laughter and receding footsteps

I managed to get locked into a few tight spaces as a child. Sometimes my brothers tricked me. Often I was shoved. I got locked into a rabbit hutch, and I got locked into a closet in our garage. One time I was pushed into a locker at school by my older brother. And I usually heard, from the inside of the enclosed space, laughter and receding footsteps.

The very last time was by my father. I was half-asleep on the top bunk in a trailer, and he said to my brother, "Do you think we can fold it up, with her in it?"

They could, and they did.

-fwoop- -click-

And then I heard, muffled through layers of sleeping bag and plywood, laughter and receding footsteps.

I am inconsolable.

I don't mean to alarm anyone, but the Ring Pop that I have been saving for three whole days looks nothing, and I mean nothing, like the advertised product.

Dad

My father taught me a lot of life skills when I was a child: tying my shoes, changing the oil in a car, and using a Maglite to incapacitate an intruder.

But there is one thing that I taught him, that he mentions frequently. He brings it up while making use of it. If your hands are greasy and you are without a napkin, wipe your hands on your socks, because nobody will ever notice a grease stain on your socks.

You're welcome, dad.

And happy Father's Day.

cleaning up my house

I'm going through old files, and shredding old pay stubs and tax documents.

Long after I'm dead, I would like to be remembered as, "A slow and brief transfer of an insignificant amount of wealth between corporations."

I grew up in a rural area.

One Summer day, when I was teenager, my friend Chris called me and said, "Hey, come over with the truck. I just got a deal on a sheep."

I went to Chris' house, and we drove across town to another farm.

I was a late bloomer. At the age of 16, I was 90-something pounds and under 5 feet tall. I struggled to see over the steering wheel of my father's truck. When Chris called about the sheep, I think I had entered puberty earlier that day.

Chris was a little bigger than I was, but the sheep was bigger than both of us. As soon as we approached the animal, it panicked. When we tried to grab her, she spontaneously developed nervous diarrhea and started frantically bleating and flailing her limbs in protest. It took over an hour for us two kids to drag and push her into the truck, and she somehow never stopped pooping during the entire ordeal.

We drove back to Chris' farm and unloaded the poor creature. There was sheep diarrhea on my jeans, my sneakers, and in the truck.

It was possibly that very day that solidified my future plans, of moving to a city and going to university. And I did eventually finish puberty.

I went to a job fair.

My favourite part of the job fair was the local technical college. The woman staffing the booth did not want to be there, and made no secret of it. As I was approaching the booth, she was engrossed in something on a tablet. She took so long to look up from the tablet, that I seriously considered walking away. And when she finally did look up, it was only to tell me to apply online.

I thought, "Wow. She is not interested in talking to me, or anyone else here."

Props to her! I have to respect that attitude. In fact, I'm weirdly into it. I kind of want to be friends with her. Or ask her on a date. If only I could give her my number... and my email address. And my home address. And work history. And my educational background. And some references, upon request.

my good deed for the day

If I ever arrive at the Pearly Gates:

Saint Peter: It says here that you once helped a homeless man carry his heavy bags for several blocks.

me, beaming with pride: Yes, sir. For as the Bible says, in Matthew 25:40...

Saint Peter: ...and then as soon as you got home, you washed your hands for two full minutes instead of the standard 30 seconds.