Marks Cold Foot

Another goose hunting season is upon us! It's not a particularly demanding sport. Over the years I've mastered the art of lazy goose hunting. Most hunters scout, set up decoy spreads, wake up at 3:00am and other such nonsense. I simply sit behind a tree and wait for geese to fly over with no particular concern of success. It wasn't always that way. My first few years of hunting geese were a study in lumpishness. I remember an instance of hunting futility many years ago when one of my hunting buddies and I had quite a laugh at another buddy's expense.
First, there is Jerry. He is a rather diminuative guy at barely Five foot tall. His main pleasure in life is making fun of people. What he lacks in size he can easily make up in insults. I'm 5'8" and back then I weighed a good 250 pounds. Then, there is Mark. He is 7'1" or as he likes to say, "Six foot-Thriteen inches" He's the nicest guy you will ever meet, but not maybe the most motivated person around. So basically, our group was composed of a grizzly bear, the Jolly Green Giant and Sprout.
If success is measured by hours spent hunting, then we were the most successful group in history. If success is measured by how many geese are taken per season, then not so much. First, Jerry refused to remove his blaze orange stocking cap for two seasons. He was convinced that all non-human animals are colorblind and would not notice his big orange head. Mark's size didn't exactly make him ergonomic when it came to hiding in blinds we made out of tumbleweeds. Usually, Marks white, size 18 sneaker was sticking out of the blind and tipping off the flock above to our presence. Eventually, Jerry misplaced his orange hat and our success began to improve. I want to go on record as saying there is no hard evidence connecting me with the disappearance of that hat. Then, when Mark found a pair of brown boots that fit him, our success increased even more. But, that didn't happen until after the infamous "cold-foot" incident.

It was a particularly cold day. We spent most of the morning driving around. We would see a flock of geese come off the lake and try to anticipate their flight path. Jerry would let us out of the car to jump in the ditch and wait for the geese to fly over. It wasn't working. Every five minutes a new flock would rise off the lake. Every five minutes we would jump in the car and go to another ditch to watch the geese fly somewhere other than where we were. It's just the way we did it back then. Brilliant!
Jerry had a 1979 Monte Carlo. It was a two-door car and no one wanted to sit in back. It was too difficult to get in and out of quickly.
Using standard "shotgun" rules, I always got the front seat. Mark, all seven foot of him, would have to navigate the lone passenger side door and folding front seat in order to get in back. His feet were understandably cold that day. Mark had his basketball shoes again. They looked warm to me. Maybe it was just the size that fooled me.
Mark's incessant complaining about his frozen feet was becoming unbearable. It was nearly impossible to enjoy my hot chocolate and music on the radio with Mark back there belly-aching about his stupid feet, and how Jerry should turn up the heater, and how he should get to sit in front, and how we should share the hot chocolate with him and what not. Without warning there was a short period of silence. Just as I was beginning to enjoy it, I heard what I thought was Mark reacting to an attack by an animal that had stowed away in the car without us knowing. My first thought was, "Is Mark dying?" This wouldn't be good if he was. Something like that could ruin the whole hunting trip.
"STOP THE CAR!, STOP THE CAR! I CAN'T FEEL MY FOOT!!!", Mark yelled. Jerry stopped the car. Mark jumped out and was clumsily hopping around on one leg as if that would get warm blood back into his now numb foot.
When Jerry and I finally composed ourselves enough to quit laughing, we noticed Mark was not laughing at all.

This is the type of thing that Jerry loves. In the future he will always have a comeback for anything that Mark says. He has used the "Stop the car" quote many times in many situations to embarrass Mark. It was funny at the time it happened and I can't fully explain why. Decades later, I still wonder what "STOPPING THE CAR" has to do with not feeling your foot. I guess it will just remain one of those mysteries that I can't understand. In fact as I grow older, I am often reminded the more you understand the world around you, the less pleasant it can appear. Unless, you have something to look forward to. In my case, another goose hunting season with Jerry and Mark.

She Screamed for Icecream

One bad decision can lead to another and amplify it's impact exponentially when done with my kind of precision. This can make certain situations more memorable than others. Take for instance my recent trip to the convenience store to pick up my fresh made pizza order. I arrived long before the pizza was done, as this is my normal mode of operation. I was patiently standing by for any sign of the delicious bacon-cheeseburger pizza that would begin to peek out of the 503 degree conveyer oven. I believe I was the only customer in the store at the time.
Fate changes with every heartbeat, blink or decision we make like the wind changes speed and direction for reasons most of us don't understand. I wasn't thinking about fate or repercussions or anything but pizza when the young father and his two children came into the store that night. I noticed the father of the two precious youngsters head directly to the men's room, leaving the two kids somewhat unattended. The boy was about seven or eight years old. He went directly to the gum/baseball card area and was quickly entranced within it's power. The little girl was five. She had to be five. There is a certain look all five year olds have. It is unmistakable, undeniable and inarguable. She was five. Probably bored from riding in a car for some time, the little girl was peering upward and focusing on nothing in particular when she turned to walk up the same aisle as me. I was facing the goodie machines. You know, the soda fountain, freezy machine, coffee pots and oh yes, the ice-cream machine.
She strolled along the aisle carefree and humming an unpublished concerto. But, all that changed as she neared me. She looked to her right and instantly radar locked on the ice-cream machine. I wondered for a moment what the attraction was. As I looked closer at the machine, the answer became quite clear. A smile came to me as I noticed there was a two to three inch ice cream stalactite hanging from the dispenser nozzle. With little hesitation she reached out to obtain the small hanging treat. At the precise moment her index finger made contact with the ice cream, the compressor that runs the cooling system of the machine kicked on with a violent roar. She reacted with a quick tensing and small jump back. Thinking she may be responsible for breaking something or setting off some type of ice-cream machine theft alarm, she snapped her head to the left, looked directly at me with eyes wide and jaw dropped. I could have looked away and left well enough alone, but no....not me. I looked at her, then at the machine, then back at her and said in an authoritative and accusing tone, "What did you do?"
See, I think I'm a really funny guy. That was supposed to be a really funny thing. I simply failed to consider my audience. The next few seconds were those kind where you wish you had a rewind button to hit.  First, there was a small inward breath, then a large lung filling gasp followed by a second of silence. A moment like that can seem to last a long time when you know the next thing that happens will be very, very bad.
At first I thought the sound I heard was an ambulance siren at full screech. Unfortunately, it was not. During mid-scream, I became aware that I was alone in an aisle with a young girl screaming her head off within five feet of me. I also knew it probably wouldn't look good to any amateur child protection advocates that may have just stumbled into the store. Not knowing what to do, I simply ran. Not perhaps the best quick decision I've made in my life. As it turns out, there just isn't any law against being stupid or being a jerk to a little kid. I'd like to see it stay that way for the next "funny thing" I decide to do.