Jack from down at work bought himself a brand new snow blower at the start of the winter and told everybody that he wasn't going to break his back shoveling the drive way and sidewalks anymore.
On December fifteenth we got six inches of that wet white stuff that everybody had been praying for. Jack went out to the garage to start the snow blower. He turned on the switch, primed it like the book said, grabbed the handle, and pulled, once, twice, three times. Nothing. He primed again and pulled once, twice, three times. Nothing. Primed and pulled. Primed and pulled. The snow blower wouldn't start.
He rested for a minute, and tried again. Prime and pull. Prime and pull. No soap. He checked the gas, and it was a little low, so he topped it off. Prime and pull. Prime and pull. No start.
He pulled the plug wire and gave a yank. The shock told him there was plenty of spark. Prime and pull. Prime and pull. It still wouldn't start.
He called the power shop where he had purchased the snow blower, and they told him he might have bad gas. Drain it and get fresh gas for it. Jack drained it, bought fresh gas and refilled it. Prime and pull. Prime and pull. It simply would not start.
He called the power shop again and they said maybe the spark plug was bad, come down and they would give him a new one. Jack went and got the new spark plug and installed it. Prime and pull. Prime and pull. That snow blower WOULD NOT start!
Jack called the power shop again and they told him to bring it back, and they would fix it, free of charge, of course, but it would be two weeks because that was how far behind they were on their workload!
Jack said that he had used up enough energy and time, trying to start that machine that he could have shoveled every driveway and sidewalk in his, neighborhood, and he still had to do his. And after everything was said and done, the snow was all melted off by noon the next day.
Jack, boiling, shoveled off his driveway and sidewalks, loaded up the snow blower, and drove down to that shop. He unloaded it, pushed it into the shop and started raising hell about that no good piece of junk they had sold him. A mechanic walked out of the garage, looked the snow blower over, turned on the switch, grabbed the handle and gave a yank. The snow blower started! The mechanic looked the blower over and switched it off. He switched it back on pulled the handle, and it started again! The mechanic revved it a couple of times and switched it off. He turned it back on, yanked, and it started right off. The mechanic looked the snow blower over very carefully, then turned to Jack, shrugged, and told Jack, "You must have had your mouth wrong.", and walked back into the garage leaving the snow blower running and Jack standing with his mouth wide open.
Jack traded that snow blower on the spot for a model with an electric starter!
Three days after Jack's snow storm, the weatherman said there was another storm coming. The storm itself would go north of us, but it would be cold and windy with flurries all day long. The weatherman was right. It was cold and windy and we got six more inches of flurries.
Up in the big city there were so many accidents, the police said not to call unless there were injuries. even that probably didn't help because the rescue squads couldn't get through the traffic jams!
Three days later another storm came through, which started off as freezing rain, and then dumped three more inches of snow on us.
I went out to the pick-up and tried to get in, but the door was frozen. I pried on it until I finally got in. I started the pick-up, and let it run so it would warm up while I was scraping the windows. When I tried to get back out, the door was stuck again, and while I was prying and pushing, the inside door handle broke off in my hand. The window also was frozen so I couldn't roll it down, and when I tried the passenger side, the window and doorlock was frozen so I couldn't get out there either! All I could do was sit and rev the motor, and honk the horn until my wife came and let me out.
I ran extension cords, got my wife's hair drier and got everything thawed out.
While I was driving to work, I hit a slick spot in the road, did a three hundred sixty degree turn slid off the road, and had to be towed out.
If people want ice and snow for Christmas, they ought to move to Canada!
After the ice and snow storm, the weather turned cold with night time, temperatures of ten below zero. I had just tuned up, and installed a new battery in my pick-up, so it started with no trouble.
Thre problem was that no body else's car started. The telephone started ringing at five o'clock in the morning, and there I was, out in the ice, snow and ten degree below temperature, jump starting cars and trucks.
When a vehicle wouldn't start, I took the driver to work. Then I picked the driver up at night, took him back home, and pulled him in his vehicle down to the repair shop.
If I ever hit one of those million dollar lotteries, I'm going to load everything I own into the car, and the last thing I'm going to do is to tie a snow shovel on the top. Then I'm going to start driving south, and when someone asks me what that shovel is, that is where I am going to live!
For Christmas, I bought my wife a necklace and shoes, and bought clothes and toys for the kids. Then I bought myself a set of tires for the pick-up after I figured up how much I owed Uncle Sam for taxes and found that I would be driving the pick-up for another year!
The twelve days of Christmas must have been for kings. I can't afford one!
I've rebuilt the pick-up so many times, I think the only original part left is the frame, and it's mostly scrap iron, where I've welded over the rust!
One Saturday, Jack from down at the shop, went up to the big city to do some work for us. He got finished early, and the people that he worked with invited him to stop off in a nearby tavern for a beer. The people were very friendly, the beer tasted good, and Jack got wasted.
He had been drinking for a while and got hungry. The tavern didn't serve food, so Jack decided to go to a nearby restaurant and get a hamburger.
When he pulled out of the tavern, he cut off a car, which happened to be a police cruiser, and which promptly stopped Jack.
The policeman asked Jack for his driver's license and registration and then asked Jack if he had been drinking.
Jack said "No!"
The policeman asked Jack to walk a line heel-to-toe, and then told Jack he wasn't walking very straight.
Jack said, "I have an ear infection and my balance is bad!"
The policeman told Jack to recite the alphabet, and then told jack he only stumbled three times.
Jack told the policeman, "I have a speech impediment, and stu-stu-stutter!"
The policeman didn't believe Jack, and went to his car, and got a portable breathalizer. He handed it to Jack, and said "Blow!"
Jack said he took a deep breath, put the breathalizer to his lips, stuck his tongue in the tube, and blew.
Somehow or other, Jack passed the test! The policeman wrote a ticket for failure to yield right-of-way, and released Jack. Jack said it was the cheapest ticket he had ever paid.
Jack drove around the block, and pulled back into the tavern. He went inside ordered another beer, and while he was telling everybody about being stopped, passed out.
They called Jack's wife, who came and carted him away.
Jack said he would never drink in the big city again, because he knew that cop was just waiting for him to try again!
I don't drink as much as I used to.
I used to celebrate my birth month!
Good beer was like potato chips.
I couldn't just drink one.
One case, that was!
One birthday I started drinking at ten o'clock in the morning, and just kept going.
Later in the evening, I got in a dice game, where the loser bought a round of beer. I had a good streak of luck, and before long, everybody had two or three full cans of beer in front of them, and I hadn't bought a single round. Nobody wanted anymore beer, but still wanted to play dice, so we switched the stakes to shots of whiskey.
I left at ten o'clock at night, and I still hadn't bought a round. I was driving for home and a county mountie stopped me. He asked me for my driver's license and registration, and I asked "What's that?"
He asked me if I had been drinking, and I stuck my hands out and said, "Handcuff me!"
He took me to jail, and I blew a .157 on the breathalizer.
I told everybody the machine lied because I had a .2 hang over the next morning.
The judge didn't think I took it seriously enough, and gave me a week in jail to sober up. He also gave me a three hundred fifty dollar fine and a six month suspension of drivers license.
For the next six months, when my wife took me to work in the morning she reminded me that if I hadn't been drinking, I would be driving. And at night when she picked me up, she reminded me that if I hadn't been drinking, she wouldn't be driving, and she just kept nagging the rest of the time. The only time I had any peace and quiet was when I was working!
If I ever had to point out the worst six months of my life, I would say it was those six months without a driver's license, because my wife made my life a living hell!
I still drink.
I still drive.
I even sometimes drink and drive.
But if I do, I make damned sure I don't go over that .1 limit, because:
That cop is waiting out on the road.
That judge is waiting on the bench.
And my wife is waiting at home!
One advantage to the new remote car alarms is that you can watch out the window of the bar, and honk at the pretty girls as they walk by.
When I was a security guard, I would get so bored, I would talk to myself. Good company. At least I wouldn't argue back!
It's amazing at how many people will drive to the bank, arriving at two minutes to opening, and when they find the doors closed, will drive away!
When I was working as a security guard at the bank, one of our branches was robbed by a young female.
After the girl left the bank, the red dye pack exploded, and the girl dropped the stolen money and took off running.
Officers in a police cruiser responding to the, robbery were notified that an alarm had went off in a private dwelling two blocks from the bank, and decided to go investigate. There they found red dye spots leading up to a kicked in door.
They entered the dwelling, and found two young females.
One of the girls told them that she was lost, and the house looked just like hers. She tried her key, and when it wouldn't open the door, she thought the lock was broken and kicked in the door.
The one covered in red dye asked for a lawyer!
The trend now, is if you don't like your boss, quit, and go start your own business. I mentioned doing so to my wife and she said "That's fine, but who would want a 'JACK-OFF' all trades!'"
My wife is always nagging and ragging about my drinking and smoking.
I pointed out to her once that I worked only for cigarettes and beer, and everything else went for bills. If I gave up drinking and smoking, I could quit my job, get a part time job, and we would qualify as low income. We could draw welfare, food stamps, rent subsidies, utility subsidies, and live almost as well as with me working full time.
My wife told me, "If you quit your job, you may as well pack your bags, because your low income ass will not be living in this house!"
She quit nagging about my drinking and smoking, but I'll be working until the day I die!
Truckers in general, took the practice of wearing a cowboy hat and cowboy boots from the truckers who pull livestock racks for a living. These truckers carry primarily cattle, but they also carry hogs, sheep and anything else that has four legs. The general truckers call these truckers, bull haulers, and a lot worse because of the odors that come off the livestock racks.
The bull haulers themselves reason that if they have horses in front of them under the hood, steers behind them on the racks, and drove them to the market, then they must be cowboys!
I went to the bar Sunday mornings to read the newspaper. I took home any sections that I didn't have a chance to read!
Before the motor in the station wagon went bad, I was talking to the car salesman in the bar about cars. I asked him how much I might get out of the station wagon for trade in.
He explained that the dealership had a section which evaluated trade ins, but something as old as my station wagon, I could figure would be worth about five hundred to a thousand dollars, depending upon how many dents and bangs, and what it was being traded for.
Then he added, "Unless you want to trade it for that new Cadillac I have setting on the show room floor, in which case, sight unseen, I'll give you five thousand dollars trade in for that station wagon, and you can keep it!"
