When

It was amazing to me, for several reasons. For one, I’d never been to a place of business – outside of Myrtle Beach, SC – where such a garment could be purchased. This was mid-1970s West Virginia. It certainly didn’t look like a shirt the Montgomery Ward in Charleston would carry. And I assumed he bought it himself, because no parent would ever sign-off on such a thing. Right? But what about the laundry? His mother had to know about it. Was it possible that he wore it around the house, in front of his parents and grandparents, etc.? Incredible. I didn’t live in such a world.

Plus, he wore it to class, and never got into trouble! As far as I know, nobody said a word to him about it. He wore it all the time, for years. Hell, he’s probably got it on, right now.

Similarly, during high school there was a cigarette-smoking, drug-taking, intimidating-on-every-level Future Inmates of America chairman, who regularly showed up in a shirt with the words SUCK A ROD on the front.

It was just a white t-shirt, with red iron-on letters. Needless to say, there wasn’t much attention to detail. The letters were not lined-up right, and the spaces weren’t consistent. It bugged me, on an aesthetic level. But what do you expect from a guy who probably set hospice fires?

I assumed the school administration decided to pick their battles, and not hassle this guy over his choice of attire. It was probably far down the list of grievances. But it still blew my mind whenever I saw him terrifying his way down the hall, with SUCK A ROD on his chest, inside a public school building.

When I lived in Greensboro, I returned to Dunbar once or twice a month, and drove through some rural-ass mountain communities in Virginia. I mean, this was the land that time forgot.

One time I stopped at a charming-looking general store, to buy a soda or whatever. And I was surprised to see they carried a sizable selection of racist t-shirts, belt-buckles, bottle openers, etc. One shirt had Klansmen on it(!?), with the words “The original Boyz n the Hood.” WTF??

There was another one, featuring Martin Luther King, that I don’t even want to talk about… Wow!

I bought a Coke, because it suddenly felt like I was the subject of scrutiny, and got the hell out of there. The guy behind the counter looked like something out of The Hills Have Eyes, and I couldn’t believe I’d somehow stumbled into a living, breathing Ugly Stereotypes of the South museum. Everything was on display right there, inside a small Mom ‘n’ Pop grocery in rural Virginia.

As I drove away, I wondered if they had a vendor who came by once a week, in a panel truck with Racist Souvenirs by Delbert painted on the side. In my mind, the driver always tipped his Confederate cap to the bread guy, in a show of route-man solidarity, restocked the “Rap is Short for Crap” back-scratchers, and asked the protruding-forehead owner if he’d thought anymore about maybe offering something from his new anti-Semitic line. But, he was always shot-down: “We just ain’t got no Jews up here to hate, Delbert. Sorry.”

Anyway… I’m calling it a day, my friends.  In the comments section, please tell us about the inappropriate clothing you’ve encountered during your travels. What have you seen that made you think, “Good god! Who would buy such an item?!”  Or maybe you remember someone from your schooldays, like good ol’ SUCK A ROD, who somehow got away with pushing the envelope, again and again? Please tell us about it below.

And I’ll see you guys again next time.

Have a great day!

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You know what

It happens in the real world, too. A few days ago I made a joke about something that happened “back in the 80s, or whatever” and a person interjected: “Um, I don’t know what 80s you lived through, but that sounds more like the 70s to me.”

Thanks for that, dick. I’m telling a story here, not producing a documentary. And now you’ve ruined the whole rhythm of it, with your smug fact-checking of irrelevant details. Why don’t you get the paint-stirrer of seriousness out of your ass, you humorless fuck?

It’s different when a person is making a joke BASED on an inaccuracy. I’m not really talking about that. I mean people who miss the whole point of the tale, seize on some side detail, and feel compelled to testify about it. Grrr…

In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t like correctors, in general. It doesn’t have to be a joke, it can be anything.

During my life I’ve been subjected to mountains and mountains of preposterous horseshit. I’ve worked with many a straight-up liar, as well as morons and fools of every stripe. Heck, I have relatives who couldn’t tell the truth, even if a gun was pressed to their head; they seem to lie for sport.

But do I argue with them, and call them on the garbage that’s constantly tumbling from their Skoal hole? Of course not. I don’t have the energy, or the interest. I just say something like, “Huh,” and keep moving.

A lot of people can’t let it go, though, and will stand there debating the most inane and senseless “facts” to ever come down the pike. It’s tiresome. What does it matter if some dolt thinks acorns come from maple trees? Of if a person believes Elvis Costello was born at Woodstock? (I’ve been told both.) How is it going to benefit me, if I get into a protracted argument about it? You can’t fix dumbass in 30 minutes, and it’s not my duty to try.

What’s your stance on correctors? I think it’s more of a personality thing, than anything else. Some people just love to debate. That ain’t me, and I find the whole thing exhausting. Is it you? Please tell us about it in the comments.

Also, what’s the most ridiculous “fact” that anyone’s ever told you? Did you get into it with them?

I’ll see you guys again tomorrow.

Have a great day!

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Recently, the Scranton wrap-party for The Office was held at the stadium, and there are still remnants of that big extravaganza in the place. Michael Scott was standing outside, welcoming everyone, and Toby from HR helped us remember where our seats were located. “Just turn left at Toby,” I told the boys, when they got bored with baseball <sigh> and went wandering around.

Toney got us four great seats, via her vast network of liars and backstabbers. It almost felt like we were on the bench.

Possibly taking The Office motif too far… the opposing players were each assigned a character from the show, and the picture was shown on the scoreboard, while they were at bat. Kinda strange, right? Wonder what Ernesto Mejia thought? Maybe he can’t even speak English? He was probably completely confused.

Some people just can’t get into baseball. It makes me sad.

Scene from the right field bar. I’m telling you, that stadium is pretty freakin’ cool now.

It’s like a park out there, and people were sitting on the grass, etc.  There’s a sidewalk that goes all the way around the stadium, and it’s all really pretty and nice. The place blew me away, and I’m a cynical bastard.

There was a table there, where they were handing out samples of men’s underwear. And how weird is that? (I don’t think Dwight approves.) They were free, so I took one, but it wasn’t like what’s pictured — it was just an old-school pair of tighty-whities.  Everybody was walking around with them, and it all felt kinda odd: teenage girls yelling like carnival barkers, “Would you like some free underwear?!”  Pardon?  By the way, that cop gave me a menacing look right after I snapped this photo.

Yankees star Curtis Granderson played the whole game. Apparently he was hurt during the first game of the regular season, and was sent to Scranton for rehab.  Every time he came to bat, the place went wild.

Near the end of the game it started raining, and we got the hell out of there. But it was a blast, it really was.  I want to return soon. They’ve really done a fantastic job with the place. Good stuff.

And on Saturday night the oldest boy went to the prom.  He’s in this photo, but I’m not going to tell you which one he is. One hint: he’s not the black kid. Have I given away too much?

What did you get into this weekend?  Anything fun?  If so, please tell us about it in the comments.

And I’ll see you guys again tomorrow.

Have a great day!

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Hello Surf Reporters! 

Today I’ve screwed around on the internet, drank a pot of coffee, talked to my brother on the phone, and listened to all three albums by the Kooks. Yes, I’m a regular ball o’ fire.

To make matters worse, I read an article this morning in which the author reveals why he believes many people aren’t successful: poor communication skills, and a shitty work ethic. So, I decided I’d better take my laptop to the library (I do better away from home, for some reason) and get down to business. The dude was shaming me.

So, here we are.

On Monday I was about to post the Suburban Oddball update, when the power went out. There was no advance warning: no flickering or dimming, or anything of the sort. Everything just suddenly shit the credenza.

I got ready for work, and kept flipping on non-responsive light switches out of habit. I was hoping it would only be a minor setback, but after 90 minutes… still nothing. Screw this, I thought, I’ll just go somewhere, have lunch, and head to the office.

So, I drove to Moe’s, where they have a really good $5.55 Monday special. But all the employees were sitting outside, and the front doors were propped open. What the?

“No power!” they screamed at me, as I approached. Dammit! All my pleasure centers were calibrated for burrito.

I headed on down the road, and noticed that every fast food place was dark and closed. Weird. I hoped the terrorists weren’t hitting us where it hurts the most… Finally, I drove far enough that I could see lights again, and whipped the steering wheel toward a Subway.

“No credit card machine! No credit card machine!!” the over-excited Indian man (anesthesiology, not feather) yelled at me. Nobody carries cash anymore… At least I don’t, and assume everyone lives their life like I do. Right? So, I stormed out in a huff.

I drove all the way to Wilkes-Barre, where the power outage couldn’t hurt me anymore, and ate at a battered and threadbare Wendy’s. There was a guy in there holding court, and talking loudly about local railroad history. He seemed both knowledgeable and pleased with himself. It irritated me that I was halfway interested in what he was saying.

The entire situation was annoying, but it allowed me the opportunity to spend some extra time with the Monday update. I posted it on Tuesday, and think it was better than most. If you agree, I’d appreciate a little Twitter love. I’ve even gone to the trouble of typing out the message for ya. All you have to do is go here, and hit TWEET. Thanks in advance!

A few days ago I was listening to a business podcast, and the guy was talking about factory tours. He said the Heinz Ketchup company was the first to offer daily tours, back during the late 1800s. And it was a game-changing, revolutionary concept. Prior to that, factories were mysterious places, which only workers and investors were allowed to enter.

The guy was making a point about the value of transparency, but it got me to thinking about such tours, and the ones I’ve taken in my life.

I’ve been on several brewery tours, including Yuengling (multiple times, because it’s so kick-ass), Anheuser-Busch in Florida somewhere, and Ommegang in Cooperstown, NY. There might be others, too.

I also remember touring a giant industrial bakery in Charleston, WV, when I was a kid. The smell was overwhelming, and some of the kids loved it, and others were on the brink of vomiting. I was in the latter group… the shit was thick. They gave us an oatmeal cookie at the end, I recall.

One of the coolest factory tours I’ve experienced was at my old place of employment: a mind-bogglingly huge CD/DVD/LP manufacturing plant. It was as big as a city, and had its own zip code (no joke). Thousands of people worked there when I started, and they gave me the full-blown golf cart tour on my first day.

They still made vinyl albums, at the time, and a roomful of old ladies in gloves were sitting there placing them into sleeves. They got paid by the piece, and had been there for decades. The guy told me they’d purchased a machine years ago, to automate the process, but the old ladies were actually faster. I stood there watching them, and it was just a blur. Crazy.

The DVDs and CDs were made in clean rooms, and the workers were in full-blown Hazmat suits. It was like a massive medical lab. They showed me a high definition DVD, years before they were available in stores, and I couldn’t believe it. My brain was having trouble processing the picture; I’d never seen anything like it.

It was great fun, and I worked there for seven years… and never again revisited many of those sections of the plant. It was gargantuan, and like something out of a James Bond movie. I think 250 people work there today, and 80% of the place is powered-down. It’s sad.

And now I’d like to know about the coolest factory tours you’ve experienced. I didn’t think it was possible, but I believe this is a Question we’ve never pondered before. Please use the comments link below.

And I’ll see you guys again on Monday.

Have a great weekend!

Now playing in the bunker
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