My memory is a bit fuzzy on some of the things I hear I've done. Not because I was too loaded to remember, just that at the time they didn't stand out enough to warrant remembering. When I was around 21 or so the Safeway checkers went on strike in Liberal Ks (here in known as LK). Sue Flanigan was working there at the time, was still in school, and really needed to work, not strike. She goes in every day, gets hassled. Then the phone calls start in the middle of the night. I never did get the entire story of what they told and called her, but she was upset. This goes on for a week or so before I find out through the grapevine. See, when you scare the shit out of a High School girl who really needs the job, and you're over 21, that makes you a coward and it needs to stop. I hop the bike and putt down there to see why in the hell they thought it was important to intimidate and little girl and I ask as politely as I can that same question. They got nasty and called me names. To the best of my recollection this is what followed, paraphrased I'm sure: "Okay, the phone calls stop today. No more calling her a bitch, cunt, whore, or slut when she comes to work. No more, are we all clear?"There was one man in the crowd, he said "Are you threatening us?".
"No sir, that's a fucking promise. Any more of the bullshit you cock suckers are pulling and I'll make sure your life isn't the same ever again. Trust me"
The phone calls stopped, she was never pestered again. Looking back all those folks would have had to do was call the police and my tits would have been in a big wringer. I didn't think about that though, my friend was scared and that needed to stop. A Safeway checker did call the police on me once, but that was because I cracked a guy in the back of the head as hard as I could swing for slapping his two or so year old son so hard he fell down. The cops met me out front, asked what happened. I told em, they sent me home. Charmed life I live.
One morning it was cold on the rig. I mean frickin cold cold. Like ten above zero cold. The other hand and I were doing some work up around the floor and Pop says he's gonna have a quick sammich and cup of coffee. I don't know why, but something said turn around. I did and there's Pop, he's turned purple. Looks like he's choking. Shit. I drop my tools and haul ass over, grab him and get him turned around just as he's starting to go down. I ride us both to the ground sitting on our asses and jump in doing the Heimlich Maneuver on him. Four or five good thrusts, nothing pops out but he's breathing okay. Whew. Had to force him to shut the rig down so we could get him to the Doctor. The other hand just walked off, changed clothes and got in the truck or I don't think I'd have gotten him to go. I don't know yet if they ever figured out what happened that day. Flippin spooky though.
One of the guys that worked with me on the rig fainted at the sight of his own blood. My blood, no problem, he'd helped me bandage up a couple of nasty cuts before, no big deal. He also wore his wedding ring and didn't like to wear gloves. Pop and I both told him (I was five or six years younger, he wouldn't listen to me anyway) not to wear the ring, or if he did at least wear gloves. We'd fished a chunk of iron out of a well that another rig company had left in. It was bent and all kinds of sharp edges just looking for something to grab were all over it. It turned in our hands, his end caught his ring and took him to the ground. Didn't cut his finger off, didn't break it, it was worse. It tugged his ring into his finger so deep you could only see half of it. Pop had gone to get parts for the well that weren't delivered and it was just the two of us out there. No radio, phones, or pick up. Yep, he passed out. I picked him up, got him over one shoulder and off to the dog house I go. He's still out. That's a good thing. I worked the ring back, and was in the process of tucking the skin of his finger under the ring so I could get it off without cutting it. He woke up screaming. I held up his hand. Out he goes. Yes, I got the ring off and his hand cleaned and bandaged. We always kept antibiotic cream and decent bandages on the rig, for just such an emergency.
Once, carrying a woman across a muddy parking lot to go dance, I stepped on the edge of a rut and broke my ankle. I didn't drop her, oh no that would have been a terrible thing, but set her down on her feet and hopped into the bar. I knew from experience this was gonna be bad and that I had to get that damn boot off before my ankle got so big I had to cut it off. One of my buds is there, thank gosh. "Cody!! Come pull this effing boot off before we have to cut it off! I broke my M Effing ankle".
He pulls it about half way off and feels my ankle separate, he stops. I wanna pee my pants now. He starts again. I'm not sure I didn't pee my pants a little. I did, however, sooth it with interior alcohol treatment, and went to the ER the next day for a boot, only I had to have a cast instead. I missed 3 weeks work, and cut the cast off. I told Pop I was bored and ready to come back. Broke that same ankle 15 years later. I didn't know you could twist one so far that the eyelets on your lace up boots would show in the soft dirt where you broke it. I shoulda taken pictures of that.
I nearly cut the tip of one finger off. After working all day with every bump, breath, sneeze and cough really causing some nasty pain, Pop made me go to the doctor in Elkhart Ks. They took an x-ray and found the only thing holding it on was a bit of skin. "It will grow a bit crooked, unless we operate and wire it into place" the Dr says. I say "Oh hell Doc, push over into place, and bandage it there, it'll be fine'. "Do you want to sit? This will be very painful", he says. "Nope" says I "I've worked with it all day, how bad can it hurt?". Oh. My. God. Foolish me. First, stars. Big bright flashy ones. Then wobbles start. It's getting dim. A chair hits me behind the knees and I set down. He was right, that plain hurt. The nurse had wisely gone for a chair and had it behind me while he pushed that bone back in place. It's still a bit crooked. LOL
I broke both my arms in grade school. One about a year apart from the other. Both my ankles more than twice. A couple of ribs. My nose twice (I had help with that). Why, you ask, do I tell this. Is it to make myself out to be this tough guy? No, not at all. In fact I'm not sure why I did. I find humor in most of it, because it was funny. Not at the time but in retrospect. Okay, even at the time some of it was funny.
Mostly it's just my example of making a decision and sticking with it. Was I always right? Probably not, but I was right for me at that time, in that situation.
I've always been pretty confident in myself, and even if I screwed the pooch, I figured that was a lesson to be learned and moved on from there
What would be the kicks, to me, is to read what other people remember. Like I say, I tend to be a bit fuzzy on some of the stuff. If we do that, let's keep names out, pretty please? No use possibly embarrassing some one.
I've been hearing, off and on, odds and ends. It'd be neat to kind of relive some of that, I think. You guys game?
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