Grugger’s Way

Why Didn’t I Become a “Wood Butcher” (Carpenter)?

My Father was a carpenter from the time I was two and one-half years old.  I know that because he told me over and over again that he marked that occupation from the date of my sister’s birth.

Many years later, I had joined the Navy and my Father knew that I was in “administration” and “personnel office” work.  When I was home visiting he liked to say that his daughter was the next carpenter in the family.  “My son the secretary and my daughter the carpenter.”  That’s the way it was.

In fact, I have really poor spacial perception and cannot, for the life of me, visualize how something should look or should be put together. I have no mechanical ability at all.  It’s like being blind in one eye and not being able to see out of the other.  Plus, I’m not a good “measurer.”

Now, my sister on the other hand, cut down her own Ponderosa pine trees, peeled off the bark, laid them out, turned them over (one-quarter turn every week FOR A YEAR), and then constructed her own log cabin.  For reals, folks.  And it is beautiful. (If you click on the photo a large-size view will open.)

So I am not ashamed (well maybe a little bit) to admit that she turned out to be the family carpenter.  I am sitting here typing away….right now…the family secretary, still.

Gotta live within your limitations, correct?

Tomorrow:  Why Didn’t I Think Before I Acted?
Yesterday: Why Didn’t I Complain of Age Discrimination?

Why Didn’t I Complain of Age Discrimination?

How often have you felt that you were being ignored while shopping?  How often have you felt invisible to store clerks?

I recently experienced what I thought must be blatant discrimination of SOME KIND, and because I am now in my early 60’s I kind of wondered if my age had anything to do with it.

I was in a little shoe repair shop where I stood at the counter and watched the only employee in the store “stuffing” his burger and fries into his pie hole while he looked right at me and never even acknowledged my presence.  He was on his “lunch” hour.  I left and only came back because my wife’s shoes were awaiting repair, but we will NEVER return to that shoe repair place again.

The shoe repair shop is not the only instance of being ignored. I once stood in one spot in an aisle of one of those big “box” sporting goods stores and I needed help in reaching something; but even though I made eye contact with a couple of clerks who were passing by, neither one of them stopped to ask if I needed any assistance in finding something, or whatever.

Wasn’t that one of the tenets of customer service?  That the clerks would inquire of us without us having to SHOUT at them?  I’ve never felt that I should have to grab some guy by the sleeve to get him to notice me, but I just wonder now if today’s modern stores have a policy of not “bothering” customers?  Modern box stores seem to be “self serve” to the extreme.

The old “mom and pop” stores would be sure to welcome you and even ask you for your first name, if they didn’t recognize you.  I really miss those days.  I try to find little shops that still believe in personalized and individual customer service.  Shops that also stand behind their products and services.

As for the big “box” sporting goods store I described above, my son is now a department manager there, so I won’t be complaining of poor service or age discrimination.  Unless he ignores me too.

Tomorrow:  Why Didn’t I Become a Wood Butcher?
Yesterday:  Why Didn’t I Excel at Basketball?

Why Didn’t I Excel at Basketball?

Now it may seem like there could be a simple answer here…I am under six feet tall.  However, the really answer is somewhat more complicated…as well as embarrassing.

I did play basketball for my school teams in 7th and 8th grade.  I was the “sixth” man on the team, which meant that I didn’t start but would be the first substitute into the game and I would play a decent number of minutes.  Considering that we played 8-minutes quarters in 7th and 8th grade really means very few minutes at all, but even so, I did manage to completely screw up my career very quickly in 8th grade.

I made a basket for the other team.

Yes.  My position was normally at forward, but for some reason, the coach wanted me to bring the ball down the court like I was the point guard.  So, after the other team made a basket, the other guard on our team (the “actual” guard), threw the ball in-bounds to me, whereupon I immediately made a jump shot from six feet away…into the the other teams basket!

The crowd was still.  My teammates just stood there and “looked” at me.  The ref…well, he indicated two points…for the other guys.   I looked at the coach.  He stared at me for a second or two and then shook his head and turned away.

It wasn’t long before I was back on the bench.  Soon or later, I knew, I would have to face the music.  The locker room was not a happy place that afternoon.

To add insult to injury, a cheerleader, one of our own, (Jeez, I remember so distinctly, her name was Diane) came around to our bench where I was sitting and told me that if she had legs as skinny and knobby as mine she would never show them and that I ought to wear pants when I played.

After that game my heart wasn’t really into it any more and I spent most of the remaining games on the bench.  I can remember the Coach would ASK ME if I wanted to go in, and I only said “yes” when we were playing “away” games so the cheerleaders weren’t with us.

Tomorrow: Why Didn’t I Complain of Age Discrimination?
Yesterday:  Why Didn’t I Check My Shoes for Dog Poo?

Why Didn’t I Check my Shoes for Dog Poo?

Is this not a sign of aging?  Dementia due to senility?  Yesterday I went to the dentist for a cleaning and exam.  As I reclined back into the prone, “open wide” position, I could smell something just slightly “off.”

Off, yet familiar.  Oh No!  I could see dog poop on the side of one of my shoes.  I had picked up the crap in the yard just before I left home, and I must have….oh, man.

I looked at the dental hygenist: “You’re wearing a mask I see, that’s good.  You probably better leave it on.”

But after the cleaning, the dentist came in for an exam.  He looked over the new xrays and then picked away at my teeth.  “Looks ok,” he said.  “See you in a year.”   He never mentioned the “off” smell that his examination room had mysteriously taken on.  I hoped that the smell would clear after I left.  I don’t know if I will ask the hygenist when I see her again or not.

I may have to live out in the sticks but I shouldn’t have to smell like it too.  I apologized, of course.

Tomorrow:  Why Didn’t I Excel at Basketball?
Yesterday: Why Didn’t I Go Into Politics?