Cloyce Destroys My Model C

I remember a time when I was 16 or 17 that Pops handed over to me a used Electric Eel Model C drain cleaning machine which he had taken in on trade, and told me to clean it up for sale. With that, for honestly the first time in my life, I went all out on a work project. I really put my heart into the job.

I took the motor off the frame, and washed all the grime off both. I painted the motor gray and the frame royal blue, just as they painted them at the Eel factory. I rewired it and installed new wheels. All the bolts everywhere on that unit were new. When I was finished with it that baby looked sharp. She was dressed to the nines. I was truly proud of my work. Pops was too. That made me feel very good.

A few days later a regular customer, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, came by. I was busied at some project at a work bench in the middle of the Shop, the old barn where I still work. "Bill,' I heard Cloyce say to my father, "Have you got any used Models Cs?"

My heart sank right to floor. It seeped right through my boots.

You see, Cloyce was a great guy and a good customer. He never debated cost nor asked for better prices. He just bought what he wanted and said thank you. But man oh man, he was one lousy drain cleaner. He lost more cables in more sewers than you might think it possible for any one man to lose. I think he lost more snake cable in a given year than entire companies would in two. He abused his equipment in ways and manners unimaginable, incomprehensible to the rational human mind. In the museum of incompetent plumbers, yes, I mean this, is a solid gold, life size statue of Cloyce. He was simply not good at what he did. It remains a wonder to me how he ever got any jobs. Who, once they had seen his work, would refer him?

And Pops was going to sell him my Model C.

He couldn't not not sell the man the machine. I get that. We were, are still, in the business of selling new and used drain snakes, and Cloyce's money was as good as anyone else's. Plus, his poor skills weren't our fault. The old man had to sell the unit. As he took Cloyce's money me Pops, for likely the only time in his life, looked over at me with a sheepish, embarrassed, pained look which plainly said, 'I'm sorry, son'.

Cloyce wheeled that Eel out the door with a bright smile, while I was truly morose. You know those classic theater masks, the grinning one which represents comedy and the crying one which spoke tragedy? I learned that moment how tragedy felt. My youthful innocence was broken, its tatters strewn across the Shop floor.

Within a month Cloyce brought that Model C into the Shop for a switch or something. The front swivel caster was gone and the frame broken off so that the drive shaft had no support. The paint was scratched and grime covered my first child. I swear it looked up at me in despair and whispered pathetically, "Shoot me."

Bernie's Benign Deflect

Bernie Sanders was in Michigan yesterday, campaigning for someone or another. He gave a speech from behind a podium. The podium had a sign. The sign urged voters to Fight Oligarchy.

Oh. That's. Rich. He does know what an oligarchy is, I would think. But let's spell it out for him anyway: it's rule by a few.

I know what he means by it. He means we shouldn't be ruled by a handful of wealthy businessmen. Now, rule by a handful of wealthy government officials, well, that's a different thing entirely. But why?

Because he's one of those few, that's why. He's made his living in Washington. He's established who he is there. Yet it's those other bad, rich guys we should worry about. Not the ones like him, who hold a power more dangerous than Elon Musk: the arbitrary and unilateral hand of government. The hand which can give thumbs up to what it likes and thumbs down to what it condemns. The hand which can, will, and has broken people.

Not that the private rich aren't without power and pull we plebes don't enjoy. At the risk of understatement, that can be bad. Evil is endemic to the human condition, and we simply cannot eradicate it everywhere and for all times. But I'm with C. S. Lewis on government power over private power:

“Of all tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It would be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron’s cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end, for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.”

To wit: we can, at least to a degree, avoid dealing with private entities. I don't have to buy a Tesla. But I have to deal with government, and its hunger never stops, precisely because it knows best. It has assured itself of that.

What Uncle Bernie has done is classic: accuse the other guy of the evil you're doing. It makes you seem pure while all along, you're the true oligarch. It's so obvious it astounds me that voters, at least some of them, can't see it.

I Just Watch Sportsball

There's a Monty Python skit - bear with me, Ron - where John Cleese plays an oaf a soccer player who can hardly put a sentence together while Eric Idle is an interviewer trying to get into the intricacies of the game. Cleese answers a question, "I kicked the ball, then there it was, in the back of the net." That was in response to Idle asking about the positioning of the opposing players and blah, blah about what deep strategies led to the goal. It's clear that even Cleese doesn't get it. He's just a guy who scored a goal, a deer in the headlights of a self important reporter.

I feel like the Cleese character these days, when watching sports. When did they become so complicated?

Watching golf early this morning, a replay of an earlier event, the broadcasters were describing a shot where so-and-so was taking advantage of such-and-such by using a club with a 52 degree head angle rather than 51.5, which was surprising considering tons of various other factors including that the club shaft was a rare Uruguayan titanium alloy and it had rained six hours ago in northeast Ohio while a local woman delivered twins in the back of a taxi with the help of a well I won't go into that. All the while I'm thinking, about the golfer, "He hit the ball well."

I see it in other games too. A shortstop throws a batter out at first base and the announcers describe the play as though they're writing War and Peace. Meanwhile I'm slapping my son on the shoulder, shouting, "Did you see that throw?"

All right, players are looking for every possible advantage and reporters want to sound like they know what they're taking about. But it doesn't add a thing to the game for me, and I doubt most others. And I can't help wonder if any of it really makes a difference anyway.

Another Dumb Term

I went online this morning and ordered a book. I selected the book, I entered my card information, I received a confirmation number as well as a confirmation e-mail. The book itself won't be available until November, but it's been ordered. I will get a copy.

I will stress it's been ordered. I will get it.

So why, pray tell, does everything and everyone involved in this situation (except me) insist that I've pre-ordered it?

Please tell me what I'm missing. I ordered it. It is paid for. I have a receipt. It is coming. What the hell is pre about that?

Should I be stressing over this? I think so. It is not what they're saying it is. It. Is. An. Order. For. A. Book. How hard is that to understand?

Or maybe I should have given them a pre-debit card and have the thing pre-shipped to my pre-address? It makes as much sense to me.

Curmudgeon rant over. But he will seethe about this for a few hours.

But Still

I have this one customer, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who is annoying in small ways. Many small ways. He never does anything so bad as to allow me a reason to throw him out of the Shop bodily. That's an aggravation by itself; you almost want the guy to become outlandish and obnoxious enough that you can tell him to go hell. I'm sure you have such a friend too. Quiet Ron.

Cloyce likes to do things such as inspect my work every time I do it. Every. Single. Time. On the one hand, I get it. A fella wants assurance that the thing he's about to pay for is done well and proper. On the other, he's watched me do stuff for 45 years (cue old guy stating emphatically, and perhaps angrily offended, 'I been doin' this for well on 45 years now') and I feel he ought to trust my abilities at this point.

The other day as I finished welding a fitting onto his drain snake cable he asked upon inspection, "You sure that's enough weld on there, Marty?"

What to do, what to say? "Here's the welding lead, Cloyce. How 'bout, rather than me doing it and charging you $40, you show me how it's done and I'll pay you forty bucks?" Or, "It's just like I've done it for the 45 years you've known me Cloyce. What's yer problem?" 

But still, why get mad? He's going to act the same damn way next time, ain't he?

Sit Down and Shut Up

I remarked a few weeks ago on re-reading Less Than Words Can Say, a wonderful book on how stupid we've become about language in particular and education in general. One of the main points which the books makes is that we know how to teach, and we know how to learn. Stripped down to the very core, we teach by making folks Sit Down, Shut Up, and Pay Attention. 

Why is this so? Because it really isn't that hard to master subject-predicate agreement. Essential scientific principles are pretty straightforward. Axioms of philosophy are readily comprehensible. Theorems in geometry are not difficult to understand. IF you sit down, shut up, and actually pay attention to the subject matter. 

Yes, yes, yes, there may be individual, legitimate exceptions which require compassion, charity, and greater consideration. But by and large if you want to learn something you need to sit down, shut up, and pay attention to those who know the subject. 

Richard Mitchell, the author of the aforementioned book, argues that we are willfully being stupid about how to teach and learn. I think there's something to that. I think we want (well, some of us, and typically folks who get prestige and money from the rest of us, not incidentally through the force of government) to make what we call education into a grand scheme of virtually religious proportions, understandable only to an elite class of specially deep minded and concerned people. Yet our modern schooling is really mere training, taking on the skills we need to get along in the world. We are not educated into subject-predicate agreement. We are trained to recognize and employ the principles within it so that we may usefully communicate. It is no cosmic ideal.

Education itself? That is something much greater and vastly more profound. It is also something beyond my point today. But I'll get back to it soon. You've been warned. 

Child Abuse (serious)

I had a customer come into my Shop one day for a chuck on the front of his machine. He had a thirteen or fourteen year old kid with him as a helper.

As I gathered my tools and the new chuck I noticed that the cord which should have had a push button on/off switch on the end had nothing but two exposed wires. I said, "I have on/off switches on hand. I could pop one on for you." This was more than a mere upsell, Marty sticking his hand in a guy's pocket. To start the machine you had to have that push button switch.

"Naw, I don't need it Cosgriff. That's what the kid is for," explained the customer, pointing at the young teen.

Incredulous, I asked, "What do you mean?"

The guy explained, "I have the kid hold the wires and I tell him to touch them together when I want it on. Then I tell him to pull them apart when I want it off."

"You're gonna kill this kid," I quite emphatically replied. "Oh, he'll be all right," I was told.

I went into my office, brought out a switch, and began installing it on the cord of his machine. "I ain't payin' for that, Cosgriff," the idiot tightwad said.

"I ain't asking you to," I barked back at him. And I barked it too. "But I can't let this thing go outta here knowing how you're using it. You're gonna hurt that boy."

I haven't seen him since, and good riddance to bad rubbish. I mean, really: having anyone let alone a kid touch bare wires together to run a machine? Some things you just have to do simply because they're the right thing to do.