You may think the title of this column is a bit odd, but I’m used to odd. I’m used to different. I can go from a burlesque show one night, to a wine and food gathering of lovely and wealthy ladies the next afternoon. I can win $1,000 bucks in the lottery, and what am I gonna do? I’m giving it away. That’s the way I operate because I’m blessed to have a second chance at life. I know I’ve written about the mountains of pain and depression that I’ve had to overcome to still say, ‘I’m Happy.’ For truly each day we are above ground is a time we should rejoice. Even working in a boring office or factory should be a cause for celebration. A little over three weeks ago, I took some clothes into my local Go-Eco dry cleaners, some pants and shorts, and since the lady behind the counter, Celia, knows me well enough, most times I just get her attention and drop off my clothes on the counter and go. Unfortunately, most people see Celia as a machine to get their clothes and accept their payments, but after a little while, I get to know the person, especially if they are in my sphere of influence. I even have Celia’s phone number in my contacts so if I’m in a bind for time, I can let her know ahead of my arrival so I can be back on the road that much quicker.
Of course life is not perfect, and about that thing a little over three weeks ago, a pair of my favorite pants went missing. I didn’t panic when they failed to return with my other clothes. About a week later, I asked Celia, and she checked the system, with it saying everything had been distributed back. ‘Maybe it was on me,’ I thought. Perhaps the pants could be in my car? Dirty clothes hamper? I looked. Nothing. I never once considered getting angry, because that takes a lot of energy, But after another week, on Wednesday, which is usually the day I drop off newly minted papers. I just asked if anyone had dropped a pair of pants that didn’t fit, thinking that the pants could have gotten mixed with another customer’s order.
That was about the time that I first started thinking of the pants as the ‘prodigal son’ in The Bible. Ever since my ‘melancholy’ episode, I’ve been playing the Bible on my iPad at bedtime, whether it be The Gospel’s, Psalms, or Old and New Testament books, and even with the worst of the sadness during the day, when it came time to bed down for the evening, my mind was able to clear just by focusing on the Holy Words spoken.
Being still 18 when I arrived in Germany as a soldier, I kinda felt prodigalish. I did all the things that the Brits accused Americans of doing back in World War II, plus a little of a Subic Bay R&R in the Philippines. If you don’t know, Google it. So I got to thinking about my pants. My pants had run off.
Then I got to thinking of my loving brothers over at 105, or the Lone Star Honor Flight Veterans Group, of which one brother, Darrell, who calls me ‘Gnome,’ because the WiseCrack Warriors have several gnomes at the end of the table dedicated in Honor of ‘Me.’ On my ‘Wall of Shame’ picture, of me about ready to leave Saudi Arabia for a flight back to Frankfurt on a C-5A transport, someone hung an anatomically correct left testicle. Then someone else had to go a bit farther, sticking a pin into it with a raisin attached. Thankfully, it did not hurt me. And all I could do was laugh. I mean it was funny. I took no offense, nor will I ever from the WiseCrack Warriors. Truly, the representations of the gnomes, and the testes (left raisin), are all done out of Love for me. And I love ‘em right back. Each of us has our own personalities that just meld with each other’s idiocracy. We all have a sharp command of sarcasm, and no one is offended by it. For instance, I once accused a member of the WiseCrack Warriors for lowering my gas mileage on a ride to Louisiana by two miles a gallon, because of his large ears. Now is that not funny? I agree. It’s hilarious.
Last week, after my exhaustive search at my house, car, and dirty clothes hamper, I went back to Celia after dropping off some clothes, asking her to look around the nooks and crannies. It was about then that I put it all together, about what gnomes do? They go on cruises. They hang out in forests. Visit with other gnomes. They hit the beach. Then I thought, are my pants taking a gnome-like trIp? Essentially I was equating the gnome with my pants? lol.
Where are my pants? Did they go back in time to see the Peaceful Flyover of the American Army and Navy by Japanese Naval Aviators, in Hawaii on December 7th, 1941. Or even the peaceful riots of BLM’s summer of love during the pandemic? Where no one died, despite the dozens of families who will say different, oh, and of no cities that were burned or destroyed. It’s all crap. My pants might have taken a detour, but it wasn’t to a Democrat utopia, there is no such thing. The prime existence of a Democrat area involves urine and fecal matter on the streets, used needles too; plenty of closed stores that have been robbed blind, a city and state full of corrupt officials willing to tell you that what you are seeing is Conservative Propaganda, and of course a constituency that would vote Democrat even if Trump had a cure for cancer that could save you.
No, my pants would never go in that direction, besides, when Celia united me with my pants last Thursday, they were free from fecal material, nor were they strewn with urine. They had no seawater, blood, or diesel fuel residue from the peaceful flyover of Pearl Harbor by the Japs on December 7th. I saw no holes from the needles that Dem drug users love to drop where your kids walk. The pants might have been lost for a little while, but they don’t tolerate Democrat avoidance of responsibility, or any other silliness that where common sense in a decision is constantly avoided.
When I went back to pick up a summer jacket on June 12th, that I had dry cleaned, Celia surprised me. My pants had returned, and I was overjoyed. I felt the pride of a father, whose prodigal son, or pants, had just arrived at home, but I didn’t kill any fatted calf. I just gave Celia a $50.00 tip, the first recipient from the spoils of my lottery win. I ain’t keeping anything.
Ruben can be reached at: ruben@montgomerycountynews.net
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