Crazy isn’t it how certain phrases come in and out of fashion. One that’s driving me nuts right now, and it’s often expressed in corporate emails, someone wants to “reach out to you.” That just feels creepy to me. I feel like answering, “You reach out to me one more time and I’ll have you brought up on assault charges.”
Here’s another one that’s been sneaking up on me, but it hit the conscious mind this morning when I opened the Sunday paper. In the gob of advertising flyers, at least three were trying to sell me a bundle. There was Best Buy wanting to sell me not just one appliance, but a “MAJOR APPLIANCE BUNDLE.” Verizon upped the ante by warning me not to miss out on Sony’s “AMAZING BUNDLE.” But in an apparent effort not to be topped, Direct TV offered “THE ULTIMATE BUNDLE.” What, are they selling babies? Of course all of these folks are hoping you’ll forget about the old fashioned use of the word, example: This stuff is going to cost you a BUNDLE. (1)
Back in the 1950’s my dad probably invented the idea of bundling stuff. But he practiced it from the buyers angle. Dad was a big “garage sailor,” and Saturday mornings he’d head out early, with the Classifieds section of the newspaper as his guide and hit as many garage sales as possible. Wherever he could, he’d bring several items he was interested in to the sales table and ask the owner what kind of a deal he could get if he bought all of them. We kids had seen this maneuver so often, that we called it “the package deal.” It got to the point where we’d be extremely disappointed if we couldn’t come home and tell mom about the great deal dad got on that mangle, the side horse and the ping pong table by putting together a fabulous “package deal.” (3)
Getting back to things that feel creepy, how about all those perverts out there? I think there has been a rather consistent percentage of perverts in the general population since, well, forever. Case in point. The Idiotic Brother (no, not him!) he just sent me an email asking if I could remember a pervy experience from our old caddying days. Jeez man, which one! The one he was thinking of occurred on “Ladies Day.” He was caddying for in a foursome of women, when a truck driver pulled his rig over to the side of the road, walked out on the fairway, and exposed himself! Hey, Jimbo, did one of the women say, “Oh for God’s sake man, you’re gonna need more club than that!”
Just a year or two before that, I had an incident while out on my early morning paper route. I’d climbed off my bike to deliver a paper, and when I turned around there was a guy standing by my bike. I walked over and he put his hand on my crotch and said, “Has anyone ever touched you like this before?” Yeah, right, all the time. I somehow disengaged myself from this nut, stood up on the pedals and took-off.
I never told my parents about this, but I did confide in the Idiotic Brother. There had come a point, I’m not sure why, when we had split his old paper route between the two of us. Anyway, when I told him about the guy who grabbed me he said, “Oh yeah, that guy grabbed me once too!” Gee, I wonder why he gave me that half of the route. Can you see why I don’t trust him?
Moving on. I was having my blood pressure checked by a very personable young lady at the doctor’s office last week. We were talking weather, and I lamented the long dry spell we had been going through. She said, “You know, I’m just an old farm girl, but my grand daddy always says, when the leaves turn up, it’s going to rain. And this morning I saw those leaves were all turned up.” I thought yeah, uh huh. It wasn’t more than a couple of hours later that a pretty good rain spread over the area. But there’s better rain indicators. The next day I finished waxing the Camry. Oh yeah, it rained even bigger that afternoon. But the absolute best rain maker, guaranteed to bring on a real gully washer is when we call Mr. Squeegee like I did today to come out and wash our windows. This is just fair warning, no matter what the forecast says, it’s going to rain beavers and battleships this Thursday night, mark my words.
Just briefly, I continue on the paint work, that left rear wheel and axle housing, nothing exciting.
I did make a purchase, however, that has changed things a lot. Some of you will remember that I once wrote that one of the places where time seems to stand still is Gene’s garage, where all the Pony work is done. I said that, because in four years I can never remember the old clock in there having the right time. Hell, most of the time it didn’t even run. Well, check this out.
I’m not so sure whether this was a good idea or not. It was kind of nice before, not knowing how the hours were slipping by. Until next time friends, thanks for reading.
(1) One exception, you can still view “classic” (old) posts of That Idiotic Tractor, bundled FREE at the website: ThatIdioticTractor.com. Remember, even though they’re reruns, if you haven’t read them before, or if you’re over age 65, they’ll be new to you. Hell, every now and then I read one and can’t even remember writing it! Choose one, or a bundle by clicking on the highlighted dates on the home page calendar. It’s a bundle of fun.(2)
(2) Footnote to the footnote: This offer good only until such time as the much anticipated book “Classic Posts from That Idiotic Tractor” is published, at which time this website function will be disabled. Hey, even TIT has a mercenary streak. Go read ’em, quick!
(3) For you young folks, a mangle was a fancy, sit-down ironing device that housewives used for pressing shirts, slacks, etc. Even in the 50’s they weren’t common, but by gum thanks to dad, our mom had one!