I was getting a haircut the other day at OK Barbershop. Mike (the Barber) Whittenberg (or Wittenberg, sorry Mike) is the long time owner and though I’ve known him for 30+/- years, it was my first haircut from him, for which I apologized. He brought up a funny story about me that he said he tells often. Here it is:
When I was 20, I was married and I played a lot of practicle jokes on everyone, including Teri, wife #1. One time, Teri and I were driving down I-5 and she had to go to the bathroom. We just passed a rest area, there were no bushes and it was broad daylight. I said to her, “I know–I will pull the car onto the shoulder at an angle to sheild you from the traffic in our lane, then you open the door, and that will shield the view from oncoming traffic in the other lanes and then you can go right there in that little hiding space.” So, I pulled over at that angle, she opened the door got out in her little hidden car-door-nook and started natures call… At which point, I pulled away. And, there she was squatting on I-5 in broad daylight, pants down around her ankles , heavy into her business because she had to go so bad— traffic coming in both directions. She was pretty impressed with my sense of humor. NOT.
Another time I was driving (I-5 again) and she was reading. I saw a dead deer on the side of the freeway and this deer was real dead. It was turned inside-out dead. I pulled over so that it was right outside her door and asked her if she coud drive, I was falling asleep. She opened her door and instantly heaved all over the mashed deer. Needless to say, that marrige had some trust issues.
I also played tricks on the people I worked with. Willie Thurman was a good friend and so a good target. I was 18, Willie was 55. Willie was black, had a pencil-thin mustache and a great sense of humor, otherwise I would not have survived the tricks I played on him. At work, we would slip raw eggs in the back pockets of Willies pants and send him on a break. We could tell when he sat down by all the cussing we could hear, clear up in the kitchen. Then when he came back off his break, sometimes he would notice right away the mayonnaise we put around the rim of his chef hat, but sometimes it would just warm up and run down his face like white sweat. We would fill his pant-cuffs up with 1000 Island dressing and then watch is fling all over when he walked. Willie, Willie. Once we went to visit a friend in Yreka, this was in 1978, and we stopped in Grants Pass for breakfast. Some guy, maybe he was the manager, came up to us and (remember this was Grants Pass in ’78, and you would hear stories, but this was still shocking) he said, “I’m sorry, we don’t serve black people here.” Willie looked him straight in the eye and said, “That’s OK, I wasn’t gonna order one. Now get me some #@* breakfast!!” They did, and he ate, even though I urged us to go. He somehow was able to enjoy his breakfast too. What a guy.
Willie died years ago. They said it was a heart attack, but I think he just wanted to get away from me. I spoke at his funeral and at one point, told some funny stories to portray the Willie that I knew. His family laughed while they cried and I didn’t get struck by lightening, so I guess all is forgiven. I don’t play so many practical jokes anymore. They’re fun to remember, but when things go awry, they’re too hard to undo. Oh well, back to my chowder and my memory-inducing coffee…

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