TROOPER BOB AND THE FLAPPER

You know how one project snowballs into another?  You know you start out by cleaning up a spot on the floor and the next thing you know you are completely reflooring the whole house?  No?  It’s just me?  Oh, come on now.  I know I can’t be the only one.  I know it happened to Nurse Meme and Trooper Bob and it just happened to Gladys and Kahuna. 

Gladys stood in the bathroom towel draped hair dripping wet.  She stood with her blow dryer in hand.  She looked for a plug outlet but couldn’t find one.  They hadn’t lived in the little cottage long, just a couple of days.  It was cozy and snug but had been built in a day and time where plug outlets were few and far between.  She sighed and went in search of a place in which she could activate the dryer and keep her hair from frizzing.  Not just frizzing, but kinking up like fine grade steel wool.   She searched high and low for an open outlet. 

Kahuna was stretched out in his Lazy-boy, being anything but lazy.  The keys on his computer clicked happily along, without turning “what are you looking for” he queried. 

“Oh, you know, an open plug.  One that doesn’t have two dozen things plugged into it” she replied while crawling on her hands and knees under the dining table.

“Well, I guess I could put one in the bathroom, on the wall with the light switch” he suggested.

“Can you?  Would you?”

And that is how it all began.  With the want of one outlet. 

That too is how it started years ago with Nurse Meme and Trooper Bob.  It started with a toilet flapper that wouldn’t seal.  You all know the irritation not to mention astronomical water bills that goes with a bad flapper.  Not the roaring 20s, bob haircut and fringe dress, bad flapper.  Have I ever told y’all my grandmother was one of those?  A flapper, not the one that goes in the toilet tank but she may have drank gin from a bathtub, but we will never know.  I digress.

Nurse Meme called Bob in from the shop where he was hiding, smoking cigars.  He was retired.  He could do that, or so he thought. 

The little intercom which stretched the 50 yards from the house to the shop crackled and squawked.  “Bobkmlknkj;  Hurry! Mmmmmph” TB carefully snuffed out his cigar so he could come back to it later.  It sounded like there was some sort of an emergency, but as he had learned in his many years as a state trooper, your emergency wasn’t necessarily my emergency.  He kicked off the grass from his boots and entered the kitchen.  He looked in all the usual places for Meme.  He looked in the kitchen, in the laundry, in the study and in every single one of the four bedrooms.  He didn’t call out for her because he knew she would be calling him, shortly.

 “GAWDDAMNIT BOB!  Where the hell are you?” inquired a pissed off Meme as she stomped out of the guest bathroom.

 “Don’t get your panties in a wad.  I’m right here.  What’s your problem?”

“You are my gawddamn problem, but right now it’s this sonofabeech toilet” she answered pointing at the toilet.

“Looks alright to me” he responded as he eased over to the commode and opened the lid.  “Sounds like the flapper is stuck.  Didja try jiggling the handle?”

“Yes, I jiggled the damn handle.  I ain’t an idiot.  It needs a new flapper” she insisted. 

TB opened the tank lid and jiggled the flapper, the water stopped running “there ya go.  I fixed it.”

Meme flushed the toilet and the flapper stuck open again “no you didn’t.  Now go get a new flapper and don’t do any of that duct tape and balin wire fixin.  I want it done right.”

TB replaced the lid and rolled his eyes “it’s fine.  Just put a sticky note on the wall tellin everybody to jiggle the handle.”

“You can go to hell too.  I ain’t tellin nobody to jiggle no damn handle.  Get the parts and fix it” she admonished and turned and walked out adding “and do it now.  I am trying to clean this damn house.”

Trooper Bob sighed and reluctantly headed to the hardware store mumbling the whole way “fixit right, I’ll fix it alright.  Aint nothing you can’t fix with a little JB Weld, Duct tape or balin wire or all three.  Why I glued a guy’s toe back on with JB Weld and duct tape.  Tellin me to fix it right.”  He continued his lament as he wandered through the aisles of P-traps and plumbing supplies.  He passed a couple of other men doing the same.  Talking to the spouse they left at home on a mission to complete their honey-do list.  He looked at all the different styles, settled on the cheapest fix and headed back home.

Not really wanting to fix the flapper on the toilet, he procrastinated.  He went back to the shop and re-lit his cigar, turned on Paul Harvey and hid a little while longer.  He was kicked back in his chair, almost asleep.

 “GAWDDAMNIT!  I asked you to fix the toilet!  What do you think you are doing out here smoking ceegars and sleeping?” 

“I think I’m smoking my ceegar and takin a nap is what I think I’m doin” he rebutted.

“Get in there and fix the damn toilet.  I need to finish cleaning” Meme declared and stormed out.

“That damn woman has one mood, pissed off” Trooper Bob mumbled.  He gathered his tools and the new flapper and drug into the house and set about replacing the flapper.  He was just about finished when he torqued a bit too hard on the nut and the whole tank shattered.  “Gawddamnitsonofabeechmotherforkerinrashnashin, Meme!!!! I NEED TOWELS!”  He yelled as her emergency had become his emergency.

Meme came running and at seeing the mess began pulling towels from the linen closet and throwing them his way.  “I’ll get the mop” she yelled as she ran down the hall

“I NEED A WRANCH!” as he furiously tried to turn off the corroded valve.  Water pouring and sloshing all along the wall and floor. 

Meme returned with a fresh batch of towels and a mop “you need to turn off the valve.  That water is going all over the place.”

“No shit Sherlock!  If I could turn it off I would.  I need a wranch” he shouted. 

Meme ran to the junk drawer extracted a pair of channel locks and ran back “will these do?”

“I reckon they’s gonna have to.  Get the hell out of my way” he barked as he lay down in the water and manhandled the valve which dissolved with the pressure of the channel locks.  “Well shit fire and save the damn matches, go turn off the valve to the house.”

Meme started to run then stopped.  “I don’t know where the valve is.”

Trooper Bob, now saturated and mad as a wet hen stomped down the hallway sloshing leaving a trail of toilet water in his wake. 

“You’re getting the carpet all wet” Meme yelled after him.

“Yeah well, too damn bad” and he stomped out the front door.

Once the water had been turned off and the mess had been cleaned up the two loaded up in the truck and drove to the hardware store to pick out a new toilet. 

“Oh, look at this one” she enthused “it’s tall and white.  I like this one.  It says it saves water too!  But since we got that old toilet out, we need to redo the floor.  Let’s go look at the flooring.  I always hated that linoleum.   I think we need to lay tile in that bathroom.  And look at these shower doors.  They are much prettier than the ones we have.  The old ones are so dingy looking”

“They aren’t dingy, they are frosted and the floor is fine.  Just needs to dry out a little” Bob responded, seeing more and more work piling up as they made their way through the store. 

“And that wall paper!  Atrocious.  I mean who wants wallpaper of old timey toilets all over their bathroom walls” she queried. 

“Evidently, you since you was the one put it there in the first place” he mumbled seeing yet another project.

“No, I didn’t.  It was there when we bought the house” she mumbled back as she picked out paint and paper, flooring and shower doors, new light fixtures, mirrors, cabinets with marble tops, new faucets and shower heads, towel racks and toilet paper dispensers and of course the new toilet.

That is how the repair of a three dollar toilet flapper ended up into a complete bathroom remodel. 

All Gladys wanted was an outlet to plug her blow dryer into.  That’s how her bathroom ended up with new drywall, paint, mirror cabinet, lights, molding and floor.  All she wanted was an outlet.

JOHN WAYNE SLEPT HERE ( A Trooper Bob Tale)

             It’s been awhile since I written a Trooper Bob story, in fact it’s been awhile since I’ve been here.   I could say I’ve been busy but that isn’t completely true.  I could tell you I’ve been depressed, kind of like Duane in Larry McMurtry’s Duane’s Depressed.  But I haven’t taken up walking everywhere.  I could tell you all kinds of things but the truth is, I don’t know why I haven’t been here. 

              I have been spending a lot of time with Trooper Bob lately and every now and then a story will fall out of his brain and I have been remiss in reporting them here.  I know that man has more stories than Carter has little liver pills.  If you don’t know who Carter is or what little liver pills are, well GOOGLE it! 

              I digress.  Let’s welcome back the Chronicles of Trooper Bob.

           They sat in the old stone building.  The one where John Wayne had slept, where George Patton had smoked his cigars and written in his journal.  They had gathered from all over the state.  The border was in a state of flux and there was an uprising on the horizon.  The Colonel had given the order and they had gathered with their riot gear driven hundreds of miles and now they were waiting for word.  A gaggle of men dressed in summer wool DPS uniforms in the South Texas heat, waiting.  Some played cards, some read Zane Grey novels bought at the five and dime in Brackettville but most napped.  They napped because it was smart to grab the sleep when you could.  Tomorrow was unknown.  Heck and hour from now was iffy.

 

           Trooper Deal and Trooper Bob sat talking old times and telling tales.  Waiting for others to nod off so they could play a prank or two on the unsuspecting victim.  Sometimes it was as simple as the shaving cream and feather trick which would cause the newly shaving cream covered victim to come alive spitting and cussing while the rest would scream in laughter. 

           The worst part of the detail was the waiting.  The waiting produced boredom and boredom gave them way too much time to come up with new ways in which to torment the other. 

            The shadows were getting long and another day had almost passed when the bell clanged and they shifted from leaned back chairs and legs draped over easy chair arms.  They had been waiting for something to happen and now it had.  Chow time.  Trooper Bob eased off his chair and picked up his gun belt.   Strapping it on he also stuffed something in his pocket.  He wandered close behind the others smirking just a little

            “Hey, Hutch” cried Deal “I’m so hungry I could eat the south end of a north bound cow.”

            “The way that hamburger tasted at lunch it might have been all asshole” Trooper Bob replied.

            “Well I guess you’d know what asshole tasted like, you bein one and all” Byron shot back.

            “I’ll remember you said that, I have a long memory” Bob answered.

They filed into the mess hall and pulled out the metal chairs lined along the makeshift tables.  Bob made his way around the table passed the Colonel’s chair at the head of the table pausing just a moment to notice a nice cushion placed on the chair.  Guess old lead bottom had a delicate derriere he mused.  Then he moved on. 

            Colonel Leadbottom stood at the end of the table cleared his throat and in his best imitation of George Patton he gave his speech.  How in difficult time brave men step forward to do their duty.  He droned on and the men shuffled feet and fidgeted in their seats.  Their greasy fried chicken and instant mashed potatoes grew cold on their plates the gravy congealing in puddles.  Finally, he finished up and lowered his incredibly ample ass onto the chair.   PLFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT echoed through the stone walls. Someone in the back of the room yelled AMEN!   Leadbottom jumped to his feet huffing and puffing, he stormed around his chair.  Leaned over and with thumb and forefinger plucked a whoopee cushion from his chair.  The room erupted in laughter.   Leadbottom stormed out leaving his congealed gravy and soggy chicken.

Trooper Bob grinned knowing that the Ben Franklin sold more than just Zane Grey novels and Juicy Fruit.

            Night fell and the stars shone bright over the old fort.  Ghost of Pecos Bill and Skinny Jim Wainwright haunted the halls and watched over the troopers.  Snores echoed through walls and off of the wooden beams.  All quiet on the border. 

            The next morning the word came and the big yellow school buses started pulling up in front of the Officer’s Quarters.  The men roused from their beds cowlicks standing tall and sleep still in their eyes began their preparations.  The troopers shined their boots, cinched on their Sam Browns and pinned on their badges.  There were no jokes, no grab assing.  This was serious.  This was Poncho Villa serious.  There was a border war brewing and these men were the first line of defense.  They checked their cartridges and revolvers grabbed their shields, replaced their signature Stetson hats with helmets and moved out.  

            One by one they boarded the buses; the Colonel checked the names off his roster.  They were seated side by side, ready to do or die.  The Colonel cleared his throat and gave the instructions.  “On this auspicious occasion we must remember these are civilians, Mexican citizens.  Remember no violence unless necessary.  We are here to defend our citizens, never attack.  Keep your cool don’t let them goad you into a battle.  We are here as a show of force. I know you all have trained for riots but remember this is not training, men.  This is the real deal.  Now, does anyone one have any questions?”

            The men squirmed a bit not really sure what to expect.  The colonel made it sound so ominous.  Was there really going to be violence?  Was the joking around and hijinks over and now it was all business? 

            Deal raised his hand “Colonel, sir?”

            “Yes Deal?” the Colonel replied

            “Shouldn’t somebody stay back and defend the fort?” Deal asked with a straight face.

            “Shut up Deal and put on your helmet” The Colonel shouted over a bus full of laughter.

            Trooper Deal leaned over and whispered to Trooper Bob “John Wayne would have never left the fort undefended.”

Gladys Gets A Big Old Howdy!

When you grow up in the south, as Gladys had, you were used to people waving at you when you passed in your vehicles.  She remembered being very young and asking her daddy, Trooper Bob, if he knew all those people who he exchanged waves.  Trooper Bob, thought a minute then responded “Reckon I do.  They are all our neighbors.  Even those people over yonder with the Yankee license plates, they’s our neighbors.”  Gladys leaned from the back seat over the front to see the big yellow Cadillac with Vermont license plate. 

“You mean those people over there with the Varmint license plate are our neighbors?  You know the capital of Varmint is Montecatipillar and their state bird is the Hermet Crab, no that ain’t right, it’s the Hermet Rush.  And my teacher says that the whole state would fit in our county with room to spare.”
 

Trooper Bob rolled down his window spit his chaw from his jaw and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “That right?  Well I Suwanee.” 

When you grow up in the south people waving at you from passing cars and talking to you in supermarket lines is common, but where Gladys now lived it was an anomaly.   This was just a fact.  If someone honked it wasn’t to say Howdy unless you start Howdy with and F and end it with a you.  Everyone always seemed to be in a rush to get to the next red light where they would rev their engines and try to beat one another to the next light.  It was all very confusing for Gladys who grew up in a friendly state. 

Gladys as usual grabbed her reusable grocery bags, her big glass of water, no bottles for her, and headed out to run her usual errands.   Even though she lived in this particular town for almost a decade she rarely saw anyone she knew, not even her sister Matilda.  Nope she normally went about her day speaking only to the salespeople or giving an occasional nod to a stranger in line at the grocery only to be turned away with a grimace or a growl.  She had become accustomed to the surly harried state of most people; but decided not to let it influence her she smiled and went her own way.   

Lately, she had noticed a change in some of the people in her town.  They were almost friendly.  She noticed that they would often wave at her while she drove past them.  They would make a point to put a hand out their window and wave with their whole hand and not just a single middle finger.  She would happily wave back thinking “now this is how it should be”.   She noticed more and more that when she took certain routes and saw certain vehicles they would wave.  Gladys smiled and thought maybe she did know these people.  Perhaps she had met them at a party or a dinner but quickly dismissed that thought as she remembered she didn’t go to parties. 

One morning as Gladys pulled from the drugstore parking lot and onto a busy thoroughfare a woman in a Jeep stopped and let her out into traffic.   Gladys, being raised to always be gracious, stuck her hand out the window and waved a big THANK YOU wave.  She lumbered down the street in her little Jeep Wrangler and pulled up to a red light where a man in a Jeep Renegade beeped his horn and waved.  It was then it dawned on Gladys, the people who waved at her were always Jeep drivers.  They would beep and wave and let you in or out of traffic.  They moved over so you could fit into parking spaces, instead of straddling the line. 

Gladys contemplated this as she drove into the post office.  What made Jeep drivers nicer than others?   Then it struck her.  The only answer she could come up with.  Jeep drivers were from the south.  So to all my fellow Southern Jeepers who hail from Bangor, Maine or Providence, Rhode Island, Chicago or Montecatipillar, Varmint, you must have a little bit of Southern in you because when you get behind the wheel of your vehicle you let your Southern show.  In the words of Trooper Bob, we’s all neighbors, so wave and say Howdy as you go by.

SWEET FREEDOM

Remember when Memorial Day meant your life was about to begin?  What was the song?  “No more rulers, no more books, no more teacher’s dirty looks”?   What a wonderful feeling those final days of school were.  The electricity in the air was palpable and anything was possible.  Heck this summer we might build a spaceship and fly to the moon or a ship and sail the seven seas.  Yes the opening weekend of summer, Memorial Day weekend, was the portal to adventure.  

Gladys awoke with a start.  It was here.  It was finally here.  She climbed out of her side of the bed being careful not to wake Matilda.  You see Gladys was an early riser.  She did not want to miss one single moment of the day.  She wanted to see the sun rise and drink in the very first day of freedom.  She slipped into the kitchen which was still dark and quiet.  Nurse Meme had not returned from her night shift at the hospital and Trooper Bob was in the shower preparing for his day shift keeping the highways and byways safe from interlopers.   She got the stepstool from the pantry and drug it to the refrigerator.   The door opened with a stiff tug and illuminated the room with the soft cold glow.  She reached in  pulled a carton of milk from the shelf, made a swipe for the pitcher of Tang and a couple of eggs.  The stool then was drug to the stove and pots and pans were pulled from their storage space.   Gladys wasn’t afraid of the stove, heck she had been cooking since she was a little kid and now that she was seven she knew how to not burn herself, well, most of the time.  She went about her business of breakfast making and poured herself a glass of milk and then gingerly pulled the glasses with oranges printed on the outside from the cabinet and unsuccessfully tried to pour her Tang without spilling, because Tang is what the astronauts drink in space.  They were adventurers and so was Gladys.

Trooper  Bob walked in just as she was sopping up the contents of the juice pitcher from the floor.  “What’s going on here?” his voice shattering the quiet of the morning. 

Gladys jumped and turned holding the juice soaked towel.  “Nothing Daddy, I jist tried to pour me some Tang and I spilled a little”.

 

Trooper Bob side stepped the puddle in the floor careful not to get his polished Tony Lama’s near the sticky juice.  “Well, you better git this mess cleaned up afore your momma gits home.  She’ll have a can-ip-shun fit.  Wipe it up with some Spic and Span so it don’t leave no stickiness, now you hear.”  He made his way to the percolator and poured himself a cup of coffee and turned for the door.    He stopped, took a long look at his baby daughter mopping up the orange goop.  “Gladys?”

Gladys leaned on her mop “yeah, Daddy.”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Trooper Bob asked pointing toward her outfit.

“My bathing suit” she replied smoothing down her red white and blue two piece.

“Did you git up and put that on first thing this morning?”  He chuckled.

“Naw sir.  I slept in it.  It’s summertime that means you can sleep in your swimming suit.” Gladys answered matter of factly.

“Yep I guess it does.” Trooper Bob said as the door closed quietly behind him.

So happy summer everyone and I don’t know about you but I’ll be sleeping in my swimming suit.