The Gas Nozzle

My wife reminded me that maybe it is not old age. Thirty years ago I was an outside salesman for a wholesale heating and a/c firm. I had a Galaxy 500 as my my company car in which I made weekly sales calls. One day I had a  dentist appointment later in the day in Mt. Pleasant. I had been to Walterboro making sales calls that morning. That afternoon I decided to go by my office on the way to the dentist. I needed to pick up some brochures on Scotsman ice machines to take with me to my customers in Hilton Head the next day. We had a gas pump behind the office and you would pull up  and give the secretary your mileage over an intercom. I gave the secretary my mileage and told her I was going to run in and get some brochures for the next day. I explicitly told her not to
 give me any phone calls as I would nearly have time to get to my dentist seven miles away. He was a stickler for being on time. I left the nozzle in the gas tank and ran in to get the brochures. When I got to my desk the phone was ringing off the hook. I regretfully answered it and their was an irate plumber on the line. I was told that we had delivered ten one piece white tub and shower units earlier that day. They were supposed to be bone in color which is an off-white to match the toilets and sinks he had already set. He was furious and rightly so. I finally calmed him down and assured him that the right ones would be sent the next morning. Then I raced to my car and drove off knowing I would be late. As I drove down I-26 towards Mt. Pleasant, I noticed several people in the right lane laughing and pointing at my car. When I got almost to the Cooper River Bridge it hit me like a ton of bricks. I pulled over in the emergency lane and went to the other side of the car. I was dragging six feet of gas hose and the twisted nozzle was still in the tank. I took the nozzle and hose out of the tank and slammed the door shut. Then I threw the nozzle and hose on the back floorboard of the car. It was reeking of gas fumes. By now I was not far from the dentist but stopped at a pay phone booth which are now extinct. First I called my dentist and told him there had been a death in my family. Then I called my company and the secretary who also gave me the phone call answered the phone. She in a frantic voice informed me that their was no emergency cut off on the gas tank and 54 gallons of gas was heading towards a storm sewer. That three fire trucks were on the scene and two sand trucks with guys throwing sand on the gas as fast as they could before it reached the storm sewer. And she said the Manager was outside talking to the fire chief but told her to call me and tell me he wanted that nozzle back now. If I had been in my car I would have told her to tell him I quit. But I headed back and when I came to a stop light a block away from the office, all I could see were red flashing lights. As I drove past the sand trucks  and fire trucks into the parking lot. the Manager was still talking to the fire chief. He was so mad he would not look at me. There were three salesman standing behind him, wiggling there hands in there ears and laughing. I gave the warehouse manager the nozzle and hose and went home after such a horrible day. The next morning I went by the office to hear my fate. There was a plumber at the counter asking me how much was I asking for the sand on the parking lot. Smart Ass. The manager had simmered down and surprisingly told me he knew it was an accident and thought about me paying for the gas and sand but thankfully he never did. Two weeks later we had our office Christmas party and exchanged gifts. Guess what I got? The gas nozzle. It was too screwed up to reuse.

SIGN OF OLD AGE

I turned 63 years old on November  of this year. That same day I went to a Bank of America drive up Atm not far from my home. I got out and inserted my debit card and retrieved my card. Then I turned and opened the door to my gas tank and unscrewed the cap. Then I looked at the cars behind me and they were all laughing. I had a lot on my mine obviously and realized I was not at the gas station.  I immediately cancelled my transaction and drove off only to return an hour later to save embarrassment.

The Rip Off Artist

A lot of mayhem occurred at my job with a plumbing and heating wholesaler for eighteen years. The following happened my first week of employment. I was working on the sales counter when this old man who seemed as if he could hardly walk came up to me. He had just parked one of those old station wagons with the fake wooden sides, The headliner was also falling down. He told me that he wanted to buy as many 100 foot rolls of 80 psi water pipe as I could load in my car. This presented a real challenge to me.

I instructed him to pull his car to the pipe section of the sales yard so I could load it. I began by loading the back hatch then filled the entire back seat. Then I filled the front passenger seat. I was so proud of how many rolls of pipe I had stuffed into that old clunker, I really had it bulging. Then I told him to come back to the counter and I would figure out his bill. As I walked back to  the counter he raced back to his car and spun tires fleeing our lot. It was as if he had swallowed a bottle of geritol. I was dropped off everyday at work as we only had one car. I had no way of chasing him and it happened to fast to get his license  plate number. That is one time I wish I had not done such a good job.

My Parasailing Adventure

 A few years ago my wife invited me to join her and several coworkers for a party on Lake Murray. I had no idea what I was getting into. One of the coworkers brought his really souped up boat and a parasail. We anchored our boats at Bomb (or Lunch) Island in the middle of Lake Murray. The island has a very small beach. The rest of the island is off limits as the island is one of only two roosting grounds for Purple Martins in the US. 

The plan was for each of us to have a turn parasailing around the island by taking off from the beach.
Two women went ahead of me and went soaring way up in the air like little birds.  Next it was my turn. I strapped my arms into the two ten foot sails. The sails were held up by a person on each side. Then they handed me a rope attached to this very loud gas guzzling boat. I was told not to run and to just wait till the rope got tight. They said it would just automatically pick me up. Then they started revving up the boat engine and tightening on the lines to the parasail. I started sweating bullets and yelled for them to cut the engine. They could not hear over the noise of the motor so I started running. Big mistake. My feet could not keep up so I fell. My face and knees were dragged across the sand and rocks before I was finally lifted up.

I could not believe how high it took me and how quiet it was up there. But I did realize that my knee was dripping blood and I had lost one of my sandals. We circled the island and the boat started to slow up so I could descend and land in shallow water off the beach. But a little old man wearing a thong pulled his pontoon in the precise place I was to land. Thankfully, the boat driver realized I was about to splat like a bug on a windshield. He gave it the gas and I just did clear the top of the pontoon boat.

There is more to this adventure that I will post in a future blog.

The Flare Gun

I have a pontoon boat that I enjoy using on Lake Murray.  At the end of each summer I try to make sure to put the cover over the boat. This helps protect the carpet and upholstery from the elements over the winter. Last fall I asked my youngest son if he would cover it after taking it out.  It was early spring before I went and checked on it.  I found it covered with leaves and the upholstery covered with mold and mildew. I decided to pull it  home and park it in the back yard . That way I could detail it when I had time. This was a violation of our homeowners covenants and restrictions.

A few weeks later I decided to give the upholstery a good scrubbing. I was almost finished when I  decided to detail the live well under the seats. I had been a long time since I saw my old flare gun. It was orange and had four shells attached.  I  had never fired a flare gun and decided to see if  it worked.  I assumed it would send up a flare and go out like a bottle rocket. Wrong. This fireball went way up in the air like a rocket, came down like a meteorite, and landed in my new neighbors back yard. Upon landing it set the pine straw in their yard on fire then bounced and started another pile on fire. My wife who was working in the yard heard the shot and came running.  I jumped off the boat and ran pass her toward my neighbors yard. They had just recently installed a pool and enclosed the back yard with a 6 foot fence. I could not scale the fence and ran down the side through my right side neighbor's yard.  This neighbor is my insurance agent.  I tripped and fell flat on my belly in his yard tearing my jeans. At this point my wife had seen the fire though the cracks in the fence and began to yell, "You idiot!" I jumped up and continued racing to the neighbors front gate and was praying that it would be unlocked. I had not even met these neighbors yet and it did not appear they were home. Thankfully the gate was unlocked. When I reached the backyard, my left side neighbor was already there. He witnessed what I had done, is younger and was able to scale the fence. He had already stomped out one fire and came over to help me extinguish the other one. We finally had the fires out when the insurance neighbor walked up. He told me that he would be examining my insurance premiums.

This mayhem event occurred  last spring and last week I finally met my neighbor walking her dog.  Since I had planned to post this story, I confessed and gave her my blog address.

I learned 4 lessons that day:   1.  Always introduce yourself immediately to new neighbors.                      

                                             2.  Tell your neighbors if you set their yard on fire.
                                             3.  Don't live next to your insurance agent if you have mayhem tendencies.
                                             4.  Fire a flare gun only on open water.

The Dinner Invitation

Some years ago I was visiting some old friends in Ann Arbor, Michigan. They were not old in age just old friends.  I called a close friend that worked for the same real estate firm I did when I lived there. He invited my wife and I to dinner at his house. We agreed on a time of 1:00 p.m. My wife and I arrived a little before 1:00 p.m.. We had a great time reminiscing but by 3:00 we still had not eaten dinner. I was starved by 4:00 as was my wife. I did not say a word to my friend but came to the realization that we were invited to supper. He was accustomed to  the midwest ritual of breakfast, lunch and dinner. Growing up in the low country of South Carolina, it was always breakfast,dinner and supper. My friend did not know we were confused and we had a good time. Guess he could tell the way we ate through appetizers that it was time to put the bratwurst on the grill. Now I will ask, even in the south, when invited to dinner.  Will we be having dinner or supper?

The Supper Invitation

My wife and I were living in Mt. Pleasant in 1978. She was working on her masters degree at MUSC. I was a sales representative for a wholesale heating and plumbing supply house. One Friday my wife's sister called and asked us to come over for  a quail supper that night. My sister-in-law and her husband lived in downtown Charleston in a very small carriage house. The temperature that January day was hovering around 32 degrees. There was also a slight chance of wintry precipitation. We left around 5:30 pm for our 6:00  dinner engagement. It had already started sleeting as we approached the old Cooper River bridge. When we reached the top of the bridge we realized that the descending side was covered in ice. We stopped at the top and watched as the car ahead slid down going from side to side and was bouncing off the concrete abuttments. I was petrified but finally reached the bottom.  I looked back and the cars behind me had started backing up - stranded on the bridge.

While we continued our slow trek downtown it started to snow very hard. We saw on TV when we arrived for dinner that they had just closed the  bridge. The snow and ice had made it impassable. We however did have a wonderful supper. The problem was that it snowed all night and more ice accumulated. Then the power went out. The bridge was our only way home. It remained closed for two more days. We remained guests for breakfast, dinner, supper again, breakfast and dinner again. We were finally able to leave Sunday afternoon. We ate everything consumable in those three days and finally ran out of food. Not to mention we had to wear the same clothes for three days and sleep on the floor for two nights. That was the last time I ate quail.