"Hey Greg, have you noticed a skunk around here lately"
I told him that I had not, and spoke to him about my initial thoughts on the origin of the odor. He then informed my to be careful upon entering and exiting the building because there was in fact a skunk residing in the basement of our humble abode. And it appears that his entrance is a hole below the steps leading up to my door.
"That stinks" was my reply. I know, how corny but I've been accused of being a smart ass in the past so I guess it must be true. He told me he had already contacted animal control but they couldn't be of assistance.
"Sorry sir but we won't be able to remedy the situation until Spring. If we remove the animal now it won't have any place to live during the Winter months and we fear that the skunk would freeze to death"
Can you believe that shit. I was under the assumption that when they trapped animals that they took them away and killed them. I know that sounds cruel but I figure that made sense so that they wouldn't return. Apparently not. What kind of business are these tree huggers running. Am I supposed to live in fear of getting "skunked" for the next four months when I come and go. Fortunately the lord of the land has a friend who also takes care of pest removal so it shouldn't be long before Pepe LePew and company are sent packing.
Hopefully the next time my olfactory senses are detecting such a smell, it will be the kids downstairs, and I can enter and exit my home in peace.
So picture this. When I was 5 years old I was growing up in a typical anytown USA home. Just starting school. Pimpin it old school with my homies and my grade school sista's. It all started out with a half a day of school. Afternoons if you were lucky like me. Then they lulled you to sleep in 1st grade with books and juice breaks. Next thing you know they're giving you fucking home work. But I'm not here to complain.
So the school year started off pretty well. I was enjoying school, making friends, and generally enjoying life. What 5 year old wouldn't. So you make new friends the 1st day of school and don't think much of it. Who could predict that the person you met the first day of school would be in your wedding or would save your life 30 years from now. But I'm not trying to get too sentimental. I'll save that for later.
It was a casual fall of '80. The air was crisp and the leaves were still dropping from the trees. Thanksgiving came and went without a trace. It was on to the real deal. Christmas. And not just xmas, but xmas break. But being all of 5, what concept of vacation did I have. My life was a vacation in and of itself at that point.
So its 2 days before Christmas and I'm lovin every minute of it. Promises of presents and the such are filling my head. Can't wait to see what the "Big Fat Man" has brought us. And I mean us. At that age you are just as happy for everyone else when they open their gifts too. Think about that when you are shoppping this year.
Anyways, back to my brother stealing my childhood. So it's xmas eve night. We're home from the annual party at Aunt Em and Uncle Bob's. A party that was held every year,and "everybody" in the family went every year. From what I hear that's what most families call a tradition.
Shortly after the party my 7yr old brother and I were put to bed. Our 11yr old brother then came into our room to tell us that there was no Santa Claus.
All I could muster was "Nuh uh Dickweed"
Ok. Maybe I didn't call him that exactly, but I think I made my point. And he says yeah, there isn't a real Santa Claus. Its Mom and Dad.
I know what you're thinking. What a prick right. Just wait. If you think you hate him now, listen to what he does next.
So I pass out cold, thinking of sugar plums dancing in my head. Or however that stupid fucking song goes. Point is I'm out cold and merely hours away from tearing shit open on Christmas 'morn. And then he did it. Took away not only Xmas and Santa, but the Easter Bunny and the tooth fairy too. My oldest brother wakes me up from what might has well be a coma and drags me to my bedroom door.
"There they are. Look, told you it was Mom and Dad. There isn't a Santa Claus afterall"
As I remember it, I never even cried. I wasn't upset at all. I just felt like I needed to fake it the next morning as we opened everything. I might have been young but I still knew the value of playing the game to keep your parents happy.
The only true solice I have is that my brother now has a 2 and a half year old son. Wouldn't that be a bitch if I payed him back almost 30yrs later. I would never do it to my nephew, but there's no reason not to torture my brother with that threat.
As far as I'm concerned, it couldn't have worked out better. Yeah I didn't get to enjoy Christmas as long as many of my classmates, but I did learn one lesson that I will apply to my adult life as long as I live.
"If I can't be happy, I need to make sure to bring down as many people as possible along the way"
And on that note be sure to have a Happy Holiday and make sure to watch the "A Christmas Story" marathon on Xmas Eve. It's the best movie of all time for a reason.
So I've been a bartender at Greene's Ale House in Oswego NY since August of 1997. Seems like a long time but the time really has flown by. During my 11 year stint I have seen and heard some really crazy shit at the bar. One of those events took place on Friday December 5th. It went a little something like this.
A typical Friday at Ye Olde Towne Tavern consists of a decent lunch crowd followed by a short lull before some of Oswego's finest come to visit me for a few mugs of cheer. Usually a few groups of teachers come in after school, people from the nuke plants, and many of my mug club regulars to name a few. This day was no different. Except I knew many of the teachers wouldn't be in because of their snow day. Which by the way WTF! Anyone who grew up around here would scoff at the fact that Friday was a snow day. Anyways I digress.
At about 12 some of the usual suspects had arrived for a bite and some liquid refreshments. Seth P and Tony L as well as my brother to name a few. As I'm having a pleasant chat with my bro in walks our main character of this little story. I see him walking in the parking lot and don't think much of it at all. At 1st glance I mistake him for Tee Pullen. Must have been the flannel shirt accompanied by the mesh hat with a foam visor that threw me off. As I approach this prospective customer I begin to size him up. He appears to be under some sort of duress.
"Can I help you" I asked. To which he replied
"Where's the Wholesale Diamond Exchange?"
"Down the street sir but unfortunately there was a nasty fire on the block this week and that business sustained quite a bit of damage"
As this story goes that was not the answer he was looking for. You see he had just come from there and found the store to be unoccupied. Strange right. How are they not open 48 hours after one of the worst fires O Town has seen in recent years.
"Well I just talked to someone on the phone from there and told them I was coming to their store." he barked. So I retrieve a phone book at his request and go on serving some of my loyal customers. Gotta treat the regulars well if I have any chance of three-peating as Oswego County's bartender of the year as voted by the faithful readers of the local fish wrap. I'm talking about the reader's choice awards in The Palladium Times of course. Gotta keep the voting public happy.
After browsing through the yellow pages for a minute to find this "jewel shack" he is becoming more and more frustrated. He can't find the address or phone number. I offer that maybe he contacted another local jeweler by mistake. Again, not the answer he was looking for.
"I talked to Wholesale Diamond Exchange. They didn't tell me about no fire. Where did they move to? This is BULLSHIT!"
"Well sir, there's another store down the street called Dufore's that might be of some assistance. (Sorry to any employees at that establishment if I threw you under the bus there but I wanted him out as fast as humanly possible)"
And then it happened. The bar was lowered in Oswego by one of our finest. What I'm about to tell you is the honest to gods truth. I have witnesses to back me up. I shit you not this is what he said.
"I just got all my gold teeth pulled yesterday and I wanna sell 'em. I'm not walking all across town. Where did they move to! This is F*?ing BULLSHIT!" Doing my best to remain calm, which to my credit I think I do a pretty good job of doing given my chosen field in which I'm employed, I again offer the option of Dufore's without laughing in his face. Instead he throws the phone book on the bar and makes tracks. I only wish I could have followed him on his adventure to see how he made out.
And there you have it kids. That's my life as a bartender in a nutshell. No two days are ever alike. I mean have you ever heard of such a thing. I realize that the economy is in the toilet but who gets their teeth pulled for CASH! Ya gotta love small town USA. And here's the kicker. Shortly after he left that commercial that offers you money if you mail in your broken gold came on the tv. What timing.
So the moral of the story is brush three times daily and always remember to tip your bartender. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
