I call this one ‘Puddle in Shadow’
So, last week while covering an event at Lewiston’s Ramada Inn, I kept stepping directly into a deep, cold puddle that waited in darkness like a trap outside the main doors. It happened not once, not twice, but thrice, to the point where I had to make up new swear words to voice my unhappiness about the cold wet feet. By the end of the night, it occurred to me that it might be funny (my shame is great) to sit in my warm truck and watch others fall victim to the same stealth puddle that had so victimized my tootsies. So I did. I sat and waited and then waited some more. Not a single person stepped into that insidious puddle because, as it turns out, most people actually look where they put their feet.
Drive safe!
I know somebody personally who had an accident and managed to run over the “Drive Safe” sign on Webster Street in Lewiston. Now there’s a woman who just refuses to take orders.
Scrub-a-dub-dub
An alert and presumably grubby reader from Litchfield writes to report that he can’t make up his mind as to what shower head to buy at Home Depot. “On an isle end cap they have a display that says they offer 2,300 shower heads. Really! It’s mind boggling. I can’t wrap my brain around the ones on the end cap. Imagine. Who in the heck is ever going to make up their mind on which one to purchase.” Clearly the fellow is stressed out. He should go down to The Great Lost Bear and pick out a nice relaxing beer. Here’s a list of beers he can choose from. Good luck with that. greatlostbear.com/beerlist.html
Southern belles
So, we just recently adopted two cats from the local shelter that had been shipped up from Arkansas. The shelter’s shipping cats in from the South now, you know. I have no idea why. All I know is that my cats are definitely from the South. When they cry, it goes like this: “M’yall? M’yall?” (Nobody in the newsroom thought that was funny, either. You people just don’t get my high-brow wit.)
It Happened on Lincoln Street, Probably
Several people have written to suggest that I check out a seemingly abandoned car on Lincoln Street in Lewiston to see what’s up. It’s a great idea and just the kind of assignment I love. Problem is, every time I head down there, I get to fuming so badly about the traffic, I completely forget about what might be evidence in the Crime of the Century down there. I mean, the traffic light at Main and Lincoln is so dang long, the driver of that car likely just expired while waiting for it to turn green.
It’s eating me up inside
“Walking Dead” spoiler: It was easy for me to be glib about the Glenn thing before I actually saw it happen with my own tear-filled eyes. I tell you what, though: It look a lot of guts for the producers to film that scene.
‘Crossing the coital Rubicon’
You think I’m just being filthy and puerile again, but I’m not. This was spoken in an actual court case at an actual local court. Please note: I would like to see this line appear in my obituary somewhere and I don’t care what you need to do to fit it in.
Open mic
Over the police radio the other day, a cop accidentally left his mic open so that the world could hear what was going on in his cruiser. What we heard wasn’t police chatter, but Christmas music played at full volume. “Winter Wonderland” I think it was. And over the music, you could hear the police officer quietly rehearsing his Christmas list for Santa Claus. OK, that second part isn’t true, but I’ll bet he was thinking it.
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