles, if you want to know. The child returned, stood and moved in front of me and touched the toe of my boots. "How you say you gots 'dem so shiny?" I closed the book and said, "Hard work." The mother reached and jerked the little girl back to her bag of potato chips.

My name was yelled. I stood and walked back and the woman took my information and agreed I was worthy of their time and soon I was seated on a stool. I read. Thirty minutes later a very large woman entered the room.

I'd removed my hat and placed it on my knee, as is my habit. The woman gave me papers to sign, placed a blue rubber band around my arm. Uncomfortable, to say the least. All the while she kept her eye on the hat. I could tell it bugged her. I liked that it bugged her. Made me smile, it did.

"Something wrong?"

"Huh?"

"Are you uncomfortable?"

"Well, now that you mention it, why the hat?"

Me, big grin.

She readied the horse needle. "Make a fist."  I made a fist.

Me, "This hat bothers you, doesn't it."

"Yes, its awful. Its hate. It tells people you like to shoot people and that you own guns."

Oh, this was good. "Really. This hat sends a message does it."

"Yes."

She slapped the needle deep into my arm...missed. Tried a second time. Missed again. It hurt like hell.

Me, "Are you new to the art of phlebotomy?"

"Huh?" My arm didn't feel good, at all. She reversed course and slipped  the projectile in again...and again. I was ready to punch her.

"Hey, Mister Gunman, did you drink water before coming in here?"

"Yes. Want to try the other arm...this one is about fried."

She was a big woman. She'd voted for Obama, and I'm sure had been tenth in a class of ten. Her, "You shouldn't wear that hat in public. There is a dress code, you know."

The words kiss my ass almost slipped from my lips, and would have, but she still held that needle and the job wasn't completed.

What I did say was, "Lady, what I wear and where I wear it is none of your business. Furthermore you are as safe now as you've been all day."

No response

She finally hit a stream of blood. She finger thumped the first tube and reached for the second. I drew in a deep breath and waited as she slipped the next vile in place. "I take it you don't like firearms."

"No. They kill people."

"How?"

If looks could kill.

Silence. I asked a second time, "How?"

"They just do."  I heard a child scream. We're down to the third sample of blood. My arm feels like its on fire. Me, "So, my handgun jumps from its holster and kills people, all on its own, does it."

"I don't want to talk about it. But don't you wear that hat in here again. You hear me, mister."

I couldn't help myself. I'd had enough...

I stood and walked to the door, turned and told her as nicely as possible...

"Kiss my ass."

Two weeks later my arm is still black and blue. 

Stephen 


  

Note

I've finally answered all replies....thank you so much for your kindness and warm welcome back to the blog world.

I'm writing a longer piece for later publication. It'll take time, couple of hours at least. The door bell waits for no man.

In the meantime check your house for the above bond...I want it.

I'd also like to say thanks and welcome to all that have clicked the follow button...God bless.

Be back in a few...

Stephen

Silence

As soon as I find a few hours of silence I shall write, something. At the moment my life is far too busy.

I'll try and reply to all your kind comments, hopefully later this afternoon. For now, the key to the shop's front door must be released, my coffee needs attention, and there's a young cat that has appeared at my back door with food on her mind.

Sunday I shall drive towards my father's farm and gather in a hundred or so pounds of lead ingots for my bullet factory (sarcasm).  His gun shop has a back bench filled with prime chunks of shiny bars just waiting for the furnace pot, and I've a new Lee six cavity .358 mold just dying to be used. 

Should be fun.

Later,

Stephen

Sunday, with Rain

Another quick note...it's been a very long day of thunder and rain and heat. There, did you see the lighting.... just finished dinner (a turkey roast) and I'm flat-footed tired.

My lovely wife begins college later this week. The school is across the river and many miles from our home - she asked if I'd help her scout the route. We did. The class room was located, and I flagged the way back to the parking lot.

Better safe than sorry.

Thinking about melting a bit of lead. I'd like to cast a few cheap bullets.

Now, let's hope I don't sweat in the melted lead.

Later,

Stephen

Know Your Limitations

It is written (somewhere) we should all know our limitations. Mine is auto mechanics. Place just about any firearm at my feet and I'll run it for you. Ask me to repair your car - not gonna happen.

Sure, I can change the oil and handle most of the basics but when it comes to the complicated stuff, like brake jobs, well it's best to leave it to the experts.

Several months back I happened upon a Youtube channel and found this fine young man. Here's a sample.

Eric works clean. He has a system and his videos are clear and simple enough for the average back yard mechanic to follow along, even a dummy such as myself.

Do yourself a favor - before you attempt that next brake job on your twenty year old Chevy run over and visit Eric, he'll probably save your life.

Stephen 

Saturday Ramble

The price of friggin shrimp has spiked - even the frozen stuff is nine bucks a pound. I want to cook. Something with rice and bell peppers and onions and celery all mixed with a wonderful light brown rue.

Guess I'll settle for chicken...

As you're well aware it's Saturday and I really haven't the time to write. Couple of crows have landed just outside my office window. They cuss me.

Hey, I really need to run...later, but first,

tell me, and be serious - Crow and Creole?

Stephen