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.