Idle American: I've heard tell

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Our sense of hearing is to be treasured. The sound of ships nearing shores, buzzers sounding at the end of victories and fireworks signaling a new year are but three examples.

There are, however, pitfalls to be endured. Sometimes we “overhear” too much, and - sadly - take off like a world-champion jockey on the fastest of steeds, but still can’t hold a candle to my Uncle Mort, who utters fragments of what he thinks he hears at 200 words per minute, with gusts to 250.

Awhile  back, he asked a grown granddaughter what she found interesting on the Internet.

“Mostly Facebook,” she answered.

Later, in a domino game at the general store in the thicket, he told his buddies that he was thinking of getting a computer to “establish some cred” with the younger set. “Who knows, it might help me with communication,” he added. “I might even enjoy looking at ‘Face lift’!”

Sometimes he concocts absurdities solely to gain attention, often successfully.

“I sure enjoyed lunch last Thanksgiving Day with Dallas Cowboys’ owner Jerry Jones,” he blathered. His buddies snapped to attention, none believing him. “No way,” they concluded, but their attention was now at his disposal.

“Yep, there we were, showing up at the very same time to order hot dogs at an AT&T Stadium concession stand. Great minds, I guess, both craving some grub before watching the Cowboys play,” he claimed. “It was ‘Dutch Treat,’ of course.” He’d hoped the multi-billionaire might reimburse him for half of what he’d shelled out for “over-priced parking,” since his golf cart required just a half space.

Sometimes folks in Mort’s presence ask him to tell 'em again about long-ago experiences while employed at a mental hospital. “My job was to help 'em decide what folks ought to be admitted,” he lied.

Immediately he shared the account he knew they wanted to hear - for the umpteenth time.

“Well, I went out to this small town to check on a guy, and the only person handy was at the feed store, leaning back on a cane-bottomed chair, whittling away on a tree limb. Right away, he admitted knowing the feller, so I asked him if he thought the man ought to be in a mental institution.”

Choosing his words carefully, the whittler sat up, pocketed his knife, cleared his throat and got a plug of “chawing tobacco” handy to use when his recitation ended.

“As long as he’s out, I don’t think they’ll lock him up,” he opined. Pausing for a few seconds, he added, “But if they ever lock him up, I doubt that they’d ever let him out.”

There are times such as this when even instant replay wouldn’t help.

My friend,  Colleen Mink, is in theater management, having served Premiere Cinemas for several years at the multiplex theater in our town.

A “do everything” employee - whose duties are many, probably spilling onto a second page in single-spaced type - thinks she’s seen and heard just about everything during her two decades in the field.

Recently, she added to her “you-won’t-believe-this” list.

It was  a Monday, when senior adults are admitted for six bucks, early ‘till late. A petite lady, perhaps in her 80s, purchased a ticket, pointing out that this was her first visit to a “picture show” in this century. Then, she walked around the lobby, pausing in front of an electronic sign that has colorful business ads flipping every dozen seconds or so. Wendy’s ad promotes $6, $8 and $10 hamburger specials. She waited a couple of more minutes to see it again.

Then, she approached Colleen saying, “I think I’ll have a $6 Wendy’s burger, with no onions.”

Poor Colleen. It was hers to carefully explain to the patron that movie theaters rarely sell hamburgers. “Truth to tell, I’d like one, too,” she said under her breath. (Thankfully, she didn’t have to add that Premiere doesn’t sell chewing gum, either.)

Dr. and Mrs. Newbury, married for almost 60 years, reside in the Metroplex. Speaking inquiries, newbury@speakerdoc.com, phone 817-692-5625.

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