by Buck

November 9, 2007

Trick or treating is a fucking racket. Every year, I get shaken down by kids I’ve never seen…and will never see again. I live in a very small housing development. It’s built on top of a mountain in the middle of the woods. There are 33-houses in our little neighborhood and we are surrounded by forest. There is a similar subdivision about a half mile down the road. I would estimate, judging by the school bus load we have about 20-kids on our street—which ends in a cul-de-sac. Then there are probably another five to ten who are pre-school age and maybe three or four high schoolers who drive to school. However, on Halloween night I get no fewer than 100-kids banging on the door wanting candy.

I’ve created a new system. The T-O-T hours in our neighborhood are 6-8 pm . I shut it down at 7:00 . Most of the local kids are out early and by 7:45 they are done. When I start seeing odd faces and carloads of bedraggled urchins, I turn of the light, close the door, retrieve a shotgun from the cabinet, and wait by the window.

A few years ago I had an “incident”. A bunch of smartass teenagers were running wild on our street. They weren’t local, they were from another development—probably a white trash trailer park up the holler. Anyway they were tossing eggs at the house. I won’t be so prudish as to think I have never done such a thing…but I digress. The culprit who hit my garage door with an egg found it high comedy. He and his pals also didn’t run—thinking they had gotten away with it. That is until I emerged with a shotgun and fired a shot in to the air—and threatening to cut them down if they ran. I highly doubt I would have done that—but they couldn’t be sure. I forced the one who threw the egg grab a bucket and fill it with water and soap and clean that mess off my garage door. The others were too terrified to run—so they just stood and watched. All of this was done at gunpoint. I’m sure I violated several laws with that display---but it scared those little bastards to death and I’m damn glad of that. Since then I haven’t had much trouble and nobody ever said a word to me about it, so they must not have told their parents.

I had to finally buy a new cell phone the other day. I’ve been using this phone since the beginning of my cellular life. Man, I hated to let that thing go. This was a man’s phone. I dropped this phone out of a 20-foot tree stand into the mud and it still worked. I was once shoveling gravel and dropped it in the bed of a pickup truck where it was partially buried in rocks. I always had service and I could always hear everybody and they could hear me during a call. But the battery finally couldn’t be charged any more and everywhere I’ve looked, including on the net I couldn’t find any batteries that were reliable. Also, the battery charger shit the bed and continued blowing fuses in my cars. I finally got rid of that thing, but found finding the right charger is almost as hard as finding a battery. The technology was just past its prime, so I had to go in search of a modern, hipper product.

I walked into our local Alltel store and was immediately attacked by no fewer than three “associates” eager to sell me the latest, hottest, hippest product. One guy finally won in the race for sales associate dominance and began “courting” me for a sale. He was explaining how on this phone you could download music and movies, you could surf the internet, and you could take pictures and high quality video. Plus I’m pretty sure there was a feature that allows you to press a button that will automatically take out the steering of a car that just cut you off on the interstate. He was about 10-minutes into his obviously rehearsed act when I interrupted, in high asshole fashion.

I asked this guy—who was young enough to be my son if I was getting busy in 11th grade—“Do you have a cell phone that I can use to make a phone call and receive a phone call?” Printed words don’t quite describe the sarcasm and patronizing I was spreading thick as I told this joker I didn’t need a phone that doubles as a key fob. As I was telling him how Uninterested I was in this $350 beauty with the racing stripes and mag wheels, I could literally see the color leaving his face. He sheepishly said, “Oh, well this is what you want.” He pointed to what he called a “Razor”. By now I wouldn’t be shocked if I could shave with it, but he explained it’s a thin phone and that particular model was made pretty much to make and receive calls. Excellent! It was priced at $150, with a $100 rebate. YESSSSS!!!! So I now have a stripped down Razor phone.

This brings me to yet another subject that just pisses me off. Why are grown men now walking about with cell phones strapped to their hips? I refuse to do such a thing. Can you imagine John Wayne ambling around with a Colt .45 on one side and a Nokia on the other? What the fuck? When I see guys walking around all pretentious and cocky with a cell phone strapped to their hip, I get a strong desire to throw a cinderblock through their windshield. I don’t know why this pisses me off, but I’m pretty sick of society trying to dictate to me that I must walk around with communications technology hooked to my britches. It’s even worst when they get a call…..you’ll hear the Eagles Hotel California and then—before Don Henley can finish with the last syllable of California —they’re in mid-conversation. Holy sheep shit…a cell phone “quick draw.” In the classic and underused words of Jeff Kay….wotta bunch of douches.

If I MUST carry the phone, it’s in my pocket…..otherwise, it’s in the car. Of course, next thing you know—it will be emitting some kind of cancer causing ray that will irradiate my testicles and make them like raisins before I’m 40.

Buck Out


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