Thursday, April 24, 2008
Without going into too much detail, I would like it to be known I consider myself a victim of the Disposable Community.
As proof thereof I offer this: I live in the country. Right next door lives a man with several cows. Just up the road lives a man with a couple of hundred cows. Next to him lives a man with forty odd head of sheep, seventy head of cattle, forty geese, and a bunch of chicken; and on the other side of the road lives a person with four horses.
I’ve used my low profile tractor to clean out the barns of one or more of these guys; being neighborly, you understand, a time or so.
Today, while at the ALCO store better than a dozen miles in a single direction from me, I bought a #40 bag of manure.
It cost me a dollar and ninety-nine cents.
On my way to town, I stopped at the coffee shop – just for coffee, mind. I’m not much for gossip, even though I knew full well the timing was right that the male half of the coffee clutch would be meeting about the time I got there.
It so happened that one of the wealthiest fellows in the area – outside Doctors, Lawyers and Drug Dealers, to be sure – was in residence.
That old boy was escorting his daughter, her home from college.
They were talking up a storm when one of the other groups broke up and while the men were up trying to settle the damages with the keeper of the till, the lone woman wandered over to the Rich Man and began talking about the weather (always an easement way into a conversation I’m guessing).
The lady I’m emoting about is a church going, straight lady of tender age (eighty-three, if I remember last being told correctly) and she has been married to the same man since she was just on seventeen. They’ve been running the same farm for all that time, him getting it from his father.
Anyway, the Rich Old Boy staked his other daughter and her husband to a square mile or so of grass land for ranching purposes, and a space for living, true.
Those two, being somewhat more progressive about some things than others, recognized that the immediate area stood in need of a cell phone tower, we being in a bad spot for such things in spite of a number surrounding us. They contracted for one with someone and it is going near completion in a week or so.
So, there you are; that nice old lady talking to the Rich Old Boy about the weather (we had an inch and three quarters of rain last night).
And she ups and asks him; “When are you going to have that tower working?”
And he tells her, he says: “You can get your Porn in a week or so.”
And she, looking puzzled, says: “I’m so looking forward to it.”
And he says: “You got a phone?”
And she says: “Oh, no. I don’t have cell phone.”
And he says: “You’ll be able to get your Porn, soon.”
And she says: Nothing. She didn’t understand.
And I say: “I need to get me a cell. I need me some Porn.”
Long pause, we’re all waiting. She stares at me.
And she turns red.
Says a lot for my reputation I guess.
From the reaches,