January 5, 2011
If all is going well in Pleasanton today, this will be my last rambling post for a while. Heidi has gone to fetch my new phone and the air card. If that grants us internet access, she will resume the main work on the blog and I’ll go back to occasionally quipping. That’s good because, unlike Jerry Seinfeld, I don’t think I can write about nothing much longer.
Heidi’s doing a super job keeping up with the daily chores of checking the oil in the generator, changing the lights in the 6 spotlights we turn on at night etc..
It’s 75 degrees this afternoon as I wait for the Kevin, the RV repair man coming to replace the bungee cord with a real door latch. Kevin is from George West, which I thought was the name of his business but is actually the name of second town NE of the Federal Prison. Maybe it’s just me, but a town baring an individual’s first and the last name seems a little egocentric. Of course, it could be heroic. Maybe he died in battle and they named a town in his honor. Without the internet, I can only speculate.
Oil trucks and Salt Water trucks (I still don’t get that one) and Bottom Vacuuming trucks (don’t ask) have come and gone. Willie, the government’s official well tester has left with his samples. Willie, by the way looks uncannily like much like a younger Danny Glover. Even though I knew he likely hears it all the time, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from pointing out the resemblance. “Yes ma‘am, people do tell me that, but it’s OK since Danny Glover happens to be one of my favorite actors.”
Then there was Trey who was here to check on the ‘trandfuls’. We have to enter the stated purpose for each person we let in the gate. Herein lies the problem: we have 2 types of accents here, decidedly Hispanic and decidedly Southern. I’m apparently equally poor at deciphering both. Add to that my complete ignorance of things oil-welly, and I’m left having people spelling everything but their license plate. Thankfully I can still read, even though my hearing is suspect.
While I’d have been content to just smile and nod and let Trey in to so his work, I was afraid that at some point someone may look over the paper work and find ‘changing the trandfuls’ to be a questionable well activity. So, as I often have to do, I asked Trey to spell it for me. His expression indicated he was wondering just what kind of qualifications a person has to have to be a gate guard? Any schooling at all (I think the answer to that is no, by the way)?
He smiled and slowly spelled “T R E N D” and stopped. Yes, I was embarrassed but I still had to ask (Vanna, can I buy a vowel?)…“and how do you spell fuls?”
“F I L E S”. Yep. I printed this all out on the line and smiled as if I always ask people to spell common 5 letter words for me. Ever the southern gentleman, he drove through the gate with a “thank you, ma’am” and a more than a little bit of amusement on his face.
Robbie the Gauger, who comes at least once every day, must have been born in northern Texas because I can always understand him. At least I think I can. Today he was telling me about his wife’s dog that has “long shaggy ears so it isn’t a poodle, but little she talks”. When I asked what the dog says, he told me she says all kinds of things. Maybe I don’t understand him as well as I’ve been thinking I do? He did tell that George West is a town named after a man named George West who had a lot of money.