Horseshoes

So every year my family has a reunion near Navajo Lake in Cedar Canyon, Utah. Now, some of you may have read about Aunt Joy, she is from another side of the family, so this story does not include her. Now, ever year there are several things that are done at this reunion: the hike, the service project, spiritual night, the talent show, and the hotly contested Horshoe Tournament.

Now you may say to yourself...'hotly contested? horseshoes?....right...' Well you haven't met my family. We are pretty competitive and talk pretty big about our amazing skills, and if we don't actually prove them, then we put the blame on something that was clearly not our fault. Now enter in a competition that has gone on at least since I was born. The competition is literally huge. Every year the partnership that wins the tournament gets their names enterred in on a plaque to be remembered for all time--and when I say all time, we even joke that our deceased ancestors are watching the tournament and perhaps participating in their own tournament at the horseshoe pit up in the sky. Yeah...it's a little over the top. To give you just a little bit of an idea of the contention surrounding this tournament, one year one member of the partnership had to leave the reunion early, and was replaced by, arguably, a better player. Well, that team ended up winning and three names were enterred on the plaque--it is still contested as to whether this was actually fair for all three names to be on the plaque or not; it has been over ten years and it is still argued.

So, it is a certain right of passage that when you turn 12, you are finally allowed to enter the horseshoe tournament, and you guessed it, it was the summer after my 12th birthday. To really understand this story though, you might need a quick lesson in how horseshoes is played. It is played by having two partnerships with one member of each partnership standing at alternate pegs which are spaced roughly 50 feet away from each other. The goal is to throw the horseshoe so that it encircles the peg, known as a "ringer," which is worth three points. Alternatively, if you are within a horseshoe's distance of the peg, you get one point (hence why being close only counts in horseshoes and handgrenades). Each side takes turns with the team that scored the last point to go first. One player from the first team throws two horseshoes, and then a player from the other team throws his two shoes towards the same peg, if no one gets a ringer, than the person that is closest peg gets the point (if they are close enough for a point). Additionally, if team #1 throws a ringer, and then team #2 throws a ringer, it is considered a "capped ringer" and no one gets any points from those shoes (although the other shoes are still in play).

Now, clearly it is only fair that the teams are chosen at random, thus all eligible players are put into a hat and then drawn out to form teams. I wasn't really that excited to be in the horseshoe tournament...but enterred it nonetheless, hoping to have a partner that might just make up for my lack of skill. As luck would have it, my cousin and I ended up being teammates....which shocked everyone since we were both 12 (which was surprising considering there were maybe three twelve year olds playing that year out of probably 35 other players). Needless to say, everyone thought this was going to be quite the team.

Naturally, everyone in the family watches the final match, however, earlier matches are usually only watched by immediate family members and people that have not been able to find something else to do. However, my match was directly before dinner, and suddenly the whole camp was there to watch the twelve year olds play. Needless to say this is not how I imagined nor hoped how things would go.

So the match began. While I was not doing very well, I was somehow making it through (although not receiving any points). It was the other side's time to throw and the other team threw a ringer (which would have finished the game). At this point, I was all for ending the pain and getting on with dinner. However, to the shock of everyone, my cousin capped the ringer (the only ringer our partnership threw the entire game), and the game continued, as well as my cousin earning us a point with his other shoe.

It was my first throw of the round. The horseshoe thrown towards the opposite peg landing about halfway there and then rolling across the ground to stop about five feet from the opposite peg. It was my second throw, I knew my last throw didn't go so well, I'd have to get more height on this throw. I threw the shoe up....up....I looked for it near the other peg...why couldn't I see it? Suddenly, falling through the air, the horsehoe landed...hitting the ground just three feet in front of me, much to the delight of the entire extended family. It may not surprise you to know that my name isn't on the plaque.

Swiss Chris Part 2

It was a crisp October afternoon when Swiss Chris burst through the apartment door, "I met a girl from Switzerland today!" He was so excited to finally meet someone from his home country even though he was thousands of miles from there. Well, we all naturally thought, he's Swiss, she's Swiss, it must be a match made in heaven.

"So did you ask her out?"

"Of course! We are going Friday night," Chris replied.

The days seemed to drag awaiting the big night, Swiss Chris couldn't stop talking about it, but finally Friday arrived. After emptying half a bottle of cologne, Chris was off to the rental agency to pick up his car (since he didn't own one himself). I'm sure they smelled him coming from three blocks.

Although not always a big fan of hearing Swiss Chris's lectures/stories, I was somewhat curious to hear how this big date went. However, by the time 1am arrived, I gave up, and figured I would hear about it for weeks afterwards.

I woke up late on Saturday and decided to run a bit of errands. I was in and out of the house, but each time I passed Chris's room, his door remained shut. Finally, at 6PM that night, the door opened.

"Are you just getting up?"

"Yeah, it was a pretty late night, I didn't even get home until 2:30AM."

"230?! Wow that must have been some date eh?"

"No, it was BAD date!"

"A bad date?" I questioned, "But I thought you had never been on a bad date before." I said with a slight bit of mockery. "So, do tell, if it was such a bad date, what were you doing until 230AM this morning, just making out?"

"Well....."

"You are kidding me!! You were having a bad date and then you just made out with her all night?!"

"Well we weren't really talking much, and it was the only way we could communicate " Swiss Chris explained.

"Couldn't you at least talk about both being from Switzerland? Or people that you knew in common? You must have had SOME things in common."

"Let me start from the beginning. You see, we went out to dinner, and that wasn't going so well." Swiss Chris continued, "So we get back in the car, and she suggests we go to the cemetery. I thought was stranged, but ... okay, so we drove over to the cemetery. So ... we were just sitting there, and we were not really saying much, so we just started making out."

"Wait...hold on, you are telling me that you drove to a cemetery and made out all night? Are you serious?!?! Please tell me you are kidding."

At this point another roommate who had been listening walked up and said, "So what was the problem, you two didn't speak the same language?"

Swiss Chris Part 1

It was the beginning of the fall, our current roommate was getting married, and as such was moving out into a new place, and thus it was left to us to find someone new that we wanted to live with. Unfortunately, there was not much time before the fall semester would start, and thus the prime time to find someone was drawing to a close.

Several people came and looked at the place....but each time no match was made. Until finally, we met Chris. Chris seemed like a normal enough guy, and so we agreed, as roommates, that he could join our apartment. However, things aren't always as they appear.

Chris was from Swizterland, and try as we might, we could not help but dub him Swiss Chris.

Swiss Chris, was an interesting guy, that none of us quite knew how to deal with. Even other people in the complex would comment on some of his oddities, such as jump roping inside the apartment while he blasted techno music (which he once explained to a group of us how it was truly the music of life).

One particular Friday evening I was going to the store, and offered to give Swiss Chris a ride, since he did not have a car. I grabbed the items I needed, and patiently waited as he finished his shopping. When we got back to my truck, he said to me, hey could we go to Reams to get produce? I like their produce better.

What?! Are you serious? To truly understand the shock of this statement, you have to understand the Reams store and the building itself. Reams was somewhat of a grocery store that also had a small section of clothing, that generally was associated with cowboys (think Wranglers, boots, and large buckles). However, far worse was the building that Reams was located in. The building was originally made by piling up a huge pile of dirt and then pouring a cement frame to form the ceiling around the mound. Afterwards, the dirt was pulled out, and voila you have a building. Before Reams moved in, the building had been used as a roller skating rink. The building was in deep disrepair, however. The ceiling itself was its own biosphere of life, teaming with all sorts of mold, mildew, and other less than appealing spots. In the hierarchy of grocery stores in peoples' minds, Reams was definitely the delipidated trailer park that people would only go in to play games, but to never actually make purchases.

Swiss Chris was determined, however, he wanted produce from Reams, and so to Reams I took him, and waited in the car.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned, carrying his prized produce. He got back into the truck, and said, "Man, this is lame....we should be out on dates right now."

"True, but it could be worse, we could be on a bad date," I responded.

"Bad date?"

"Yeah, you know, a bad date, things aren't going so well."

"No..."

"Like you don't have anything in common, or you just don't communicate well."

"No, I've never had a bad date."

I was shocked....yet somehow, with how he acted, I also wasn't shocked.

Riding home, we were stopped at a traffic where a lady pulled up next to us. Swiss Chris looked over and mouthed, "You're very beautiful." She blushed, laughed, and mouthed in reply, "Thanks." Perhaps I need to take tips from the foreign Cassanova....

To be continued...

Attack of the Ladybugs

Sometimes it's fun to be part of the day club. While you aren't making any money, you can go and do whatever you like, no one has control over you and there is no requirement that you have to be somewhere at a given time. Such was the case when two of my friends and myself decided to go hiking in the Sugarloaf Mountain area.

It was a beautiful fall day. The leaves were just starting to change colors, yet the day was still warm. We parked the car at the base of the mountain and began our hike. Unfortunately, mountains on the east coast are about as tall as a two story house, and thus, we were to the top of said, "mountain" five minutes after beginning the hike. However, there were several trails weaving in and out of each other across the forest, we chose one and were off.

After wandering around for about an hour, we came to an overlook where we could see the valley beneath us. What a scene it was! Partly because of the beauty, and partly because of our growling stomachs, we decided to eat the lunches that we had brought along. We sat down on top of an outcropping of white rocks, looking out at the beauty around us. It was then that we noticed a large swarm of bugs flying just past where we were sitting. At first, we were a bit confused as to what they were...but before long, we were actually covered in ladybugs. My friend was sitting there minding her own business, eating her lunch and then all of sudden we could count over one hundred lady bugs crawling up and down her clothes. I had never seen so many ladybugs in one place.

Soon, I too was covered in ladybugs, crawling here and there. It was about that time that my phone rang. Some friends were coming over for dinner that night and they were calling to confirm the time. Apparently, the ladybugs didn't like my moving around or talking on the phone because about halfway through the conversation I felt a sharp pain on my neck...

"Ow! A ladybug just bit me!!"

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line, and then, "I think that's the woosiest thing I have ever heard."

Ladybugs: 1
Me: 0

The Landlord

Washington DC is notorious for having hot and humid summers, and this particular summer was no different. In fact, it was the summer that broke all records... it was also the summer that my downstairs neighbor's air conditioning broke.

I was living in a two story house that had been subdivided into three apartments. I lived on the top floor, two girls on the main floor, and a young man in the basement. The house was quite old, and the landlord was using it purely as a cash cow, using as little money as possible to fix up problems so the place was at least habitable. So when the air conditioning went out, we figured it could be weeks before it would be replaced...and sure enough, the time began to drag on...and no air conditioning was installed.

This wasn't the only problem at the time, however. At the same time paint was peeling off the walls in several places in our apartment, the ceiling was falling apart in the main floor apartment, and the landscaping that had previously been redone earlier that spring looked very similar to a garden plot done by second graders, except this time without adult supervision. Needless to say, things weren't exactly going as one might hope.

I finally had it. I sent a scathing email letting the landlord know that we, as tenants, were unhappy with the amount of time and money that he was putting into the place. I hit the send button...it was off. Three hours later my cell phone went off, and sure enough it was the landlord. I was in no disposition to talk to him at the time, and I promptly sent him to my voice mail.

"Hello, Jay...we have a problem, and I need you to call me as soon as possible."

Oh great. He got my email and now he is angry. This isn't going to be pleasant.

Well I finished off the day, and made the call as I was driving home from work.

"Hi, this is Jay, you asked me to call?"

"Jay, how are you?"

"I'm fine," I replied, "and you?"

"Oh, I'm not so good. I twisted my ankle and I've been laid up all day." It was only at this moment that I realized that he had not received my email and was calling for an entirely different reason. "Jay, can you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Well....see....I bought a new window unit air conditioner for the main floor apartment and I left it in their apartment. I was wondering if you could just grab it and take it up to your apartment for the time being?"

"Why?"

"Well...uh....you see....the guy I hired to put that in, he has kind of left the area suddenly, and I'm afraid that he might go and grab that unit and take it with him to sell it."

"Why would he do that?" I asked.

"Well....uh...he...well, he just got out of prison after being in there for 10 years on larceny charges."

"Let me get this straight, you hired an ex-con to come in to our house?!"

"Well, he was cheap...," he said as if this made it okay.

"And have you told the girl's about this?"

"Well...no...."

"I'll call you back."

So I immediately called one of the main floor tenants. After explaining the situation to her, she asked, "Why didn't he call me first?? Is his air conditioner that much more important than my safety and life?!!" It was par for the course for the landlord. After collecting her thoughts, she finally asked, "So...does Frank still have a key to our apartment then?" I immediately called back the landlord.

"Does Frank still have a key to the girl's apartment?"

"Well.....yes...."

"You need to change those locks. Immediately. You have twenty-four hours to do so."

"I guess you are right," he replied.

Sure enough, that night upon arriving home, the air conditioner was gone. We looked all over the apartment with no success. Frank had run off with the air conditioner.

Several months passed without us bringing up the situation. However, it wasn't long until again the landlord was doing things as cheap as possible with the results turning out accordingly. Again, we sent emails complaining about his service record and particularly reminding him about the fiasco with Frank, how Frank had stolen the air conditioner.

"Well about Frank," his email replied, "he actually didn't steal the air conditioner given the fact that I had not yet paid him for it..."

Nothing like a landlord that asks you to help him steal something for him.

The Raffle

Summertime always means many things, but one thing that it means almost universally is family reunions. That's right, time to meet up with those members of the family that for some reason you haven't kept in touch with for the last twelve months. Now some families aren't so active with their reunions, but with my family there seems to be a reunion every month if not twice during the month, whether we attend or not...

Now in my first blog you may remember meeting Aunt Joy. Aunt Joy absolutely adores family reunions. She'll sit you down and start asking you questions about what is new in your life, the usual stuff. In the beginning, you'll have maybe two, sometimes three minutes when it is a discussion. For those that know Aunt Joy well enough, it is during these precious few minutes that you start glaring a sibling, cousin, spouse, someone to come and rescue you, because the next hour or two is only a discussion because every now and again you might get to utter the word, "uh huh," "I see," or "well.....uh huh..." Desperately you try and think of some excuse to get out of there, but what can you say? "Oh my look at the time, Aunt Joy, I have to..." Yeah right, you are stuck there, grin and bear it.

Well this year was a bit different, Aunt Joy didn't actually have the time to stop and talk because this year Aunt Joy was in charge of the infamous raffle. I'm really not sure how the raffle got started, or better yet why. I think it was one of those crazy ideas where some of the family got together and said, rather than asking people to pay for the reunion, let's have a raffle. Which is almost never a good idea, at least on the small scale.

Naturally, with every raffle, there are a few choice prizes, and then there is a lot of junk. It's pretty much the idea of a raffle, get a lot of people to buy tickets for the nice stuff, and then send them home with something worthless. This year was no exception. The sought after prizes this year included Betty's pile of home made caramels; Uncle Loeey's (don't ask why he spells it that way, he just does) leather work; and finally the greatest of all, Lily's afghan. Lily was known for doing the most intricate crochet work you had ever seen. In fact many people didn't even use Lily's work for warmth, they would actually hang them on their wall and just admire them.

Well, sure enough, the raffle worked it's magic and before long raffle tickets were selling faster than lemonade on a summer's afternoon. Everyone naturally wanted the afghan. Sure, people would be satisfied with the leather, or even the caramels, but they bought the ticket for that one chance at the afghan.

Aunt Joy was truly in her element. There she was handing out tickets, collecting money, enouraging people to buy at this table, selling handfuls at that table. It was the most money that had ever been collected.

"Okay, everyone time is up to be buying your tickets, it's time for the raffle to start," cried Aunt Joy in her shrill voice.

"Now let's see her, first up we have this lovely key holder." Lovely was a bit of an overstatement, frankly it looked like a do it yourself project gone awry. It was a small box with a door that was secured quite loosely with one hinge. Inside someone had stained about half of it and on the outside someone had glued on a picture of the Eiffel Tower. "Oh wow, and it looks like it is from France! Let's see here, 11525, who has 11525? Oh little Sue! Congratulations!!" What a ten year old was going to do with a key holder, I don't know. "Now aren't you cute..."

"Alright next up, now lookey here, it is a decorated fly swatter, no more run of the mill fly swatter for whoever wins this....and look it is 11309! Who has that? 11309? Hello? 11309?!" Turned out it was grandpa...he had already returned to the nursing home, where I am sure that flyswatter with the lace edging is hanging quite nicely on his wall.

No one really cared about these prizes though, it was the big prize they were after. Time could not have ticked more slowly by...one hour, than two, everyone seemed to be collecting a bit of trash here and a bit of junk there. Finally, two and a half hours after the raffle began interest was piqued.

"Now everyone, just a few more left. It appears I have saved the best for last. Let's see here, Betty's homemade caramels. Won't this person be a lucky one that wins this? 11467! That's right 11467...who has it? Oh why by golly, it is my little grandaughter Emma! I'm sure you will enjoy these, I saw how your mouth was watering earlier when you were looking at them." A bit of let down for some...but there were still two left...

"Uncle Loeey's beautiful leather work. Let's see, let me reach way down for this one...and we have 11015! Oh my, look my son Peter won it! I'm sure this will go great with those new boots you just bought!"

At this point things started to appear just a bit fishy. Okay, so Joy's relatives had won two of the big prizes, and perhaps even worse she wasn't even hiding the fact that the winner had been chosen long before her hand entered the bag. However, the biggest one was left...there was still a chance...surely even Aunt Joy wouldn't go so far as to cheat everyone out of their chance on the big one...

"Last item everyone, it's the big one! Lily's afghan! Isn't this just exquisite? Whoever wins this will sure be a lucky one! Let me see here, we better really pick up a good one for this one...and the winner is...11690! 11690! Anyone? Surely someone has 11690..." At this point, everyone had lost hope, we knew what was coming... Aunt Joy continued, "Oh my, wait a second, it appears that I have 11690! Why, what a great surprise, I have just the right spot for this, it will be perfect! It sure appears my family was extra lucky today!"

Apparently, there is no need for luck with Aunt Joy. But what could you say? The next year, we had an auction, I figure it is only a matter of time...

The Most Beautiful Nails

It was the summer of 2000, I was working in a laboratory testing water (see Chicken Water). Everyday there would be different people arriving with water samples to be tested. Usually, the delivery was dropped off by a man, probably because in some regards collecting the water was a dirty job that most women were not interested in.

Typically the mornings at my job were filled with reading out the previous days results only to be followed by a bit of downtime as we waited for additional samples to come in throughout the day before starting the new tests in the afternoon. During that time we would often chat about different things going on during the day or events that we were coming up with, etc. When customers would come in, they would ring a doorbell, and then one of the employees would greet them at the door and accept the sample that they had brought. The rest of us might look to see who it was, but often remained in the back of the lab.

Naturally, it came as a bit of a shock when my co-workers told me about a particular customer that would come in with the most beautifully painted fingernails. On and on they would rave about just how perfectly they were painted, usually with a intricate work being done on the long nails. However, this customer only came in once a quarter at best, so for quite some time I only heard about the nails. I was a bit surprised that a woman with such beautiful nails delivered the samples from an oil refinery that was fifty miles to the north. I had to admit, this came as a bit of a shock, who would think that a lady that would take so much time to work on her nails would be employed at an oil refinery?

On one particular morning, myself and the other employees were chatting in the back when the doorbell rang. Who was it? Sure enough, it was a delivery from the oil refinery. I was told in a whisper that I should be the one to go and collect the sample. So, I walked to the front of the lab to greet the customer. Naturally, my first glance was to the nails, which were indeed impressive. They were painted cherry red with a slight starburst of white in the top of each nail. It was hard to imagine how much time was spent to create such fine and intricate lines.

Slowly my eyes left her nails to reach the hands, which, to my surprise were not young hands, but rather belonged to someone that must have been in their 60s. I'm not exactly sure why, but as she put the sample down on the counter, I found myself focused more on her hands as she was signing the chain of custody than on anything else.

After she finished signing the paper she slid over to me, where I read her signature, Stephen Michaels. Stephen? My eyes slowly lifted up to find the woman dressed in a pair of old overalls and a t-shirt. I found this even more odd, first, that her name was Stephen and second that a woman of her age would be wearing overalls. Her hair ended right above her shoulders in somewhat of a long page-boy type hair cut, that was clearly a poorly managed wig. Just as my eyes reached her face, the obviousness of the situation hit me. Sure enough, the woman from the oil refinery turned out to be just another man, bringing in a sample from his dirty job.

A Red Boat

Summer of 1997 found me in Aberystwyth, Wales. I was there for a few months as part of a two year mission for my church in south west England and south Wales. Every Saturday, we would go to an 'old folks' home to provide service for some of the residents there. Usually, we would sit and chat with the ladies there (there were only one or two men, and they weren't very talkative) and then afterwards we would pick up a few bits of shopping for them.

There was one particular woman there, who had a seat right by the window. This particular place had an ideal location in that it looked right out on to the promenade in Aberystwyth, meaning that she had a perfect view of the Irish Sea (the picture is looking down on to the promenade). There she would sit every day and watch people walking along the promenade or watching what was going on out on the water. She was a typical resident of an old folks home, grayed hair, a wrinkled face, and a certain sense of peace. That certain "peace" that you can't quite be sure if the woman was thoughtful of the wonderful life she had led, or if she was feeling alone and left out as her book of life was now nearing its last page. On her face she had two moles, each with several white hairs stretching out from the surface yearning to be noticed.
There she would sit everyday, probably almost all day, staring out the window.

Usually I would come up and greet this great lady and talk with her for a while. The conversations were almost always the same, and usually repeated about 4 times in the span of about fifteen minutes. "Now where are you from?" she would ask.

"I am from America, from a state called Utah."

"Oh, Utah, how I love Utah," acting as if she knew where it was, "what a wonderful place, Utah. I hear it is very beautiful."

"Yes it is very nice."

"I suppose when you go back, everyone will come and ask you, 'Now what are those Welshies REALLY like."

"I'll, say, oh they are just wonderful, wonderful people." Now, I must admit at this point, that no one has ever asked me "What are those Welshies really like?" In fact, I don't think most Americans could point to Wales on a map. At the time of this story, I knew this fact, however, I thought it best not to mention it, and responded how I would respond if someone were to ever ask.

"Oh, that's so sweet." She would say with a smile. Then she would stare off to the sea for a while. "Now where did you say you were from?"

"Utah."

"Oh, Utah, how wonderful. I imagine when you get back, everyone will ask you, 'what are those Welshies REALLY like?'"

"Oh, I'll say, 'they are wonderful.'"

You get the idea.

One particular Saturday, I decided I was going to control the conversation a bit. There we were, sitting, staring out at the sea, and there, floatin past on the sea was a red boat.

"Do you see that?" I said. "A red boat!"

"A red boat? Wow, I have never seen a red boat before, what a wonderful sight to see on the sea."

"I know, isn't it beautiful? What a sight, a red boat."

"Now where are you from...?"

A bit of time passes as we launch into the usual conversation, and I soon say, "Did you see that red boat on the sea this morning?

"Yes! Wasn't that amazing?! A red boat! I had never seen a red boat out on the sea before."

"Yes, it was a beautiful red boat."

Again time passes, and it is about time for us to leave and go shopping for the ladies, but before we leave I ask, "Did you see that red boat on the sea this morning?"

"A red boat?! No! You know I have never seen a red boat before, I bet that would be a great sight to see."

Chicken Water

In July of 2000 I started working at a laboratory that tested water. Now, you may think to yourself what kind of tests can you do on water? Well, you'd be fascinated. We tested drinking water, pool water, water going into the sewage plant, water coming out of the sewage plants ... we tested how polluted it was, how many things were growing in it, what the weight of the solids were in the sewage, what metals were in the sewage, etc. All of which was required by the state or the local city.

Every single test that had to be done had very strict requirements to do the test. Either the water had to be stored in acid, or it had to be stored in the fridge, you needed so much for this test, and so much for that test. Usually, the place that was being tested would sort out all of this beforehand. We would give them the appropriate bottles, they would return with the proscribed amounts in each bottle.

You might think that the worst water to be smelled would be that of water from the sewers. That is water that had not yet been treated, but was 'on its way.' While this water was pungent, it was nothing compared to waters that were leaving businesses. Imagine a fast food restaurant, lets say it is mexican, take everything on the menu and blend it up, add in some water...and dump it down the drain. That's what we got. Individually, each of those smells might be ok, but together, plus add warm temperatures and a day or two....you were in for some spicey sauce.

The worst by far though came in one day when all the lab managers were out. A local chicken farm had just finished cleaning out their coops and needed the water tested that they were sending off to the sewers. They brought in one large bottle that had not been separated into the various testing bottles. It was a very warm summer day, and the water had obviously been sitting in a hot truck on the way over. As you grasped the bottle, you could feel the warmth eminating from it. The feel of that warm water bottle and the color of almost pure white was almost bad enough. But no...the bottle had to be opened, it had to be separated out.

Melanie was in charge of the dirty deed. It was her job to receive samples, and thus we made it her job to distribut out the chicken water appropriately.

Before anything could be started, two sets of gloves were put on, a face mask added, a labcoat securely buttoned. It looked as if she were heading into a nuclear waste facility, if only she were so lucky. The rest of us stood at the other end of the lab watching... waiting... the bottle was opened. Immediately the room was filled with perhaps the foulest smell known to man. I would hope that details need not be given, use your imagination as what as included in that water, and you are right... but in case your imagination isn't good enough, there were still feathers in the water, we'll leave it at that.

Melanie worked furiously, opening bottles, sealing bottles, distributing water. The whole time, fans were running, the sink was running (to flush down spilled water), noses were plugged as best possible. It took no more than five minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. Finally, the embodiment of all that is not right was closed.

No amount of air freshner was going to cover up that smell, but once the bottle was closed, the smell had no choice but to slowly dissapate. Somehow we all survived...and sewage seems almost to smell as roses ever since.

Bingo!

February 2002. I was in the second semester of my first year of law school. At times law school could actually be entertaining...and at times it was very much not so. Well, this night was a bit different than other nights (at the time I was in the night program). At the beginning of class, Josh, a fellow student, handed out some bingo cards to some of his friends in the class. Seated near the back of the class, I was one of the lucky individuals. The rules were explained, in each box, you were to write the name of a student in the class, with the middle of course being the free space. Once that person spoke in the class, you could cross off the box that contained that person's name.

At this point, it should be explained just how law school classrooms work. Law school is taught using the Socratic method. Essentially everyone reads the required cases before class and then a discussion about the case is directed by the teacher. Usually, the discussion is between the teacher and one student, with others offering questions/suggestions/comments along the way. Thus to have many different students speak during a class is not unusual.

So back to my bingo card. There was one final rule. As anyone who has ever played Bingo before knows, when you get five in a row, you have to let everyone else playing the game know that you won by shouting, "BINGO!!!!" After you shout these words, everyone else is shocked and disappointed, while you are giddy and do a weird sort of dance as you walk/skip to the front of the room and collect your prize. Naturally, this can't be done in a classroom where you are supposed to be learning about the law, and not playing bingo. Thus, the rule was slightly changed. When you have five in a row, the winne must raise his or her hand and make a comment in the class, somewhere in that comment the winner must use the word "bingo" to let everyone know that the individual had won.

I'm not sure exactly what I was thinking that night. I immediately put the four biggest talkers in a line with the free space being in the middle. It seemed to me extremely obvious as to who would get me bingo the quickest, these people talked every night, usually to the annoyance of everyone else. In fact, I only filled out the remaining boxes in the game because it seemed like you had to. Why? WHY? in the world would I put these four individuals in a row? I obviously wasn't thinking in advance because by putting these individuals in a row I would achieve a line of five quickly and thus I would "have" to make a comment. Why would I want to do that?!

Well, sure enough, fifteen minutes into class, I had bingo (these four were big talkers....). All of my friends around me insisted that I had to follow the rules, I had to make a comment, I had to say "Bingo." This night was also unusual as we had pre-law school visitors who were checking the school out. Usually, the seats next to me was vacant, however, tonight there was one such girl occupying the usually empty seat. She also insisted that I make a comment. "If you don't say 'bingo' I'm not going to come here." I'm not exactly sure why she thought that was a valid argument. Why would I care whether or not she came to law school here?

So there I am, puzzled. What to do? My focus on the class was completely gone, when all of a sudden, "Mr. Lie-duhl, why don't you help us out with this next case?"

"err...ok." Ack! The horror, here I am wondering whether I am going to comment or not and all of a sudden the teacher is forcing me to talk. To be called on to discuss a case is nerve wracking enough, thus the entire Bingo game has made everything completely out of whack. I am completely lost, all of a sudden my mind comes back to the classroom...and realize I have no idea what is going on, I barely know what case we are supposed to be talking about.

"So tell us Mr. Lie-duhl, what is this case about?"

"Well....err...we have a plaintiff and a defendant...."

"Goooood......."

I somehow manage to collect my thoughts. "Well, let's see.... Mr. Smith is sueing ... the Widget Corporation, um... for not fulfilling the contract to deliver, let's see here, errrr... 1000 copper widgets. The Widget Corporation instead delivered 1000 aluminum widgets. Widget Corporation states that the copper widgets and aluminum widgets perform the same and thus the contract was fulfilled. However, Mr. Smith is arguing that this is a material difference and is demanding that Widget Corporation pay the extra cost that Mr. Smith paid to order the copper widgest from another company."

"So, let me get this right, you are saying that Mr. Smith claims that there was a breach of contract based on a material difference?"

"Bingo."

Aunt Joy

Everybody seems to have that one member of their family that is just...well...different. That one member that you would rather not introduce to anyone outside your family. The person that you tell stories about, but hope that you are never around to actually experience the stories. Now, some families are blessed to have more than just one, some have two, or three, or more. In the inaugural post of "Based on a True Story" I would like to introduce you to one such member of my family, Aunt Joy (names have been changed to protect the guilty).

Perhaps the best way to introduce Aunt Joy, or anyone, is just to dive into the story and let her personality come out.

Aunt Joy comes from a very large family. Perhaps the best way to describe the family is that they are from rural Utah Valley, Utah. Now, those reading this that are from Utah know what this statement means. Those that may not be, the best explanation I can give is one word, "hick."

Now, luckily some of the family escaped, and a couple of Aunt Joy's nephews became dentists. That is actually where this story begins.

Aunt Joy has a sister, her name is not really of consequence for this story, so we shall call her Lily. Lily had two sons, both of which grew up to become dentists. Many years have passed at this time, and Aunt Joy and Lily are both quite old, and both living on their own. One fine morning, Aunt Joy called up the office of one of her nephews and said, "Lily has a really bad toothache, she needs to come in immediately."

As I am sure you know, dentist's offices are often busy, and usually you must book an appointment in advance to get in, and even under the emergency circumstances you are stuck waiting for a while. However, things are shuffled for your mother. Thus, the dentist's assistant shuffled patients, moved people here, moved people there, and a spot was made for Lily to come in to get her teeth checked.

The day of the appointment arrived, Lily, however, did not. Then, just as the assistant was about to phone Lily to see what happened, Aunt Joy walks in.

"Hello, I regret to inform you, that Lily is not going to be able to make it today, I'm sorry. However, seeing that you now have an open space, I'll just have my teeth checked instead." The office was a bit in shock, but what could they do? Thus, Aunt Joy's teeth were checked. She left exclaiming, "It's so nice to have a nephew to do my dental work for free!"

Turns out, Lily never had a toothache, she never even knew that there was an appointment. Aunt Joy, the mastermind.