My Old Geezer Friend, Jack

© 2004 copyright Raymond C. Evans

My old friend Jack and I had a phone conversation this morning, hadn’t seen him for awhile. Well he’s really not that old as in “old’, he’s just an old friend. Called him on his cell phone to see how he was doing, I was afraid he might have the flu or something. No, he was fine, said he might drop by today, in fact. Jack and I go back a long ways, almost fifty years. Jack was with me, when my “wonder dog”, “Old Spike” almost choked to death on that “t-bone”. I still have a vision of that poor dog swallowing that bone. Sort of looked like a forked stick slidin’ down the leg of a pair of “panty hose”. Poor Old Spike, my wonder dog.

Jack’s an old geezer just like me, only he doesn’t know it yet. He’s taken better care of himself, still doesn’t seem to have many aches and pains like me though he’s nearly my age. He just seems to be as busy as a hound dog burying a bone. He seems to be just running up and down the road like he’s searching for the “Holy Grail” or something.

He stops in every once in awhile, we swap a few old “geezer yarns”, you know how us “old geezers”, are, we’re always playing the game, “Can You Top This”. We talk about some of our trials, fortunes and misfortunes.

Like the time we were making redwood planter pots that we hoped to sell to nurseries in Beverly Hills CA. Just trying to make the things was a trial in itself, but selling them was the most difficult thing I ever tried to do.

It seemed that Jack and I were the only ones in the world who saw any beauty in the things. Neither Jack nor I had any door-to-door selling experience. We spent more time trying to see who would go first than selling.

It came to pass that it was time for me to go first; I don’t rightly remember whether we drew straws or what. I remember it though very distinctly. I was wearing a suit, most likely it was the first time I had worn a suit in my life. It must have been made of polyester. I don’t really think it was a bad suit at all, but still it did precious little to hide the “hillbilly” who was hiding under it.

“Well it’s your turn”, I think Jack said. “Yes, I’m terribly afraid that it is”, I thought, “how did I ever get myself into this mess anyway”?

It was bad enough that I didn’t make any sales, that nursery manager could see that we were just a couple of “hillbillies” before we even got out of the pickup. But my feelings were hurt even worse when we got back on the road and started to discuss our sales, (or lack thereof) strategies. “you looked just like a salesman, dressed up like that in your polyester suit”, Jack said, “until you opened your mouth and then it all went downhill after that”, he added. That hurt so much that I’ve never recovered. I’ve just never been able to sell anything since.