Posted: 2/22/2005 5:11:50 PM EDT
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I went out this morning to get the SEC some kitty litter. I went to the same place I’ve gone for quite some time, a place where I had inadvertently scared the hell out of an octagenarian a couple of ears back. Two years ago, while waiting in line to check out, I had clicked one of the dog training clickers on sale at the checkouts. As soon as I did this, I heard a voice behind me. “Thunder, dammit! Don’t shoot!” I knew instantly what I had done, and answered the old man. “One-oh first, Mac. Come on in.” The man gave me a sheepish look, and I left my place in line and walked up to him and quietly apologized to him for scaring the holy hell out of him. He had been shopping for cat food and was preoccupied. The click had brought him back to 6 June 1944. I posted this in greater detail a couple of years ago. Somewhere in the depths of his brain, he went back to a dark memory of far away and long ago. This is not unusual, because a few years ago, while preoccupied in an airport, I saluted a young Marine officer without thinking. He was gracious and returned my salute, and when he saw me realize my embarrassment, he had kind words for me. Anyway, the old paratrooper was at the cat food store and he recognized me first. “Flash,” he said, softly. He looked glad to see me. I looked, and recognized him. The old paratrooper I had met there a couple of years ago. “Thunder,” I replied. We chatted and because it was close to lunch, I offered to buy him lunch. He accepted, on my second offer. Fast food was OK by him. We went to a Subway. I let him speak, and listened. He didn’t seem to want to talk much about the first time he had visited France, but the second time, almost 20 years ago. He was about sixty and was infuriated because French Customs were being rude to Americans entering France. He also said that they were not rude to him, but he attributed that to the small US paratrooper pin he wore on his lapel. Apparently, they had been pretty snotty to the Americans before him. Apparently, French Customs had been advised to lay off the rude treatment to former servicemen returning to Normandy to visit gravesites. Not out of respect for them, but because former GIs had a nasty habit of humiliating French Customs officials by telling them to do things that are anatomically impossible to do. He said that his travel agent has advised him to wear some indication of his service in plain sight. It was an interesting luncheon date, well worth the price of a couple of sandwiches and soft drinks. I hope I meet him again sometime. I went home and started a project and got a big dent in it when Neighbor Bob’s wife saw me and stopped and told me that Bob was in the hospital. I won’t get into his personal medical problems here. I dropped what I was doing, left Mrs. Pic a quick note and headed to the hospital. Bob’s going to be OK, so I was relieved. He’s up and ambulatory, so we went for a walk through the ward. Bob looked like he needed a shot in the ass, so when we passed the Nurses station, I scanned carefully and found my mark. There was an old RN there, an intelligent looking, and dignified black woman a few years older than me with a pretty unflappable air about her and the patience went with a long career in professional nursing. I wondered how hard it would be to crack her, just a tiny bit. Bob saw my look and rolled his eyes. “Oh, God,” he whispered. I approached the Nurses Station, right across the counter from her and put on my best smile. An ‘Aw, shucks, Gee Whiz, Gosh Golly, naïve country bumpkin bluegrass pickin’ rube’ look. “Ma’am, I’m 53 years old, always eat a good breakfast, work hard all day and I’m careful with my tools so I ain’t never been to the hospital before except’n to visit someone. I got me a question. Can I ask you?” “Certainly,” she replied. Neighbor Bob bailed out. He hid behind the corner. “Now, Ma’am, when I was a little boy, my Momma always told me to wear clean underwear in case I got into an accident and had to go to the hospital. She said the nurse would see it was clean and tell the Doctor that I came from a good family and he would work harder to try and save me.” I said. “Your mother taught you well,” she said. “Yes, Ma’am. But does anybody check?” “Well….” I wasn’t letting her off the hook. “Does anybody really check?” “Well, it’s good health habits, and probably part of the reason you’re so healthy,” she said. “Ma’am just because they don’t check don’t mean I’m going to wear nasty old drawers tomorrow, I just want the truth. Do they check?” “Well, not really,” she confessed. “But it’s a good id…” “She lied to me,” I wailed, interrupting her. “Momma lied to me. I’m gonna go home an bust my Momma right in the mouf,” I said, and walked off. As soon as I left almost everyone in the Nurses Station was giggling, and when I rounded the corner, Bob was sitting in a chair laughing himself sore. “I always wondered about that,” he said to me, between fits of laughter. Bob will be home tomorrow, and I just know he’s going to want payback. It’s been a fun day |
I'll just bet nothing brought your buddy's spirits up like that !
as well as being a class act, with the old vet.
