Dr. Gilligan Smith

Gilligan's Island; such hilarity. Every time the castaways have a shot at getting off the island, he fouls it up. He's naive but inept.

Late last night, well, early this morning, I was watching an episode of Lost In Space. Dr. Smith had stumbled upon a contraption which might have gotten the Jupiter Two safely back to Earth. Yet his own nefarious scheme interfered, and the plan couldn't work. Smith is conniving but inept.

That's when it hit me: Gilligan and Dr. Smith are the same person, just at different ends of the spectrum. That's my conspiracy theory for you to contemplate this Sunday.

Ten Steps to Huh?

The Smithsonian Channel (everybody has a channel these days) offers some interesting programs. The issues they cover include history, archaeology, and current events. They carry a very interesting British show called Inside the Factory about how foods are made. But there is one program which gets that vein of sophomoric humor in me going. It's called Ten Steps To Disaster.

I'm not sure that's a good idea. I mean, instructing us on how to create disaster? Humanity seems pretty good at that already.

I know that's not what it's about. It's about ten steps that have led to actual disasters, analyzing real historical events. But where's the humor in that?

Wanting Nothing

The other day I walked into a party store because I had thought I wanted a snack. But then the strangest thing happened.

The potato chips in all their myriad flavors did not appeal to me. The candy bars in all their grandeur, well, there were no such come hithers that day. There were no appeals from the hard candies or the gummies or even the chewing gums. I began to look over the beef jerky and other meat and cheese snacks and lo, I didn't really have a taste for any of them either. And that's when I remembered one of me Grandpa Joe's standards.

"If you don't know what you want, you don't want nuthin'." I actually heard his voice saying it as I thought it.

It struck me that is a great truth in that. So I made exit from the store and was quickly back on the road.

 

Gilligan Aggravates Me Pops

Color television (it sounds exotic to type out the entire word rather than just say TV) was relatively rare in the late 1960s. At a time when $100 a week was a decent income while color sets cost better than $300, they were something of a luxury. Still, parents then as now liked to treat themselves and their families to the newest technologies, and fads tended to spread quickly. In the Bill Cosgriff household circa 1969, as the color fad rolled on unstoppably, this meant that Pops had decided to buy a color TV for the family room.

I don't remember all the details of that old console. But it was big to a 9 year old, huge indeed, and took two hulking delivery men to carry it into the house and put it in place. Dad plugged it in and put on a channel, which happened to be showing an episode of Gilligan's Island. And the picture was black and white.

Pops began playing with the dials, the contrast button and what have you, and still no color. His frustration mounting and with nothing making a difference, as a last resort he went to the instruction manual, a thing real men don't do unless a last resort. No color, despite trying everything the manual said to try. He was ready to call the appliance store, the manufacturer, and perhaps even the President himself to rant about this travesty to a working man and his family. I don't blame him; I would have been upset. Anyone would have.

Then someone, I don't know who, produced the then current issue of TV Guide. It showed Pops clearly that yes, Gilligan's Island was on that channel at that time. It also showed that the particular episode was in black and white. Indeed the entire first season of Gilligan's Island had been filmed in black and white. The TV was fine.

As Dad slowly calmed down, laughing about it within a few minutes (I never thought to try another channel, he would soon joke about himself) we settled into a family night watching our new color television. And our new TV brought us many wonderful nights of entertainment for several years. Even, or perhaps especially, as we would knowingly tune into a black and white program.

What I don't do I don't do

One of my less than favorite regular customers, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, came in last week with a sawz-all, a power driven reciprocating saw. "Can you fix this for me Cosgriff?" he asked.

"Naw, I don't work on sawz-alls," I replied.

"Aw, Cosgriff, it might be something minor."

"I don't have time, Cloyce, I'm busy as hell."

"Could you just try?" he begged.

"Fine, Cloyce, I'll drop everything I know what to do to with and delay all my drain snake customers to work on your sawz-all," I responded in a clearly mad, sarcastic tone. I didn't care what he thought.

There was a broken wire in the power cord, so I tried fixing that. Nothing. "Cloyce, I just don't know what to do."

Cloyce begins rattling off suggestions. "What about brushes? What about this dial? What about this gauge?"

I finally half yelled, "I don't, know, Cloyce. It might be any of those things. I work on drains snakes, not sawz-alls."

"Okay, okay, Cosgriff," he answered, and took thing out. I hope he never brings it back too, but it's hard to make a point stick with guys like that. 

Observant Joe

Me Grandpa Joe had a way with words. In fact, Joe's ability to make the word hell declarative of many and varied emotions would find its modern equivalent in I am Groot, if that means anything to you. Trust me, the analogy fits.

Be that as it may, his use of language could actually be rather profound even in areas where mild expletives were not at all involved. I doubt that most of my cousins or other family members knew the pleasure of hearing Joe remark, when leading into a happy explanation or in demonstrating a welcome development, "Please observe."

Grandpa Joe said that whenever he had found a solution to a vexing problem at the Shop. We had our share of vexing problems at the old barn, believe me. But to cut through to the point here, if a particular issue had been tormenting us for many hours (or sometimes days) it sounded delightful to have Joe stop you and say those two simple words, please observe. It meant a problem was solved.

I thought of that a few minutes ago as I solved what had been a recent vexing problem involving a snake repair. Try as we might, neither me brother Phil nor I could get a piece of threaded pipe, the leg of a machine which sits as a tripod, out of the body of the unit. The leg had broken off flush so that there was nothing to grip it.

At a hardware Phil had discovered a tool to extract the broke piece yet we could not get it work. In desperation, as I didn't want to heat the body of the snake for fear of making things worse, worried that if I made it worse the ornery thing would need a body as well as a leg (and who knows how long that would take, our supply lines being disrupted by COVID) I heated it anyway, carefully. Within a few minutes, lo and behold, I used that tool that Phil found and walked that broken pipe right out of the body of that machine.

And now I cannot wait to tell Phil "Please observe," as soon as he gets back to the Shop. I'll have to channel my inner Joe Cosgriff for full effect.

More Good Words

Here's what Jerry, an Amazon reviewer, says about my book The Interim Generation:

"The Interim Generation" is a thrilling addition to the Infinity Series. The author has masterfully crafted a complex and engaging story that seamlessly blends science fiction and political intrigue. The characters are richly developed, and their struggles and triumphs will keep you on the edge of your seat. His writing style is both descriptive and concise, making it easy to visualize the futuristic world he has created. The plot is full of unexpected twists and turns that will leave you guessing until the very end. Overall, "The Interim Generation" is a must-read for fans of the Infinity Series and anyone who loves a good sci-fi adventure.

I can't say how much reading reviews such as these please me; what writer wouldn't be happy? It's particularly satisfying because I didn't think the story was ready to be put 'out there'. 

I actually published Interim on something of a lark. My own opinion was that the story was too loosely constructed and needed to be tighter. I felt it was missing something, some spark which would give it a life of its own. But the little angel on my shoulder said to get it out there, right now. RDon't wait for paperback, (it's only available on Amazon Kindle right now but I'm working on that) just make it available, I was told. And the proof of the pudding? It has the highest average of the three books available in my Infinity series. 

When you hear things such as a 'masterfully crafted...complex and engaging story' with characters 'richly developed' and the style 'both descriptive and concise' of a world 'easy to visualize' a fella starts to think (hope?) that he might actually have a clue to what he is doing. 

The results so far have me considering whether to publish book four now, or whether to wait awhile. Book Four is finished; do I publish it or leave that as a tease?  Well, to tease for a minute, it's a love story about Ben and Natalie, occurring right as the world of Infinity is taking complete hold. Ben believes in the new world; Natalie believes in her and Ben. Their challenges are similar, yet different, from what Michael and Kim and Nathaniel and John face. Sound interesting?

In the meantime, fire up your Kindle and order The Interim Generation here:  Book Three

I Don't Know

Hell, I don't know.

That was Joe's response. 'Hell, I don't know', he would exclaim. And I knew what he meant.

Every time.

At Risk

A few hours ago, in the wee hours of the day, I pulled up an episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000. It turned out to be a classic, the one with Torgo the White appearing to take TV's Frank to second banana Heaven. Torgo promised Frank they would meet Joe Besser there. You know, Joe Besser, who was briefly a Stooge after Shemp died? No, not Curly Joe DeRita. He came after that.

Anyway, and naturally enough, commercials interrupted my viewing. One which did catch my eye concerned a medical condition which, if it developed in you, would increase your risk of death fourfold. And I thought, don't we all have the same risk of death though?

Just sayin'.

Grant Me Patience

I have found in the last year or so that I'm having trouble keeping my temper. Consequently, I have begun to pray for greater patience. In the two weeks since I began doing that, I find my patience tried almost every day, several times a day.

What is that, irony or something? Or is it that, if a fella truly wants to learn patience, he must have his patience tested? 

That second part makes sense. But it's really getting under my skin just the same.

Not So Bad

I've heard of painless dentistry but I didn't really believe in it. But now I think I do. 

I had a tooth extracted yesterday, and boy, was I dreading it. That my appointment was at five o'clock in the afternoon likely did not help. It gives you all day to think about it; anticipation is not a friend when getting a tooth pulled. The closer the time came the less fun Wednesday became.

However, it wasn't bad at all. Believe it or not, the numbing shot wasn't painful in the least. I didn't even feel it. Then he had the tooth out in maybe a half minute. I didn't believe him, didn't believe he was actually done that fast. But he was. The wound remaining hardly bled too.

All that worry and dread for nothing. Typical, isn't it?

David Gets Complimented

I typically avoid politics. Honestly ... I haven't watched the news in three years. I don't even know why I chose this book. But I'm glad I did. The characters were believable, and the discussions thought-provoking, pensive and entertaining. I could see a TV series in the future. Write-on Charles.

Well, thank you Rick on Amazon. I am very pleased with your review of my book David Gideon. It isn't really supposed to be about politics but, rather, David becoming President is merely the hook. On that basis, it does offer a forum for raising questions and having discussions about this issue or that, whether within the circle of family and friends or in the larger society. I don't want readers to get hung up on his Presidency. I want them to see the man, and the woman behind him. David may not be the actual hero, you know. 

Write-on Charles. I like that turn of phrase. And a TV show? Well, I hadn't given it that much thought. But man, what a compliment!

A fella is naturally apprehensive in putting his writing out for public consumption. I mean, this blog, The Sublime to the Ridiculous, is exactly that. Just froth by and large. To put the kind of effort I've put into my books and have folks rave about them like Rick, wow. A guy feels as though he can write well enough, but it's the readers who actually can tell him whether he in fact does. I feel good reading such reviews. It really does make one feel humble too, if it isn't too bizarre to be humble and ecstatic at the same time. 

The characters are believable and the story is entertaining. Thought provoking and pensive. To hear that from a man I'll never know, wow. Just wow.

And after all that attempt at humility, now I've got to be a shill for the book: David Gideon

Thanks for reading this, and thank you for all the support and encouragement you've given me.

Mister Son

Me son Frank and I had a nice, long phone talk this past Sunday, around three hours. Man, that boy can talk. Or, more truthfully, listen.

Somewhere along the line he and I began talking about the loss of courtesies such as honorifics. I feel that when introducing someone to someone else, they ought to be called by whatever title they might merit. "This is Mr. Smith," for example. Mr. Smith may then allow the person to call him by a familiar if he's fine with it.

Immediately after saying that I remarked, "Of course, for some reason I don't apply this rule with my children. If while out and about we run into a friend I'll say, "Hi, Cloyce! Oh, this is my son Frank."

"So the next time that happens, Frank, I'll say to Cloyce: "How are you? Oh, and this is my son, Mr. Cosgriff.'" I promised him. Then we each roared with laughter.

When that had died down Frank drolly added, "And the next time someone calls you Mr. Cosgriff, Dad, you can respond, 'Hey, I'm just Marty. Mr. Cosgriff is my son.'"

I don't know about you, but I find the entire concept hilarious.

Wiper Cost

My newer older van, the '96 Chevy I just picked up, needed windshield wiper blades. Therefore, off I went to the auto parts store for replacements.

In the parking lot I plucked the blade off the driver's side, the worst of the two, to measure it against the new ones. An attendant in the store asked me if he could help. "I need wiper blades," I explained. Then I was able to use one of those ever-so-clever Dad jokes which everyone enjoys. "Unless you can fix this one," I said, showing the young man the shredded old wiper. Humoring an old man, he politely answered no, although probably feeling sorry for my kids and grandkids in his mind.

Hammering away on a computer keyboard he soon found the requisite part number. "We have super fantastic ultra reinforced life changing windshield wiper blades for $29.99!" he exclaimed with confidence.

Now it was time for the famous Spock raised eyebrow. "Young man, it's a vehicle which is 27 model years old. I'm not spending that kind of money on it."

Sheepishly smiling, he went back to his search. A minute later he offered, "We have the in-store brand for seven dollars, sir."

"Thank you. I'll take two," I replied. I mean, how life changing can windshield wipers be?

Expensive At First

My Newark Kuerig, so monikered because I had purchased it in a second hand store in Newark, Ohio in 2017, went to coffeemaker Heaven late last year. Such is life. Uh, coffeemaker life I suppose. 

Be that as it may, I replaced it a few days ago with a new (if knock off) Kuerig from Walmart for forty bucks. I also bought 12 pods of hazelnut coffee for five dollars; with the sales tax, I had about $48 invested in the new unit. I set it up in the Shop yesterday morning as I went to work to get a few things done.

I must admit I was quite anxious to try my first cup. I plugged in the Farberware nonKuerig, filled the reservoir, clamped in a pod, and waited.

In a few minutes I was contentedly sipping on hot coffee. Then it occurred to me. Marty, occurrence opined, you're drinking a forty eight dollar cup of joe.

But it's just the first cup, right? The price goes down with every serving.

Nicknamed The Bird

Sometimes Facebook memories bring out somber events. Yesterday reminded me that it's been 14 years since Mark Fidrych, nicknamed the Bird because of his supposed resemblance to Big Bird on Sesame Street, died unexpectedly in an accident while working on his Massachusetts farm.  Here's what Wikipedia says about him: The Bird

The Bird was classic baseball Americana: he had fun playing a kid's game (as one should), and was totally sincere. He was manic while he played, a controlled lunacy, grooming the mound and talking (it was said) to the ball before pitching it to a perplexed batter. He made the whole 1976 season special. I remember seeing him live several times: old Tiger Stadium rocked to its foundations. The curtain calls after each game, win or lose, were great. I wish everyone could have seen him pitch, could have experienced the vibe which only Fidrych produced. It's cliched, but there will indeed never be another like him.

At the final game at old Tiger Stadium on September 27, 1999, after the last out, there was a ceremony where as many old Tigers as could were brought out onto the field. The Bird was the first introduced. He ran to the mound and got down on his hands and knees and groomed it, just as he would when he played. Vintage Fidrych. It was a classy move by the Tigers to bring him out first. I was glad I could be there. I miss him.

Itching for a Fight

Remember yesterday? I was cranky about being cranky Wednesday? Then our old pal Cloyce, after a bit of consternation, promised me he'd come in for cables at Noon Thursday?

He didn't show. About mid afternoon he did call me to say he would actually come get them snake cables at ten this morning.

We'll see. What I did not tell him was that me brother Phil has deliveries in Toledo today while I have an appointment in nearby Dearborn at 9:30 to pick up a repair. Oh, I should be back by 10 easily enough. And I won't lollygag. But you never know. 

What I do know is that if I should leave him cooling his jets for five or ten minutes, he better watch his tongue. Sometimes I like to let me inner Joe Cosgriff tell folks exactly what I think.

The Best Time

I'll admit up front that I was a bit cranky yesterday. Okay, I was a lot cranky. You wanna make something of it?

Wednesday this week was not a good day. Everything which could go wrong, as the saying goes, did go wrong. Consequently I wasn't in the mood for intellectual lightweights.

So of course one called. I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. 

The conversation began easily enough. "Can I come in tomorrow morning and buy some cables, Cosgriff?"

"Sure. We open at 9."

"So what's a good time to come in?" Cloyce then asked.

In exasperation, my head dropped to my chest; my eyes closed. I took a deep breath. "Anytime after 9 is fine, Cloyce."

He persisted, "So what time, Cosgriff?"

"Ten Thirty-Two and Fifty Four seconds," I mouthed off, off the top of my head and into the cell, perturbed.

"What time?"

"10:32:54."

"Oh. So tomorrow morning about Noon?" 

I wanted to hit my own head with a mallet. Several times. "Yes. Noon is fine," I answered, gritting my teeth.

He better get there.

Older New Car

My new old car, so to speak, is a 2007 Chrysler Town and Country. But I've picked up a newer older car. I bought my brother in law's 1996 Chevrolet Sport Van.

As a rule, even when I buy another vehicle it tends to be more a recent model even if still a decade or more older than the current day. Now here I am, potentially replacing a new old van with something 11 years older than it. So I'm replacing a new old van with a newer older van. Make sense?

I'm regressing. The older I get, the older my cars get. That counts as serendipity, doesn't it? Or maybe it's just plain old irony. 

Whatever. I like it.

Marty the Reviewer

As I'm getting a bit of traction on my book sales, the number of reviews are increasing. On the whole I'm pleased with that. Some of them I take issue with yet I try to be open minded about whatever folks say. A fella has to have something of a thick skin when he writes for public consumption. He must as well consider that the negative reviewer may even be right in their criticisms. 

I find that most observations have been fair enough. I'm greatly pleased in fact that one reviewer caught on why I named my lead character Michael in my book Michael's Story. I chose the name very particularly and I'm pleased someone caught it.

I've taken to doing Amazon book reviews myself. Reviews help drive sales, and I don't mind helping with that. I'm going to be reading books anyhow, so why not help other writers? Yet even when I don't care for a story, or find many grammar, spelling, or narrative issues (believe me, there's a lot of bad writing out there) I really try to be kind. It's a courtesy, and charitable. Why try to be Mr. Critic, being scathing just to be mean? It's rude.

Yet there are problems which seem to occur generally. Several books I've reviewed apparently believe that you're supposed to italicize whenever someone is speaking. I try to gently point out that that's not really a good stylistic practice. Describe the tone of how they're speaking and then let the words flow. You should only use italics when you really must stress a point. To do it all the time takes away from that purpose. 

Then there are people who feel that commas, are, the, greatest, thing, since, sliced, bread. They, use, them, constantly. While they have their place, the rule of thumb is that when in doubt, comma, leave the comma out. Use them for lists, or to separate two thoughts within a sentence. Or, and this is acceptable too, use them to mark an aside within a sentence. 

See what I mean? There are other rules of comma usage, but I will not bore you with them today.

In fact, I'll bore you no more with this blog entry. Have a great day!

Chester Casino

This past Friday I received three boxes of cables to repair from the Chester Wastewater Treatment facility in Chester, West Virginia. It reminded me of the trip me Pops took there to deliver I believe 75 repaired snakes. It was going to cost so much to ship them that he figured he'd make a road trip out of it. He had me Mom in tow.

After making the drop, Mom and Dad went to a local diner for breakfast. Now Mom, she liked to play the slots. She was always disappointed, indeed dismayed, when she didn't win big. "The winners didn't build the casinos," me Pops would remind her. Pops would play, typically video poker, but he never expected any big winnings.

They entered the diner and were given a table. While taking the order the waitress remarked, "Y'all's from out of town, I can tell. Y'all gonna visit the new casino down the road while you're here?"

Mom's face brightened expectantly. "We are now," me Pops reluctantly conceded.

But it made Mom happy, even as she didn't win.

This Jesus

What are we to make of this man, this Jesus? He said and did some pretty astonishing things.

I mean, I get that when I apologize to someone when I did them wrong, they might forgive me. They might say, "It's all good, Marty" should they feel I'm sincere. Yet Jesus says to me, "You know that guy you harmed? I forgive you. I got it covered."

What? How's that? It's really effrontery when you think about it: how can He forgive what I did to someone else? 

He lets Himself be thoroughly humiliated: mocked, scourged, hung on a tree. But why? For our salvation? How can he effect that? How can His dying save me? He must be crackers. Who can say such stuff and nonsense and actually mean it? This nobody, this carpenter's son; this guy who could have lived a life of relative ease and relative comfort who instead gets himself killed? It's silliness. Rank stupidity.

That is, unless.

Unless He is exactly what He says He is. Unless He really is the Son of God, who wants us to spend all Eternity with Him in unimaginable happiness. He'll die to show us how sure He is that that can happen. He's certain it's His death and resurrection which will accomplish that, this Jesus. 

And that's the rub. He's either precisely who He says He is or it's all ridiculous. I don't see any other explanation. Yet I know where I stand on this Easter Sunday.

Choose Your Punchline

Me buddy Ron commented on my blog yesterday that although cars are better built these days, there were differences on older models. "The styling just isn't there like it was back in the 60's & 70's. Except for subtle differences cars now all look the same."

I responded, "It is hard to tell one from the other these days. I remember being able to tell a Chrysler from a Ford from a Chevy a block away in 1975."

And now, it's time to play Choose Your Punchline!

You could tell one from the others because:

The Chevy was the one with the hood up.

-or-

The Ford was the one with the hood up.

-or-

The Chrysler was the one with the hood up.

Who's gonna win this one?

Not Like They Used To

Here's an old adage which many of us use: 'They don't make 'em like they used too'. I'm no so sure that it applies generally.

I remember a day about 30 years ago where a guy in the Shop remarked about cars, 'They don't make 'em like the used too' and me Pops replied, "Good. I'm glad the don't". His point was that even in the 1990s he wasn't having the amount of car troubles he was having in the 1960s. Cars by and large were made 'better than they used to'.

I second that. I don't have nearly the amount of car issues I was having in the Nineties, and I readily admit that what I drive isn't anywhere near mint condition (Quiet, Ron). The fact is that powertrains (the engines and transmissions) are capable of a quarter million miles on many vehicles today; Dad recalled that when a car might  hit 100,000 in 1952 it was such an anomaly as to be almost unbelievable. Rust out is much more rare than it once was too.

On the whole, they do make them better than they used too, and that's good. I need the aftermarket. 

Two And Four

Well, they looked awful in Tampa, losing three games in simply horrible fashion. Then they took the first two from the Astros in Houston before tanking pretty bad in the third match. So we find the Detroit Tigers with two wins and four losses six games into the 2023 Season.

That ain't bad. Truth be told, I expected them to be 1-5 at best to start the year. The Tigers aren't likely to be good this time around, and starting things off with six road games against perhaps the two best teams in the American League did not bode well.

But hope springs eternal, and they face the Red Sox in the home opener today. I may just take the afternoon off and watch. If the boss will let me.

Marty's Two Cents

I have literally never, ever had someone give me their two cents worth. It never happened to me. Until yesterday.

In my snail mail was an envelope from the Detroit Medical Center which, from the outside, sure looked like a check. Curious as to what it could be about, I of course opened it, to discover that it was indeed a check made out to me for two cents.

There's no explanation other than 'Refund for Cosgriff, Charles'. The pay line proudly proclaims: ZERO dollars and TWO cents. There's a reference number, but I have no idea what that could mean. I'm not told which doctor I overpaid, or for what service I was so egregiously overcharged. Still, I'm two cents richer. Maybe I'll go to Europe or take a cruise. Honey, we won't lose the house after all.

Anyway, I must hurry to the bank. I only have 180 days to cash it or it becomes invalid.

Due Credit or Stopped Clock?

I still don't trust government. It's incompetent, and to a great degree because it tries to do things which it is incapable of doing. Education comes to mind; we've all had our share of horror stories about the DMV too I'm sure.

But in the interest of playing fair, the Michigan Secretary of State deserves props from me this morning. When I ordered my new license plate sticker online last Wednesday a window opened to tell me it would be three weeks in coming. That was an acceptable time frame, as my April birthday was just about three weeks off then.

Lo and behold, the new registration and tag came today. Or yesterday, Monday as it were. 

Well, okay, credit where it's due. Everything came in under three weeks. But I still don't trust those incompetents.

Dental Veterinarians

Did I tell you about my dentist appointment last week? I did? Well, I'm sure I didn't tell you enough, so pull up a chair.

I'm getting crowns and a bridge, so they wanted to make molds of my teeth. As any of you who have had teeth molds made know, the excess of whatever gunk dentists use to make them tends to make you gag. So of course I began to gag. The dental assistant instructed me to 'breath through your nose and wiggle your toes'. Very Suessian. "It distracts the brain from the gag reflex," she somewhat helpfully explained. 

Consequently, I tried my best to become a nose breather and wiggling my nine-and-a halfs, wondering all the while where the candid camera was mounted, expecting to become the next internet sensation.

Later, the dentist and the DA (dental assistant - not what you just thought) were visually examining the alignment of my teeth. I kept my mouth closed while the dentist pulled my lips back with his fingers to see what things looked like. All I could think was, so this is what a horse feels like. Which leads me to the question:

Are dentists and vets all that different?

Easy Sales

I like sales. Sales are like, "Here are things. Give me $250 for them." 

And folks do. Just like that.

I like sales. Such power over people who trust me implicitly. Bwa-ha-ha-ha!

No. Just, No

A recent customer tried to use his credit card to make a purchase. It wouldn't go through.

He tried another card. It would not go through either.

His third card wouldn't work. "Would you take my check?" he asked.

Uh, no.  I'm not even sure I can take your cash now.