Mischievous Musings

~ "Write what you know"

Mischievous Musings

Monthly Archives: July 2014

“Well, at least we outsmarted that stupid dog!”

30 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by ronbayjr in humor

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children, kids, Little Heathens, mischief, mischievous

One of the major challenges that faced my siblings and me, as we played in our backyard, was the fact that we kept losing the ball over the wall. The kind of ball, kickball, baseball, or tether ball, didn’t matter; they all ended up over the wall. The ball would inevitably end up in one of three yards adjacent to ours, and all three yards were home to what would eventually become the reason for the challenge; a dog, or in one instance, three dogs. It became not a matter of just scaling the wall, but once on top of the wall, we had to answer this question: “How do we get our ball back without being killed by that dog?”  We spent many moments in serious contemplation and planning, but would eventually figure out an acceptable plan. Here is one such example as excerpted from the book, Little Heathens.

The neighbor behind us had a dog too. This dog was a bit larger than the Chihuahuas and was much more aggressive and faster. He was black and white (a Cocker Spaniel), very thick fur, and his bite was worse than his bark. When the ball went over the wall into this dog’s yard, we had to work on our strategy. You couldn’t just climb down the wall into the back yard, because before your foot hit the ground this dog was all over you, tearing you to pieces. He was a smart dog, always hiding behind bushes, beside the house, wherever he could conduct his surveillance. It didn’t matter what time of day it was, you could not get a foot down and that dog was right there, no bark, just wooosh!, he was there. We weren’t about to let any dog outsmart us, however. Our plan was brilliant. If the ball was on the east end of the yard for example, one of us would go to the west end of the yard and begin the climb down. This time we had him fooled. While the decoy was on the west end, the other kid was on the east end where the ball was located. The decoy never intended to set foot in the yard, but the strategy was effective. The dog ran over to the kid on the west end and in the meantime the other kid would quickly jump down, grab the ball and be back up on the wall before the dog knew what hit him. Then we would sit on the wall, stick our tongues out and make fun of the dog. If nothing else could be said about us, we were smarter than a dog, at least on this occasion.

At least we thought we were smarter than the dog, and I guess in this instance we were. However, looking back at the situation, I have to wonder, wouldn’t it have been smarter to walk around to the front of the neighbor’s house, knock on the door, and politely ask for our ball? No dog to worry about! One thing that can be said for our approach is that the strategic planning and avoidance of danger did prepare us for the junior high experience that would take place not that many years down the road.

Your copy of Little Heathens can be found here, https://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/book.php?w=9781625102034

Or here, http://www.amazon.com/Little-Heathens-Jr-Ron-Bay/dp/1625102038/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1406761962&sr=8-2&keywords=ron+bay+jr.+little+heathens

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“Well it is, isn’t it?”

20 Sunday Jul 2014

Posted by ronbayjr in humor

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Tags

Humor, marriage, marriage classes, sex, teenagers

In two days, my wife and I will officially celebrate thirty-six years of wedded bliss. I say bliss because that’s what you’re supposed to say. I’m sure it’s been more bliss for me than it has for her. In addition to the married years, we had another four years of dating, so our total time as a couple has been forty years. Forty years. It doesn’t seem possible and in some ways it seems like yesterday when we met. I do recall that in order to marry my then girlfriend, I had to jump through a few hoops; none of which at the time seemed easy. The first thing I had to do was ask her dad for her hand in marriage. Whoever came up with that prerequisite, may have been a sadist.

I remember the night of the inquisition, when her dad led me into the television room, just inside and to the right of the entry to their house. I was invited to sit down on the couch and noticed that her father then proceeded to shut the door of the room. Just him and me, in a small room with the door closed. Being a businessman, her dad had a few questions for me,written down on a piece of paper, and even though I had no intention of letting myself be turned away, I had a feeling that there would be a pass/fail with this quiz. Most of the questions centered on me treating his daughter the way she deserved. I answered all those questions in the affirmative and seemed to be doing well. Then he threw a question at me that I thought was way out-of-bounds. “How do you plan on earning a living and taking care of my daughter?” Can you believe it? He wanted to make sure that his daughter wasn’t going to marry a bum. The nerve? Even though I thought, How do I know what I’m going to do? That’s why I’m going to college, that’s not what I said. I explained that while I was going to school and earning a degree, I was making a living at one of the local factories, and when I finished my degree, I would go into something in the business field. He bought it. I made it through that gauntlet, but unfortunately, I wasn’t finished jumping through hoops. There was still one more.

Since my girlfriend was raised Catholic, in order for me to marry her I would have to attend classes. Marriage classes. They weren’t like the business classes I was taking at school, but were more designed around the spiritual world; a world that at the time was foreign to me. I was nervous. The class was held in another town and was led by an official from the Catholic Church. We weren’t the only couple attending the class, as a number of couples from neighboring towns were invited along with us. The format of the class was mainly question and answer, with all of us sitting in a circle on folding chairs. The facilitator would offer up topics designed to stimulate discussion in the group. Some of the topics were practical, but one of the questions posed to the group still stands out to me, and my response remains fixed in my memory to this day.

When the question in reference was posed to the group, I could hardly believe my ears and barely contain myself from an immediate response. Here is the question and I’m not sure why it was asked. “What percent of a marriage do you think sex occupies?” At first the entire group was silent, and there were nervous glances around the room. Finally one of the couples, after much whispering between them said, “Twenty percent.” Everyone looked at the facilitator to gauge his reaction, but his face gave away nothing. Moving around the room, the other couple’s answers, maybe in an effort to give the instructor what he wanted to hear, stayed in the same vicinity as the first. As if there really was a correct answer.

When it came our turn to answer, I spoke for us both. “Sixty percent” I blurted out; a huge smile appearing on my face. I’m sure I came up with that percent for a number of reasons, one of which was shock value. I had a habit of sharing out loud the first thing that entered my mind, and loved to stun the teachers in school with my answers. Another reason I came up with that answer is that I hoped it would turn out to be true. Some of the group tried hard to stifle their giggles and the facilitator himself couldn’t keep the smile off his face. I wasn’t to be deterred and said, “Well it is, isn’t it?” Although he admitted that sex in marriage plays an important role, the instructor also made sure that everyone understood that my expectations were a little on the high side. Being a fine Christian man, I don’t think he wanted to hurt my feelings; or dampen my enthusiasm. I was all of nineteen years old at the time, and my answer gives an insight as to what subject frequently occupied my thoughts. Most of life’s learning’s were still ahead of me. Even with my overzealous answers, we somehow passed and were allowed to marry. I sometimes wonder, How many of the couples that attended those classes are still married?

You may be curious to know, now that I’ve been married thirty-six years, what the actual percentage turned out to be. Well, I’ve never kept track, but I do know that the sixty percent I shouted out those many years ago, was incorrect. Which side of my original guess turned out to be true, more or less, shall remain a mystery. I have learned a few things over the years, and one of them is that some secrets never need see the light of day. I will say that the thirty-six years I’ve been married, to the girl of my dreams, have been a pleasure beyond my expectations.

My Nights with Shirley, Polack, and Bill

02 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by ronbayjr in humor

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college kid, factory work, Humor, life's observations, night shift

As is the case with many college students, I worked a full-time job while carrying a full, fifteen to eighteen hour school schedule. Being a commuter, I wasn’t that interested in experiencing the “college life,” and once my classes were over for the day, I didn’t stick around. Working the graveyard shift at a local factory, which was ideal for my school schedule, I found most of my afternoons taken up with sleep. Having been unceremoniously let go from my job at Schreiber’s Cheese (it appears that they frown on employees disappearing in the middle of their shift without telling the boss), I was in need of a new one. In short order I found an opportunity at Leggett and Platt.

Leggett and Platt currently produces a wide variety of products for the home, but at the time, their main product was bed springs. Going from Schreiber’s to Leggett was a major change. Whereas Schreiber’s was a non-union plant, Leggett was union, and once I was hired I became a part of the Amalgamated Wire Cutters and Spring Benders of America, or some such outfit. Schreiber’s, other than the smell of milk and cheese, was a clean, well-lit, place to work. Leggett on the other hand was dark, greasy, and loud. In order to not lose your hearing, ear plugs were required at all times (I lost much of my hearing anyway due to the loud rock music I subjected myself to). The method of compensation was also different and I went from straight hourly pay at Schreiber’s to a base pay plus piece rate, which I found didn’t often deliver on its promise.

My main job was to make the tops of the bed springs and I was assigned a specific machine outfitted for the task (there’s a reason I was assigned to that machine and it had much to do with the piece rate mentioned earlier). Making the tops was easy and it wasn’t long before I was one of the fastest top makers on the graveyard shift. At least I was when my machine cooperated. I found that it was hard to get into bonus pay when the machine was constantly breaking down. Waiting for the maintenance man to come around might take part of an hour. It was during these down times that I found myself composing the lyrics to a few songs. I would take a blank time card from the break room and throughout the evening I would write down verses as they came to mind. What else is a person to do in that environment?

One other difference between the two companies was in the employees. Schreiber’s had its share of oddballs, but nothing to compare with Leggett. The bar scene in Star Wars is a fair representation of the people who I would be working side by side with in the early hours of the morning. It didn’t take long for me to see that this college boy was “not in Kansas anymore”. The first of the unique characters on my shift was Shirley.

Shirley was the fastest top maker on my shift and wearing that title, she gave me something to shoot for. I found early on that her machine was always in tip-top shape and was the main reason for her success. Being an old veteran she had the pick of machines, and it isn’t coincidental that she didn’t pick mine. Not only had she learned basic maintenance on her own, but she also made sure to be on good terms with the maintenance man. If Shirley’s machine was ever down and she couldn’t do the repairs, which was rare, the maintenance man knew that hers was top priority. Mine could wait. There are a couple of fictional characters that you might be familiar with that serve as an adequate descriptor of Shirley. In the movie Throw Momma from the Train, Danny Devito’s character has a mother; the Momma in the title. Picture Momma, and then picture Mama Fratelli from The Goonies. There’s a reason they both work for Shirley; the two characters were played by the same actress, Anne Ramsey. While Shirley was pounding out tops, and making top dollar for her efforts, I was often at the machine next to hers, whacking mine with a hammer, frustrated that I couldn’t catch her. Shirley was a constant smoker, with a cigarette dangling from her lips at all times. Her “uniform” was the same every night; blue jeans and a royal blue t-shirt, with a large hole just above the belly button. She was gruff and seldom spoke to me other than a few grunts and growls.

Bill was another character on the shift. I’m not sure what he did specifically, as I would see him meander around the plant, pestering person after person throughout his shift. Sometimes he would do maintenance on the machines, but he wasn’t the maintenance man. At times he might cover for the foreman when he was on his lunch break. Other times he would bring materials and supplies to the top makers. What he mostly did was screw around. I never saw Bill run a machine. It’s entirely possible that he got away with his goofing around because of his intimidating reputation. Bill made it known that he was once in prison. That I do not doubt. Rumor has it, and I’m guessing that he started the rumor, that Bill was in prison for murder. Whether he did or didn’t murder someone was truly irrelevant, the important thing is that we believed he did. Sitting across the table from him at lunch time, looking into his “Charles Manson like” wild eyes, I treated him with all the respect due a murderer. I found it best to humor him and I gave him much more leeway than I would most people. I put up with his practical jokes and laughed at appropriate times, not wanting to cross him and find out that the rumors were true. He found my brother and me, both college students, to be a novelty, so he spent much of his time telling us stories and asking us numerous questions.

As is the case in many fictional stories, Bill had a sidekick. In these fictional stories, there is the smaller man, who happens to be fairly intelligent, who often befriends a much larger, and also much dumber partner (George and Lennie from Of Mice and Men are just two of many examples). Well, in this instance, Bill had his partner, the sycophantic toady, Polack. His real name wasn’t known, at least by those of us who worked with him. He may have been of Polish descent and been given the derogatory moniker because of it, but more than likely he was given the name because of his obvious lack of intelligence. Polack was enamored with Bill and followed him around everywhere he went. If Bill were to suddenly stop while walking through the plant, Polack would run into him. Polack was a foot taller than Bill and seeing the two together was humorous. Bill may have been the brains of the outfit, but being the smartest guy in the room with those two isn’t saying much. I believe that Polack was truly afraid of Bill, and so he not only showered him with flattery, but he also perpetuated the idea that Bill was a hardened criminal. He may have been, but the stories had a tendency to become more outlandish each time they were told. I found it best to just nod my head while the yarns were being spun.

On our shift we also had a foreman. How one becomes a foreman in this setting is curious; maybe the foreman is the last man standing. Our foreman was Joe. Joe spent most of his evenings sitting in his small office situated in the middle of the plant, doing what, I could never tell. From time to time he would wander the plant and check in at each work station, and then disappear back into his office or some other out-of-the-way hiding place. He must have been a diehard Elvis fan, because his hair and sideburns, as well as his mouse like tummy, resembled Elvis during his “fat period”. Joe was the one who answered the phone on those nights; I’m ashamed to admit, when I called in sick, even though I wasn’t sick, just sick of working in that factory. He seemed genuinely disappointed in me not coming to work, but never challenged me on the veracity of my claim. Joe never let anything bother him and one night when I was working on an unfamiliar machine, a wire ran through one end of my finger and out the other. I was a little shook up and called for help, as I now had a chunk of warm wire sticking out of both sides of my finger. Joe calmly grabbed some wire cutters, cut the wire loose, and then pulled the remaining wire out of my finger, as if the operation was routine. He then, like a doctor with his patient, pronounced me good to go and sent me back to work.

How long I worked at Leggett, I’m not quite sure, but I do remember the impact working there had on me. I may have learned much in my college years and can look back on the experience as being worth the time and money. But, working at Leggett gave me a much more valuable lesson in life. After only a brief time of working there, I realized why I was going to college. Whatever I had to do, I wasn’t about to end up on the graveyard shift with Shirley, Polack, and Bill for the rest of my life.

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