Travels With Becky

Only in a Small Town

Sometimes, stories happen to me.

I picked up my neighbor’s prescriptions at the Hannaford.  

Dropped them off at his house and he wrote me a check for a substantial amount of money to pay for the medicine.  On the way home, I stopped at the bank, presented the check to Jon, the teller.  

He walked away, then came back to the window with a funny look on his face:  

“If I didn’t know you better . . . , " he said, and held up the check.  

In the lower left hand corner, where you write the purpose of the check, my neighbor had written, “Drugs.”

The price was right

 

Margaret Conaboy of Durham told this story out of Greenville, Maine.  

Fella on his way home saw strawberries for sale beside the road, $3.50. 

He kept a-going. 

Next thing you know, “Strawberries, $3.25.” 

He kept a-going. 

Then he sees a sign, “Strawberries, $3.75.  

By now he’s got a hankering for fresh strawberries and determines to pull over next sign he sees, even if it is on the wrong side of the road.

So he does.  He picks out a good looking quart.  Old guy says, “That’ll be $5.00.”

Fella, kinda ticked, says, “Why, there’s strawberries for sale all along the road, $3.50, $3.25, $3.75!”

Old guy says, “ Shoulda bought ‘em.”

 

A logger's glossary

Robert Arsenault of Lancaster told me all about working as a scaler for the Brown Company beginning in the early 1950s.  He has a glossary of the expressions the loggers used -- colorful, and, Robert says, quite crass.  Well, they were loggers after all.  But here are three blog-worthy ones, slightly sanitized.

Of a bad cook:  “That guy couldn’t par boil (poo) for a tramp.”

Of thirst:  “I’m dryer than a popcorn fart.”

And the expression for firing somebody: “I’ll send him down the road talking to himself.”  

He told this little story that reveals deep woods and hard work values.

Robert said:  

We had some wonderful camp cooks, especially in the Brown Company Camps.  There were a couple of brothers named Harold Wentzell  and Stanley Wentzel, who was second only to Pat Herr, who was vice president in charge of Brown Company forestry. It was a big operation. 

 

They hired a new assistant to Stanley Wentzell by the name of Jon Bork -- all sorts of credentials, masters degree and such.  Pat Herr introduced him, listed all his credentials.  

 

Stanley Wentzell just said, “Can he file a buck saw?”

As old as you feel

Norman told the story of the time Life Magazine did a piece on his home town of Whitefield. 

The reporters interviewed Mrs. Johnson, who’d lived in town all her life and could fill them in on highlights and history.

When the article came out, wa’n’t she hoppin’ mad. 

“They called me Old Mrs. Johnson,” she said, indignant. 

“I’m only 92.”

Not that kind of doctor

Emily Brinkhurst told me this story.  

She said her father was a tinkerer. He was tinkering with something in his shop one day, when something went amiss.  

His ring finger was sticking out the wrong way.

“Ok,” he said, “that hurts.”  

The next door neighbors were both doctors and sure enough, Bill was sitting in the yard, reading a book.  Emily’s dad called over to him and showed him the screwy finger. 

Bill popped it back into place.

“He was so happy!” Emily said.

“Your dad?” I said.

“No, Bill.  He said, 'I'm a radiologist; I never get to fix anything!' ” 

Crime and punishment

Ginny told this story about her dad and grandpa; she dates it to round about 1924 when her dad was nine years old -- and he learned a lesson that he never forgot.

Evidently as a boy, Ginny’s dad was a handful. 

He started a warming fire in the field that got a little out of hand.  The fire department had to put it out.  Which wouldn’t have been so bad, except it wasn’t the first time he’d done such a naughty thing.

Mother said, “You could have burned the whole field. You just wait, Eddie, til your father gets home!”

Eddie waited.  Father came home. 

He said, “Eddie come with me down cellar.”

Eddie complied.

Father sat on a barrel, quiet. 

“Eddie,” he said, pointing to the bulkhead door.  “You go outside and you find a branch that you think fits your crime.”

Eddie went out and came back with a skinny twig.  Father shook his head.  Not big enough.  Eddie went back out and returned with a stick that was a tad bit bigger.  Father shook his head.  This went on for some time.  Finally, Eddie, looking pretty sober, came in with a branch as big around as his arm.  

Father nodded.

Just then Mother called down the cellar stairs, “Time for supper.”

Father stood up.  “Guess we best go up to supper, Eddie.”

And that was the end of that.

Comes a tide

Debra takes her family to Wells Beach each summer for a week.  

She recalls what her four-year-old grandson said as they watched the tide come in:

“Memere, the beach is leaving!”

Ask a Yankee

Sue moved into a new old house and set to work putting it right. 

She scrubbed the kitchen top to bottom.

She scrubbed the toilet top to bottom, inside and out. 

After that scrub though, the toilet bowl started to leak. 

Sure enough, that gross wad of chewing gum she’d scrubbed away had been filling a small hole in the bowl.

What to do?

She called her local handyman, a Yankee, and explained the situation. 

“What should I do?” she said.

“Chew more gum,” he said.

Keeping secrets

Another teacher story (they’re chock full of stories -- lucky them!):

Eileen had to speak to two third graders, who were whispering in one another’s ears and giggling.  

“What is it that you’re whispering and giggling about, young ladies?” Eileen asked sternly.

The girls giggled.  “Secrets,” they said.

“Now, now,” Eileen said, “look at Mary over there.  She’s above keeping secrets.”

“We know,” said the little girls.  “That’s why we didn’t tell her.”

Not for drinking!

Nurse and doctor stories always fascinate me. 

Karen, a pediatric nurse, sent little Tim to the bathroom with a paper cup and instructions to pee in said cup.  Tim seemed surprised by this request, but in he went. 

When he came back out, he had the cup, but it was empty.  Karen said, “Didn’t you pee in the cup?”

“Yup,” he said. “I did.”

“But the cup is empty?”

“I poured it down the john, “ Tim said.

“Oh, no,” Karen said, “I wanted you to bring it to me in the cup. It was for me.”

Tim said, “That’s gross!”