Random Story – This is a weird prologue

This is just an odd little story from my life.

Some years ago, a girlfriend and I broke up a few days before my birthday.  It was for the best.  Anyway, during the exchange of things like spare keys and whatnot, I got the book she had bought for my birthday gift.  It was something like The Dragons of Warevin, or something, by an author I hadn’t heard of.  I still have it, and could look it up, but I don’t feel like doing it now.

So this book sat on a shelf for a few months, but at some point I figured I should move on and only remember the good times, and I figured I should read this book.  It started with this fifteen or so page prologue that began with the tale of two kingdoms, one with magic and one with dragons, or something.  I only vaguely remember the details of the story.  Anyway, I’m reading through this and I’m thinking it seems rather odd.  There’s no dialogue, or even a story, it’s almost just bullet points, like an outline of a story.  I read a couple pages of this, and then we find out the kingdoms were joined through marriage, and then we start in on some scandal that rocked this new kingdom some twenty years later.

Eventually, sadly later than it should have taken, I start to wonder if this is like the sixth book in a series.  I go back and scan the cover, and there’s just The Dragons of Warevin, and on the back there’s a blurb about this author’s outstanding Krithrak Series, or whatever.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  Inside the book, on the list of other works by the author, there’s several apparently stand-alone novels, as well as five or six books in the Krithrak Series, and The Dragons of Warevin isn’t anywhere on this list.  Which isn’t all that strange. 

I go back to the prologue, and hundreds of years past, and there’s civil wars, and dynasties fall, and gunpowder is invented, and a lot of stuff happens.  By the end of the prologue, I’m convinced that this is indeed the sixth or so book in a series, and the prologue was just a bullet point listing of the big events from the previous books.  I then Google the book (back when you could actually get an answer from Google instead of AI slop or pointless ads trying to sell be shit) and it turns out that, yes, The Dragons of Warevin was indeed the sixth book of the Krithrak Series.  Knowing this, I again looked all over the book, but could not find any indication of this.  I guess if you were buying this author’s book, you knew the series.  Or were my ex-girlfriend.

Since all the big events covered in the prologue seemed self-contained in their respective books, I figured I probably wouldn’t miss much reading The Dragons of Warevin.  I don’t think I did miss anything, and the book was okay.  If it wasn’t the last gift of an ex, and for some reason they decided not to show it was part of a series, I’d probably have completely forgotten about it. 

Random Story – The paint splotch

This is just an odd little story from my life.

About a mile from our house, the road goes down a little hill, then up another little hill.  And in the middle, another road goes off at a 90 degree angle.  Thirty some years ago, either someone pulled out from that road, or they just happened to hit a bump the wrong way, or something, but they lost a can of paint.  The result was a big splotch – probably half-a-can’s worth of paint – over the one lane.  And it wasn’t blue, or off white, but almost a neon green.  Who they were, or why that had that color of paint, is a mystery we never solved.

Well that’s odd, but the reason I’m telling this story is that this paint splotch became a bit of a local landmark.  Like, someone could say, “I saw a flock of turkeys on my way to work.” “Oh, where?” someone else could ask.  And instead of the first person saying “At the intersection of road and road,” they’d just go, “By the paint splotch.”

And it stayed a local landmark for over a decade, until the state came in and repaved the road.  I remember someone saying they wish they knew what brand of paint it was, because they made good paint.  It had faded a bit over the years, but not only had it stood up to a decade of sun and rain, but also normal traffic, as well as snow plows and road salt.  So it probably worked well for a kid’s treehouse or whatever they needed neon green paint for.

Random Story – My dream house?

This is just an odd little story from my life.

Waaaay back when I was in my 20s, for a while I had the idea of moving out to the Dakotas, or somewhere.  Someplace where my nearest neighbor would be ten or more miles away.  And instead of buying an existing house, I’d build one.  I don’t know how long I spent designing this dream house, but it was a relaxing, escapist fantasy.  Eventually, I moved on to other escapist fantasies, and I didn’t think of this dream house for twenty years or so.  But recently, I remembered it, so here is what I remember of what 25ish-year-old me thought my dream house would be like.

The front door would open into a mud room.  From this an inner door would open to the first floor, which – except for the mud room and bathroom – would be entirely open.  There would only be some pillars, and there would be couches or bookshelves to break up the kitchen, dinning area, and living room.  The other odd thing about the first floor, is that it would be a few steps down from the mud room.  I distinctly remember that being a feature, but I can’t remember why I wanted it.  I think there was some idea of it driving home the idea that the first floor would be a big open space.

The basic layout of the first floor would have the mud room in the center with the bathroom to the left and a pantry to the right.  The inner door from the mud room would open to the kitchen/dining area, with the back of the first floor being the living area.  Except for the front, the first-floor walls would be large windows, to let in as much light as possible.  On both sides and the back of the house there would be doors that would go out to a covered patio.  On the sides, this cover would maybe only be ten feet, but at the back it would be twenty or even thirty feet.

There would be a set of stairs on each side going up to the second floor, the one on the left would go to the front of the house, while the other would go to the back.  This would be because the second floor would be in two sections.  The front section – over the bathroom, mud room, pantry – would have another bathroom and the bedroom.  The back part – over the living area – would have a study and a spare room.  The central area of the second floor would be open, with a walkway and railing going all the way around.  There would also be several doors to go out to the deck that would go around three sides of the building. 

I think at some points in the plan there would also be a third floor – perhaps just covering the front or back half of the house – that would be just for storage.  There might even be one spot with an opening all the way down to the first floor, just to be extra cool, I guess.

The big open space open to the second, or third floor, for some reason I thought it was really cool.  And I think that was the whole point of the steps down, just to make it seem even bigger.  I’m not sure why I thought that was important. 

That’s as much as I remembered.  But if I had to build this now, what would I change?  First off, the steps down into the main room.  I could live without them now.  Also, while having a big, two or even three-story open space would be cool, I don’t really feel the need.  I could still see a little open space on the second floor, just above the dining area, but it wouldn’t be necessary.  Instead of a third floor, those storage rooms could just go on the second.

I don’t remember where the garage was in the original plan, but I think it was detached just because that’s what I grew up with.  Now, I’d rather have an attached garage.  At first, I thought about swapping the mud room and the bathroom, but the first-floor bathroom would only be a half-bath, so instead of a squarish mud room, there could be a stubby panhandle hallway leading to the attached garage.  I also don’t know if I thought of it all those years ago, but this new house would have solar panels.  And depending on how bad the winters are wherever I built this, I’d probably cut back on the windows.  Unless there are some really well insulated windows that work as well as walls to keep the warmth in. 

I think the only other change I’d make would be the garden.  I’m sure there was one in the original plans, but now it would be much larger.  And there would be a greenhouse, possibly attached to the house either behind the garage or on the other side of the house, depending on how the house was orientated.  The greenhouse would let me grow stuff through the winter as well as warm weather crops.  And I’m sure I had house plants in the original plans, but now there would be far more of them.  Possibly even used with bookshelves to break up the first floor into little nooks. 

So that’s my dream house.  And unless I win the lottery, that’s all it will be. 

Random Story – Where’s the fire?

This is just an odd little story from my life.

I work until 10 at night, so I drive home in the dark.  And I go on windy back roads that go through a bunch of woods.  And I rarely see other cars, but I usually see a few deer.

A couple years ago, I was going home when I saw something through the trees.  It was this triangular, reddish shape that seemed to waver.  I only saw it for a second or two before it was obscured by trees, but my brain figured it must be a house on fire up ahead and I was seeing the flames reflecting off the smoke.  This concerned me for several reasons.  First off, I didn’t want anyone to lose their house.  Also, a few miles ahead was this small village I went through where a couple of my uncles live.  So I hoped it wasn’t one of their houses.  But I also worried that the road might be blocked by firetrucks, and depending on where they were, I might have to backtrack several miles to find a way around them. 

All these thoughts hit me in that first second or two, and in the next few minutes – as I caught further quick glimpses of this thing – I grew even more concerned.  Because I hadn’t come to a massive house fire yet, meaning for me to see it from so far away it must be multiple houses on fire, but then why hadn’t any firetrucks come up behind me?  For such a huge fire, they would have called out several companies, and I’m pretty sure the way I was going was the fastest way for some of them to get there.

And then, I couldn’t see it any more.  I caught a glimpse of it through the trees, but then I went through a very windy part thick with trees, and when I came out, I couldn’t see it.  I get to the little village, looking all around but not seeing any fire, or firetrucks or anything out of the ordinary.  Wondering how I could have missed something that big.  I go through the village, and I’m a mile or two down the road – trying to figure out what I had seen – when I see it again.  Only this time, I can see it’s … the moon.

So, it was like a quarter moon that was still rising when I first saw it, which is why I only saw it as a triangular thing.  When the moon is on the horizon, it can be rather reddish, and this was a few years ago when Canada was on fire, so there was a lot of smoke in the air to make it even redder.  And then there were clouds.  It must have been a thin layer of clouds that blocked enough of the moonness to make it not obviously the moon.  Also, the different thicknesses moving in front of it gave it a wavering effect you’d expect from smoke billowing from a huge fire.  But this layer of clouds thickened to the point it blocked out all the moonlight – or at least enough that I couldn’t see it over my headlights – which is why I didn’t see anything for a couple of miles.  But then the clouds cleared enough for me to see that the reason there weren’t any firetrucks is because I confused the moon for a housefire.

Random Story – Interesting driving instruction

This is just an odd little story from my life.

Way back when I was learning to drive, there was some deal that if you took lessons from the school’s driving instructor, your parents would get a discount when you got your insurance.  I don’t know what the policy is these days.  So I was signed up to drive for four or five days during the summer.  The instructor drove out to our house out in the boonies, and then I’d drive back to town to show I knew what I was doing.  Every now and then he’d point to a parking spot and have me parallel park into it.  We’d find a quiet side street and he’d have me do a 3 Point Turn.  After about an hour, he’d direct me to the house of the next kid, who would then drive me back home as the first part of his driving lesson.

The last day I had to drive, at the end I had to go to a new house to pick up a new kid.  So the instructor sent me out some road I’d never been on before, and we soon came to some construction.  The traffic was backed up pretty far, and it looked like we’d be there for some time slowly inching forward.  Well, we were stopped right at a restaurant, or something, so he had me pull in to the parking lot.  Fortunately, there were three or four random businesses that shared this parking lot, so I drove from before the restaurant’s area of the lot, through the dry cleaner’s section, to the gun store section.  But that was where the lot ended.  If I had gotten back on the road, we would have passed twenty or so cars.  But we would still have been backed up.

The next business was a liquor store, or whatever, and their parking lot was separated from the one we were in by three-foot-wide patch of grass.  I don’t remember if there was a curb, but if there was it was only an inch or so.  The instructor told me to drive over the grass into the liquor store parking lot.  I don’t know what exactly I was thinking, but I think I was just too scared to say anything, so I drove into the liquor store parking lot.

But then, on the other side of the liquor store parking lot, there was a hedge row, or a stone wall that almost reached the road.  I think the reason it didn’t go all the way to the road was because there was a telephone pole there, and there’s probably some statute about how much space needs to be around a telephone pole.  The distance from the pole to the hedge was probably about six inches wider than the car, so the instructor told me to drive through it.  Fortunately, the gas station or whatever parking lot we were in now, was either beyond the construction area, or was at an intersection where we could continue on to the new kid’s house. 

Once my nerves settled, I had to admit the whole thing was pretty funny.  I can only imagine what the other drivers, or the construction workers thought as they saw a Student Driver Car off-roading to get around them.  But I do wonder if I had shown myself to be an okay enough driver that he wasn’t worried, or did the instructor just hate being stuck in traffic that much.

Random Story – Missed photo

This is just an odd little story from my life.

Back in February, something got into our coop and killed all of our chickens.  After some repairs, we got a bunch of new chicks.  About a month ago, I was putting them in for the night when one of the little roosters stopped at the door, and crowed.  Well, he tried to crow.  It was more like a cough. 

After laughing for a bit, I thought it would have been great if I had recorded it.  Of course, I’m one of those weird people who can put their phone down for hours.  At the time, my phone was back in the house because, why would I need it if I’m just going out for five minutes to put the chickens in?  While thinking on this, I remembered a story of a photo I was about ten seconds too late to capture.

I forget exactly when this happened, but it was like fifteen years ago.  At the time, in addition to chickens we also had some ducks.  We also had a dog, and one of their toys was a mostly deflated innertube.  We’d throw it, and he’d bite it and give it a good shake. 

So I was in my room – maybe working on a story, I don’t remember – and I looked out the window to our backyard.  In the middle of the yard was the innertube, and walking right towards it was one of the ducks.  I expected the duck to go around it, but instead it kept marching straight.  I was further surprised when it stopped for a few seconds inside the innertube.  I scrambled to grab the digital camera I had back then, but before I could turn it on, the duck scrambled out of the innertube and continued on their way. 

That’s the story of how I missed taking a photo of a duck, sitting in an innertube, in the middle of a yard.  If I had managed to get a photo of it, I’m sure I would have posted it with a thought bubble of the duck going, “Something isn’t right.”

Random Story – Lighting a match with my thumbnail

This is just an odd little story from my life. 

I’ve always said that I grew up a short drive from the middle of nowhere.  That was good for several reasons – less light pollution so I can see the stars and I prefer the outdoors to cities – but it was also bad for a few reasons.  Like it’s annoying that to go anywhere – grocery store, bank, movie theater – it takes half-an-hour.  Another bad thing is that we were so far out in the country, that it wasn’t until twenty-five or thirty years ago that someone offered to come out for trash collection.

This means that back when I was growing up in 80’s and 90’s, the way we got rid of our trash was to burn it.  And somehow that became my chore.  To do this, we had an old metal barrel with some holes cut in it to let air in set some distance from the house.  Every day or two, I’d take out the garbage cans and dump all the trash into the barrel.  I’d then light a match and hold it to some tissues or newspaper.  Hopefully, they would burn long enough for the cereal boxes or whatever to catch. 

For the most part, it wasn’t that bad of a chore.  Except in winter, when I’d sometimes have to slog through snow to get to the barrel, and then everything would be so damp from snow that it would take multiple tries to get something burning. 

But probably the biggest issue was boredom.  If I left before it caught, I could have a barrel half filled with damp trash the next time I had to burn stuff.  So I’d light it, then stand there for a few minutes to see if it really got going.  I either had a stick or a metal pole to move things around to try to help things out.

Another way to try to beat the boredom, was to try some games.  Like, trying to get the fire going with just one match.  But probably the biggest game was seeing where all I could strike the matches.  These were wooden, “strike anywhere” matches, so I tried as many places as I could.  It started with just the sides of the barrel, but then I’d use any old rock I could find.  If it was cold, I’d use the zipper on my coat.  But the most … memorable, I guess, was when I started using my thumbnail.  I must have seen a movie were the hero, or villain, lit a match with their thumb.  That looked cool, so I tried.  At first, I tried striking it off top, but it was too smooth.  I think I did get it to light a few times, but it took ten tries or so.  Then I discovered that if I put the tip of the match just under my thumbnail, I could get it to light.

For a month or two, that was how I would light the match.  Then one day I discovered WHY YOU SHOULD NOT DO THAT!  What happened, is a tiny bit of the match head broke off and became lodged under my thumbnail.  That wouldn’t be so bad, but it was burning.  It was a tiny, tiny bit, and it likely was finished burning by the time the pain signal reached my brain, but man did it hurt. 

After that, I went back to using the barrel or a random rock to light matches.

***

Image from Pixabay.

Random Story – Bottle cap battles

This is just an odd little story from my life.

When I was in high school in the early 90’s, the bus would pick up one group of kids that lived in town and take them home, and then come back and pick up us kids who lived out in the boonies.  And given that our bus driver was old and drove very slowly, it was usually half and hour or more after school ended that we finally got on the bus to go home.  So we had time to kill.  Sometimes, I’d hang out in the computer room for another ten minutes or so until the teacher finally kicked me out, or I’d take the time to clean my locker, or whatever.  Sometimes, some friends and I would walk a couple blocks into town to buy candy or cards and then get back for the bus.  But most afternoons we just stood around and goofed off. 

One way we goofed off began by accident.  I think what happened is one of us had a bottle of pop (I’m from that part of the country) and dropped the lid.  Someone else “pretended” to stomp on it, for some reason, but they just missed and they caught the edge of the bottle cap with the edge of their shoe.  The result was the cap went flying five or so feet.  Which we found pretty funny, so we started doing it on purpose.  You put the cap open side up, and just put the edge of your shoe on it, and then do a quick press down.  Sometimes, the cap would just fly up and hit our nuts, but usually it would fly off across the hallway.  So we started having bottle cap battles trying to hit each other.  If they connected, it was just a little thump.  At worst, if they hit your arm, you might have a bit of a red mark for five minutes. 

After a dozen or so flights, the caps would start to deform, meaning they didn’t fly as far or as well.  So we would save caps from the week or dig in the trash for some to have one big battle with five or six caps whizzing around.  We did this, off and on for a couple of years.

It was probably a decade ago, I remembered this, so I got a cap to relive my youth.  But I don’t know if they’re using softer material in caps, or shoes, or what, because I could only get a cap to fly a foot or two.  Either that or there’s some basic step I’ve forgotten.

Random Story – What happened to the pill guy?

This is just an odd little story from my life.

As a nerdy kid growing up in 80’s and early 90’s, I watched a lot of PBS.  There was Nova and Scientific American Frontiers and several other science shows.  If the topic was about space, I almost certainly watched it, but I watched most of them regardless of their topic.  Having been over thirty years, I’m sure I’ve forgotten most of what I watched, or whatever I’ve learned has just become part of the mass of “Things I know, but I don’t know how I know them.” But there are a few random fragments that, for some reason, I remember.  For example.

I don’t know what show it was, or if it was late 80’s or early 90’s, but there was one episode on longevity.  I think overall it dealt with the various ways people were trying to live longer.  I don’t remember, but it’s likely there was a section on people eating a particular diet, or people doing things like tai chi, or whatever.  But the one I remember was this guy taking vitamins.

I can’t remember if this guy (I’m 99% certain it was a guy) was a doctor or just some health enthusiast, but somehow he came to the conclusion that more vitamins somehow made you live longer.  I’m not talking about just taking two multivitamins a day, or whatever.  He was taking like 50X the daily recommended amounts.  And not just of Vitamin C, but like, all of them.  He had ones he took in the morning, ones in the afternoon, and ones in the evening.  I think there was a scene where he had a garbage bag of the vitamin bottles he emptied each week.  But the scene I do remember is him sitting on his couch reading a book, and on an end table there’s a little candy dish with the evening mix.  And every few minutes, he’d just grab one and swallow it, without water or anything. 

For some reason, that image has stuck with me for … over three decades.  And I have to wonder what happened to him?  He was … fifty, or whatever, so it’s possible he’s still alive.  Or, he could have died shortly after that show from a … Vitamin A overdose.  Or, he might have some role in the current regime’s Department of Health and Human Services.

Random Story – Infinite coupons

This is just an odd little story from my life.

It was probably fifteen or so years ago, I got a coupon for these trail mix type things.  It probably came in one of those envelopes of coupons – 99% of which I had no interest in – that places sent out.  I don’t know if they still do that or not.  Anyway, there were five or six pouches of trail mix that came in a cardboard box.  I was on the lookout for something new, so I tried them and enjoyed them.  What was nice was I could have a few pouches at my desk at work, and if I got a little hungry, I could just eat one.

I can’t remember if it was with that first box, but very soon after I started buying them that they started putting coupons on the inside of the box.  I think it was a save a $1 when you buy two boxes type.  Since I enjoyed them, that’s what I started doing.  I’d use one coupon to buy two boxes and get two coupons.  Use one of them, and get two more.  At first, I figured it was a short run promotion, and eventually they’d stop putting the coupons in the box.  But it kept going.  The first coupons were good until the end of June, or whatever, but then they became the end of September, and then December.  And they just kept going.

I had a little table by the door where I kept my keys, and I kept a pile of these coupons.  And every time I went to get groceries, I’d take one and buy two more boxes.  For I don’t know how long these pouches just became my generic snack.  When the coupons were getting old, I’d take a handful of them and leave them on the shelf at the store to maybe start someone else down this road of madness. 

Eventually, I stopped buying them because, well, I got tired of them.  But a year or so later, I was nostalgic for them, but I couldn’t find them in the store.  I can’t remember what their name was, so I don’t know if they went out of business or what.

Random Story – Was that a Christmas tree?

This is just an odd little story from my life.

I have two routes I can take going to work.  Route A – my preferred way – is about two-thirds on back roads and one-third on a main road.  Route B is about one-third backroads and two-thirds main roads.  There are a couple of reasons I prefer Route A.  For one, I don’t have to drive through the town.  Also, the main road for Route B seems to have more trucks as well as people who apparently need to be somewhere.  But the main reason is that I like driving, but not when there are other cars around.  When I’m driving home – I work 2-10 – there’s usually some traffic on the main roads, but once I turn onto the backroads, I only have to watch for deer.  But Route B is important whenever it snows because I’d rather have two-thirds of my drive be on roads that are plowed and salted than on roads that might not be. 

Anyway, one-time last summer, I drove to work on my normal Route A, but a couple hours later a big thunderstorm rolled in.  Our power blinked a few times, but stayed on.  Once the storm passed, we started getting customers saying that the other side of town had lost power.  Apparently, it’s a different grid section, or whatever.  People also came in saying power was out along the Route B main road. 

When it came time to go home, I decided to go Route B because with every storm there are branches knocked down and there’s a heavily wooded area on Route A.  There are wooded areas on Route B, but not as much and those roads are more trafficked.  I didn’t feel like having to stop to clear branches from the road.  I also wanted to see how far out the power was out, and wondered if it would be out at home.

So I started home and got to the blackout area of town, which was a bit weird.  But then going out Route B was even weirder.  It’s not heavily populated, but there’s usually at least one house in view at any one time, and about half have a light of some kind on, but this night it was all darkness. 

And then, about half-a-mile from the turn on to the backroads to get home, there was a house with lights on.  I don’t think we lost power at home, so I think I just crossed into a different grid section. 

This house is situated a bit off the road, but it was the first lights I’d seen in miles, so I looked at it closer than normal.  I’ll admit, there is a part of me that is curious about how other people live.  Like, I’d love to go into my old apartments to see how people furnished them.  Oh, they put the couch there?  Interesting.  I’ll admit to having some curiosity, but I’m not a voyeur who looks through people’s windows.  But for this house, I could see into what I guess would be their living room, and I thought I saw a Christmas tree.  I forget exactly when this was, but it had to have been May or June.  And I only had a split second of looking through a window of a house set back from the road, so it is possible I saw some random shapes that my brain just interpreted as a Christmas tree.  But it left me wondering about it for the rest of the night.

Maybe a week or so later, I was running some errands one afternoon and going home the same way.  So I had to look.  Just to see if it was a Christmas tree or what.  Unfortunately, they had the blinds down and I didn’t see anything. 

There were several nights this winter I took Route B home, but I don’t think I ever looked to see if they had a Christmas tree in that room.  Not because I forgot about it – I still think of it as The Christmas Tree(?) House – but because most of the nights I drove home that way it was snowing, and I had more important things to do than to see where these people I’ve never met put their tree.  Or why they’d keep it up year-round.

Random Story – We no longer know each other

This is just an odd little story from my life.

When I was in college back in the mid to late 90’s, I had a summer job for a natural gas company.  There were six or so of us college kids who mowed yards, painted water tanks, and did other odds and ends.  One of these fellow Summerhelp was this woman who did not get along with me.  Mainly because I was always picking on her, because it was fun. 

Looking back older, wiser, and less of an asshole, I would say that my picking on her wasn’t bullying.  It was more along the lines of an older brother being annoying.  As an example, one of the few things I remember is at one point she needed some minor surgery and one of the things she was worried about was paying for it.  So I, standing six or so feet from her, took out my pocket knife and – not using it in a threatening manner – said I would do it much cheaper.  I don’t remember her exact response, but it was probably something akin to rolling her eyes.

Anyway, this Summerhelp program was only open to kids in college, and I think we were both graduating so it was our final summer there.  And her last day was a week or so before my last day.  For some time I wondered what I should do as a “going away” present, and I finally decided to go up to her just before she left and say, “In ten years, we’ll be glad we no longer know each other.” I thought I was pretty smart for thinking up such a perfect way to sum our relationship up.

For a week or so, I patiently bided my time.  And then her last day came.  And I waited, and I think I went to do something and figured to tell her when I came back, but when I came back I learned that she left an hour early. 

Over the twenty-plus years since, I’ll randomly remember this and feel slightly disappointed I didn’t get to say my brilliant line.  But I also wonder, if I had gotten to say it, would I eventually forget about it?  After ten years or so, would I have forgotten all about her and do I still remember her just because she, accidentally, out tricked me? 

I know people who know people who could look her up.  But what would be the point?  It’s almost certainly a safe bet that she doesn’t remember me.  Twenty some years later, I still have the occasional regret about her, and she’s oblivious to ever knowing me.

Random Story – Taking a nice walk at work

This is just an odd little story from my life.

Years ago, I worked at a lab for a company that makes metal working fluids.  Yes, it was as exciting as it sounds.  Over my years there, I worked in a couple different labs.  In one lab my boss would tell me to run such and such tests on some samples, and then he’d do his own work.  And a lot of the tests I ran for him required twenty minutes or so to get everything set up, and then it would run for half and hour and then I’d repeat everything for the next sample.  And while the test ran, there really was nothing for me to do. 

Instead of just sitting in the lab twiddling my thumbs, I would find things to do.  Like I’d check our supply of soap and paper towels and then go to the other end of the building to the supply room.  And then I’d check on our supply of various chemicals, and then I’d go back to the supply room to see if we had any. 

The way the building was laid out, there was sort of a main hallway that went from the offices, past a bunch of labs, to the supply room.  But there was also a back hallway that went by fewer labs and saw less traffic.  So sometimes on my trips to or from the supply room, I’d go back and forth in the hallway where nobody could see me.  Sometimes I could go back and forth five or six times before someone else would wander down that hallway and I’d be forced to continue on in whatever direction as if that was where I was going.

Anyway, at some point I noticed that the floor tiles were one foot square.  I counted how many tiles there were in that back hallway, and worked out how many times I’d need to go back and forth to walk a mile.  And there were days where I did walk over a mile, just going back and forth in an empty hallway.  There were parts of that job I didn’t care for, but I guess there were perks.

Random Story – The 100-year tweet

This is just an odd little story from my life.

Over ten years ago, back when Twitter was a thing and relevant, I found a service that let you schedule your tweets.  There was a calendar, and you just picked the date you wanted for your tweet, and then you set the time and everything.  To post something in the next month, you had to click on the “Next Month” button. 

One night, I guess I was feeling a little silly, so I clicked the “Next Month” button twelve times, and scheduled a tweet to post in one year.  I forget what exactly I said, but it was something like, “I scheduled this tweet a year ago.  Do you guys have flying cars yet?” Over the next year, I patiently waited for it to be posted.  And I think someone did make a sarcastic reply about flying cars, so this one-year tweet served its purpose.

But a day or so after scheduling the one-year tweet, I was wondering if I should do a five-year, or maybe even a ten-year tweet.  Then I figured, why not go all in.  I don’t know how long it took me, but I clicked the “Next Month” button 1,200 times so I could schedule a tweet in … June 2112, or whatever.  I forget what I wrote, but I think it was something like, “I scheduled this tweet 100 years ago.  Is Twitter still a thing?  Is the internet still a thing?”

Unfortunately, my 100-year tweet will never be posted.  Mainly because I think it was about six months after my one-year tweet posted the service went belly up.  I don’t know if there is some digital archive that holds all the tweets they never got to post or if all that was just deleted. 

I’ve sat here for about five minutes trying to think of some thought-provoking thing to say about the impermanence of … well, everything.  But I got nothing.

Random Story – Payphone stories

These are just odd little stories from my life.

Back in ’92 or ’93, I went on a school trip to Toronto.  It was one of these where we left at midnight, did something in Toronto, and were home again at like 4 AM the next day.  What we did on that trip, I don’t remember.  But at one point, a group of us were someplace and we figured it was a good time to use the restroom.  I remember we went down a set of stairs, and ended up in this lounge area with the restrooms on the ends.

A friend of mine and I had finished, and we were waiting out in this lounge for another one of our friends.  In this lounge, there were four or five payphones, and I was standing next to them.  I don’t know why, but I stuck my finger in the change return of the nearest one.  My friend started to say something about if I was that desperate for money or something, when I pulled out a quarter.  He then got angry alternating between claiming I was trying to prank him and what was the luck that I’d check some random payphone in another country and find a quarter.  Well, it was a Canadian quarter from a Canadian phone.  If it had been a US quarter, that would have been another level.

The other payphone story I have, happened like ten years later.  When I lived in towns, I enjoyed taking walks late at night to let my mind wander and plot stories.  Which is something I can only really do in a place with sidewalks and streetlights, and where I live now has neither.  But I get to see a lot more stars.  Anyway, one of my walking routes took me by the courthouse in this town, and outside it there were two or three payphones.  One night, I was walking by them and just randomly checked for coins, but didn’t find any.  I kept going, until I heard a woman call out to me.  She walked over and tried to give my like $10.  I was confused, until I realized she thought I was homeless.  She figured only homeless people would check for coins.

I can’t remember the last time I saw a payphone.  But if I ever see one again, I’ll probably check for change, just for memories.  Plus, a quarter doesn’t buy as much as used to, but it’s still money.

Random Story – My smoking car

This is just an odd little story from my life.

Years ago, I had an almost thirty-minute commute from where I lived to where I worked.  Fortunately, there was a freeway that ran almost the entire way.  Unfortunately, thousands of other people also drove on it, which lead to traffic jams every morning and evening.  When I first started that job, my car was kinda old, and liked to overheat, especially if it wasn’t moving and getting some air flow.  Because of that, and because who likes sitting in traffic jams, I found alternate routes to work and home, which was pretty easy because there were highways and smaller roads that ran pretty much parallel to the freeway.  I took one route to work in the morning, and a different one home.  The route I took in the morning started with me getting on the freeway, but then getting off just before the spot the traffic jams started.  I then took a highway until it rejoined the freeway at a spot after where the traffic jams usually cleared up.  Not long after I started this job, I got a new car.  It didn’t have the overheating problem, but I still didn’t care to sit in traffic, so I continued following these routes. 

One rainy morning, a couple of months after getting my new car, I was going to work and I took the exit off the freeway and stopped at a red light.  I sat there for twenty seconds or so, when I saw a wisp of what looked like smoke coming up from my hood.  I was freaked out by this, but then the light turned green and there were plenty of cars behind me, so I had to go.  But I stopped at a little strip mall maybe a quarter of a mile down the road and popped my hood.  I’m not a car guy, but I figured I would be able to spot a fire, but I didn’t see anything, not even smoke.  So the rest of the drive to work was a bit nerve racking, and every time I hit a red light, I’d strain to see if there was any smoke, but I didn’t see any more.

About a week later, the same thing happened at the same spot, and I again checked but didn’t see anything wrong.  This happened three or four times over a month, with me eventually not even stopping to check if anything was wrong. 

I don’t know how much time I spent thinking about all this on my drives to work, but I eventually noticed that this only happened when there were two conditions.  First, it either had to be raining, or a very dewy morning.  And second, it only happened at this one stop light.  If it was raining, but I hit a green light coming off the freeway, but then stopped at the next red light a bit down the road, there wasn’t any “smoke.” I eventually hypothesized, that on rainy or dewy mornings, some water droplets would condense on the underside of my hood.  The five or so minutes of driving on the freeway was enough to heat the engine up that when I braked at this red light – with the exit ramp slopped slightly downward – these drops would break off, fall on the hot engine, and evaporate into steam which I mistook for smoke.  These droplets probably fell on the engine at several points, but I was usually driving and the airflow dispersed them before I could see them.  Any stops I made before this point, my engine probably wasn’t hot enough yet, and any stops after that point, all the water droplets had probably already fallen.  It was only this very narrow bit of coincidences that led me to think my car was on fire.

Random Story – Quick stories from school

These are just odd little stories from my life.

Speeling

I was a terrible speller back in school. I can’t remember which grade it was, maybe 7th or 8th, but the English teacher gave a weekly spelling test. She said she would continue giving them until everyone in the class had received at least one 100%. I was the second to last person in the class to get a 100%, and I remember it happened on my birthday, which is in February, so it took me awhile. The other thing I remember is that when I took out a sheet of paper and put my name on it, I wrote “speeling test” on it. (That’s why I put that as this blog title, it’s not a typo!) The teacher said she wasn’t sure if my 100% should count because of that, but I think she wanted to stop giving the tests, so nothing more was said.

The reason I brought this up, is that my spelling has greatly improved over the years. The best reason I can think of is my writing. Yes, I do count on the spellchecker to catch mistakes, but most of the time it seems like I use it for words I don’t know how to spell. I just get something close, then pick the correct one out of the spellchecker options. But I was surprised the other day when – for a story – I spelled aneurysm correctly. (And I just did it again!) Back in high school I’d probably spell it anyourism. If my high school English teachers could see me now.

Not doing my calculus homework.

I can’t remember if it was in pre-calc, or calc class, but one day I show up and the teacher says something about checking our homework.  And I had completely forgotten that he had assigned a dozen or so problems the day before.  So I sat there for twenty or so seconds almost crapping myself because A, I couldn’t believe I had completely forgotten to do my homework, but also B, we had a homework grade.  I wasn’t in any danger of failing, but I was a good student who didn’t want the teacher – who was pretty cool – to think I was a slacker, or whatever.

Well, the way he checked our homework was to walk around to see what we had done and if we had any questions.  Fortunately, for me, the first girl said that she had trouble with the last problem.  Thinking quick, I turned to a blank page in my notebook, and copied down problem 12, or whatever.  I started working on it, and I got to a part and got stuck. 

So I’m trying a couple things on this problem a minute or so later when I notice the teacher standing next to me.  I look up and say, “I’m just trying to figure out this last one.” He nods and moves on to the next student.  Sometimes, being known as a good student pays off.

Random Story – Something you don’t want to hear from your dentist

This is just an odd little story from my life.

About twenty years ago, I had a bad cavity and I figured the dentist would just pull the tooth.  But he said they tried to save teeth, and recommended a root canal.  But since root canals are specialized, the one who did them worked with like ten dentists in the area and she wouldn’t be back to that office for a couple of days.  So he did the prep work and I came back in a few days for the rest of the root canal.

While they were getting ready, I was sitting there getting nervous.  I’m not a fan of doctors in general and dentists in particular.  But the root canal dentist noticed my heart rate was up, and asked and I said it was nerves, but she wondered if the novocaine, or the super-novocaine they used had gotten in my bloodstream and was working me up.  So she said she’d wait a few minutes and let me relax some before they started.

I think from previous visits, I had picked up that the assistant was from … Colombia and had been a dentist there, but when she moved to the US she wasn’t certified to be a dentist here.  So she was working as an assistant, while going to night school to be a US dentist.

While they waited for me to calm down, the root canal dentist asked the assistant what they were studying.  And the assistant replied with … something.  It was some medical jargony thing that probably translates to … I don’t, braces.  And the root canal dentist replied with something like, “Oh, I’ve forgotten half that stuff.”

Now, I understand that she focused on root canals, and that was what she did.  You don’t call her in for your basic cleaning.  But as someone already uncomfortable at the dentists, with a little chemical goose to my nerves, hearing the dentist go, “I don’t remember half the stuff I learned in dentist school, now let’s start drilling,” wasn’t the best thing to hear.  After a few seconds, I was able to remind myself that she had specialized in root canals, and it was a tad funny.  If half my face wasn’t numb, I might even have told them that.

Random Story – Racial awkwardness

This is just an odd little story from my life.

Years ago, I worked as a technician at a place that made industrial lubricants and metal cutting fluids. And yes, it was as exciting as it sounds. Anyway, one day my boss was trying to mix something up but he needed a sample of something. So I was going around to the other labs to see if anyone had some. One of the other technicians was an older woman I was friendly with. When I stopped in her lab, she was in the middle of like three different things. She explained that her boss was on a business trip that week, and he had left her almost two weeks’ worth of work to do. This contrasted my boss who’d sometimes be gone for a week but only leave me three days’ worth of work, as mentioned in an earlier Random Story. I smiled and was a fraction of a second away from saying to her, “So you’re saying [boss’ name] is a real slave driver?” I meant it as someone giving a heavy work load. Fortunately, I was able to stop myself because she’s black. I don’t know her family history, but even if her ancestors freely came to this country, that would still have been an insensitive phrasing. It wasn’t that I had forgotten she was black, it was just something unimportant, like if someone is left or right-handed.

Random Story – The train snuck up on me

This is just an odd little story from my life.  And there’s a bit of backstory to get to the story.

I grew up on a farm and one of my favorite things to do was to go for a walk around the pasture to just let my mind wander and to think on things.  But I could only do this during the day because, well, pastures can be uneven and filled with things you don’t want to step in.  This wouldn’t be a problem, but I’m also a bit of a night owl, and there are plenty of nights I would have liked to wander and think on things.  So when I went to college, I was happy to find these things called sidewalks.  I would often head out late at night to wander around town.

At one point in my wanderings, I came across this intersection of a couple quiet streets.  The memory of the desk scene from Dead Poets Society came to mind about looking at things from a different perspective.  I had crossed many streets, but I’d never stopped in the middle to look around, or stood in the middle of an intersection.  So I did, and it does give an odd view of the world.  As I said, these were quiet streets, and the few times a car did turn my way, I had plenty of time to get out of the way, so I was never in any danger.

A few years later, I got an apartment in a town I’d never been to before.  A few blocks down from my apartment, there was a train track.  One block over there was a bridge over the track, and a couple of times I managed to be there right when a train went below me, which was interesting in its own way.  Now, this wasn’t a main track, I think it might have just been a sideline that went to a factory, or something, so there was only one or two trains of maybe a dozen cars a week.  Not being a busy train track, they didn’t have gates to block the road.  Meaning, whenever a train came through, it came to a stop, and the police or maybe just the conductor on the train would make sure traffic stopped and then the train would slowly go through the intersection.  I think I only saw how they did it once or twice, and this was over twenty years ago, so my memory on this detail is a little fuzzy.

Anyway, not long after I moved, I went for a walk late at night.  I went over the bridge, and went down a block or so, before turning and heading back up the street my apartment was on.  At some point during this, I remembered standing in the middle of an intersection, and I realized I’d never stood in the intersection of a road and a train track.  Now, this street wasn’t so quiet, so as I walked towards the intersection, I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure no cars were coming.  I walked out into the street, and stopped in the middle of the road and the middle of the train track.  I looked down the street the way I had come for a few seconds, then turned ninety degrees to the right and looked up the tracks.  After a few seconds, I turned ninety degrees and looked up the street.  A few seconds later, I turned ninety degrees and THERE’S A FUCKING TRAIN FIFTY FEET FROM ME!

About thirty seconds later, once my heartbeat had slowed to somewhat normal, I just started laughing.  The train was parked there, it wasn’t going anywhere.  The reason I hadn’t noticed it, walking up the streets, was because I kept checking over my shoulder for cars, and there was a building that blocked just enough of the view that you couldn’t see the train until you were almost at the tracks.

So I got a good laugh out of the train that snuck up on me.  And that’s probably the closest I’ve gotten to giving myself a heart attack.