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Life's too serious
to take that way
by:
Wes Ishmael |
“It’s official, America has done
lost what was left of its sense of humor,” announced Peetie
Womac, idly thumbing through the newspaper, while sipping coffee
in the backroom of the feed store.
“I’ve had my suspicions, but listen to this,” he continued.
“Says here some Irish golf commentator has upset the
sensibilities of the politically meek by saying that based on
his own visits to allied troops in the Middle East, if you gave
a U.S. soldier a gun and two bullets and put him on an elevator
with Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid and Osama bin Laden, there’s a
good chance Pelosi would be shot twice and the other two
strangled.”
“Now that’s funny,” roared Hooter, falling into a fit of
hysterics.
“And true, based on how my nephew says he and his buddies feel
about things over there” said Lonnie before drowning an ant with
a stream of Mail Pouch.
Peetie slapped the paper in disgust. “I swear, used to be you
could call an idiot an idiot, and it wasn’t grounds for public
debate. It’s a hard ride between tolerance and acceptance, but
so many folks see them as being the same anymore.”
The boys all nodded in agreement.
“Maybe we’re just getting older and grumpier,” Charlie offered.
“Just because we’re getting older doesn’t mean we’re wrong,”
said Hooter, slicing open a pack of Twinkies with his knife.
“Why is it that the most politically incorrect people—God Bless
Them—seem to come from everywhere but the U.S. anymore? That
used to be one of our greatest traits as a nation, far as I’m
concerned.”
“Amen,” said Lonnie and Peetie in unison.
“That’s just like that deal that got passed around the Internet
a while back,” said Charlie, starting the coffee pot back around
the circle. “There’s some Aussie city councilman who got kicked
off a radio show down there. Supposedly they were asking him
what methods he thought should be allowed when it came to
interrogating terrorist suspects. They asked him if he’d support
the use of a car battery hooked up to their tender parts.
Apparently he says, ‘If I thought doing so would save the life
of one Australian, then I have only three things to say—red’s
positive, black’s negative and water helps.’”
Hooter came undone, spitting out his coffee, turning red he was
laughing so hard. Lonnie finally had to slap him hard on the
back a couple of times to keep him from choking.
Annoy or be Annoyed
Thinking about that conversation might be why Hooter didn’t
automatically hang up the phone later in the day when it was
obviously a salesman of some kind on the other end. After all,
Hooter continued to prize his old rotary phone over anything
offered by modern electronics because of the receiver’s heft and
the startling crack it made when slammed back into the cradle.
“Mr. McCormick?”
“Yep.”
“This is William Feltnap, how are you today sir?”
Hooter resisted the temptation to slam down the receiver. “In
what regard, exactly?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Physically, mentally, emotionally? How exactly do you want to
know how I’m doing today?”
“Ummm…sir, just generally, speaking.”
“Oh, generally speaking, just swell. You?”
“Fine, sir, thanks for asking.”
The clipped tone informed Hooter that he’d been hand-selected
for a consumer survey, if he could only spare a few minutes of
his time.
“Long as you don’t get too personal,” said Hooter.
“No sir,” replied William. “And I can assure you that our
conversation will be held in the strictest confidence.”
“Is that why your script told you to tell me that for quality
control purposes our conversation might be recorded?”
“Uh, oh no sir, that’s just for, that’s just…”
“First question,” demanded Hooter.
“How many shoes do you buy each year?”
“None, I only wear boots.”
“Um, well then, how many boots would you buy in a year?”
“Just the one.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Just the one.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Just the one, but I buy a good one and I make sure it’s extra
roomy.”
After a long silence, “Thank-you, I’ll move on to the next
question. Do you prefer cable television or satellite?”
“Can you get either of those on the radio?”
“No sir. Perhaps I should repeat the question. It’s in reference
to your preference in television delivery technologies.”
“Tele-what? Whatever they are, like I said, I get all of my
markets and news off the local radio station. W-F-O-O-L—ever
heard of it?”
“No sir, I’m afraid I haven’t. So, can I mark you down as not
owning a television?”
“Most certainly. How do you spray for that stuff anyway, to make
sure you don’t get it?”
Another long silence.
“Um, the next question is posed strictly for demographic
purposes. Would you classify your political party affiliation as
most like Republican, Democrat or Libertarian?”
“Confederate—next in a long line of them.”
“Oh come on, you’re pulling my leg,” said William with a hint of
annoyance. “That was a side in the Civil War, not a political
party, and they don’t even exist anymore?”
Hooter almost forgot the fun he’d been having. “Sonny, we are a
political party and we most definitely do exist, not the kind
hog-washed by most of the history books, either. I’ll give you
my address if you’d like to come down and verify it.”
Sensing that he’d overstepped his bounds, William apologized.
“I’m sorry sir. I’ll mark you down as ‘other’. Again, I’m sorry
for the tone of my voice. It’s just that in this line of work
you’d be surprised how many people string us along.”
“Nooooo,” said Hooter. “And, I’m not other, I’m Confederate.”
“Uh, yes sir.”
On it went until William announced, “We’re down to our last
question, sir. It’s of a topical nature and very
straightforward. Were you more concerned about Avian Influenza
last year, or are you more concerned about Swine Flu this year?”
“Well, I can tell you up front that I never trusted a chicken;
too flighty if you know what I mean. But I’ve never been scared
of one either.
“As for the swine flu, I’m not concerned for myself, you
understand, but I’ve got this little Chester White that’s been
looking a might peeked…Hello? Hello?” |
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