A few weeks ago I got paged up to the shop foreman's office. Nothing unusual about that. Most times it just means the foreman needs some clarification about a job I've completed or more information about parts I've requisitioned. This time was different. "Come on in and shut the door behind ya," he said.
    I could tell from his expression he was a bit uncomfortable. "What's up?" I inquired.
    "Well, uh . . . don't take this wrong, but I got a call from h.r. about you today. Seems someone here in the shop filed a complaint about you and your partner."
    "The hell you say! What'd we do to cause that?" I was puzzled. All of us in the maintenance shop take our work VERY seriously. We joke around a lot, but we work hard to insure we provide excellent service every hour we're on shift.
    The shop foreman drew a deep breath and continued. "It seems one of the guys in the shop has been offended by your language. Specifically, your use of the Lord's name in vain."
    "Say what?" I bellowed. Aw for Christ sake, what the hell is THAT about?"
    "See? That's JUST what I'm talkin' about."
    I drew a deep breath and squelched the urge to express myself in eloquently obscene language."So you're say'n this person is offended enough to march into h.r. but doesn't have the maturity to just walk up to me or my partner and voice his disapproval?"
    "I know, it caught me by surprise to. All I'm sayin' is maybe you two should be a little more sensitive about what you say and when."
    The conversation continued for a few minutes and I assured the foreman I'd certainly make a point to be more discerning where my verbal communication was involved. (By then I'd managed to figure out who filed the complaint. It's interesting to note that this "deeply religious" individual has NO problem joking about my mixed ethnicity. I don't mind because I consider him a friend and feel sure he respects me. If a stranger said to me what he has, it would have happened only once.)
    Within a day or two, the whole story was out and the entire shop was aware of what had happened. Every time someone would light up the air with a string of obscenities everyone else would launch into a tongue-in-cheek lecture, chastising them for not being more "sensitive". I've gotta admit, it's been more fun than a houseful of whores joking around about being more sensitive.
    The finale finally came along a few days ago. A female sale rep for one of the vendors that does business with the company found herself with a dead battery in her car as she was about to leave the parking lot. The front office called the maintenance office inquiring whether one of us millwrights could please take some jumper cables and go start her car for her. Unfortunately just about then all of us were out in the plant doing emergency repairs. The shop foreman sent out several radio calls, only to hear each of us explain we were unable to break away long enough to provide assistance.
    Thoroughly exasperated, the shop foreman hollered into the radio. "Isn't SOMEONE gonna go jump that lady in the parking lot?"
    Sensitivity training will commence tomorrow morning for our shop foreman.

    A few months ago a friend of mine and his girlfriend came out to the Ponderosa to show off his new Harley. It was beautiful, with chrome as far as the eye could see. Carl mentioned to me that he was concerned about riding it much the rest of the year, being as the monsoon weather comes with the fall months.
    I shared a little secret I discovered back when I had a Harley of my own. "It ain't no problem, Carl", I assured him. Just stop by the drugstore down on Highway 99 and get yourself a big jar of Vaseline. Then if it looks like it's gonna rain, smear some petroleum jelly on the chrome and you'll be fine."
    Just as Carl and his girlfriend were leaving the drugstore with a pint jar of Vaseline, her cell phone rang. It was her parents calling, inviting her to dinner. She explained that she was with her boyfriend and would it be alright for him to join them. "Of course!" Her mom replied. "We'd love to have him come with you."
    Gina told Carl about the dinner invitation and he agreed to go with her. "There is one thing you need to know before we get to my parent's house", Gina cautioned. "They've got kind of a strange ritual at the dinner table."
    Carl was immediately apprehensive. "What've I gotta do, take my clothes off before I eat?"
    "No silly, they're not like YOUR  family. Just remember not to talk during dinner. Not a word until the meal's finished. Whoever talks first during dinner has to do the dishes."
    The concept seemed a bit odd to Carl, but he was fond of Gina and he figured it would be easy enough to remain silent. They arrived and went inside to find a sumptious meal spread out on the dining room table. After introductions and some amiable conversation they sat down to dinner.
    Carl fidgeted in his chair, a bit uncomfortable with the lack of conversation. Suddenly he jumped up and grabbed Gina, threw her to the floor, tore off her clothes and made love to her. When he was finished they stood up, dressed and sat back down. Not a word was said.
    Carl was astounded. He was certain his actions would elicit some sort of verbal outburst, but nothing but silence. Not to be deterred, he stood up, marched around the table, grabbed Gina's mother, threw her to the floor, tore off her clothes and made love to her. The response was the same. Nothing but icy silence pervaded the room.
    A few minutes passed and Carl glanced out the window. It was beginning to rain. Horrified that his precious motorcycle was out in the rain he jumped up and shouted at Gina. "Hey! Where's my jar of Vaseline?"
    Gina's father leaped out of his chair, a panicked expression on his face. "Alright! Alright! I'LL do the dishes!"
   

    An elderly friend of ours stopped in to visit today before I went to work. We hadn't seen Harry in quite some time and were pleased to have him visit. I offered him a cup of coffee and as he sat at our kitchen table it was obvious something was troubling him. He seemed to be thoroughly depressed.
After considerable coaxing, Mrs Morgan finally convinced him to share his dilemna with us. "Well", he began, in a halting voice filled with sadness, "I got married recently, to a woman much younger than I am. She's absolutely beautiful and everything I could ever hope for."
    "So what the hell's the matter then?" I asked with an incredulous expression on my face.
    "Like I said, she is amazing. She brings me my breakfast in bed and afterward we have sex. Then she makes me lunch and we have sex again. She makes me wonderful dinners and then we have sex." Just about then he started wailing again.
    "Get a hold of yourself man!" I was running out of patience with him. "Good grief!" I thought to myself. "What could possibly be wrong with a relationship like this?"
    "That's just it!" He blurted. "I can't remember where the hell I live!"

    I've been a workin' man most all my life. Some of the time the pay's been good like it is on the job I have now. Other times it wasn't so good. Even though I make what many would consider a good rate of pay, it's tough to get by in a world where houses cost a king's ransom and fuel's headed toward $4.00 a gallon. (My prediction for gas prices by the start of the new year.)
    Mrs. Morgan and I live a frugal lifestyle and always have. Even so it's tough to save a buck. Being the resourceful kind of guy I am, I've been pondering ways to squeeze more juice outa my weekly pay and I think I just might have a damn fine plan goin' on. You're gonna need to sit down, 'cause this's gonna dazzle ya.
    First thing to do is establish a non-profit organization. (This sure as hell is easy 'cause most the workin' folks I know are definitely non-profit same as me.) Now comes the nifty part. When ya get your week's pay, just cruise around the neighborhood selling chances to win all the money in your check for a dollar a chance. (Just make sure you sell a few hundred more chances than you've got dollars in your check.)
    Do a real low-key drawing, congratulate the winner and remind the losers that they just might be the lucky one next week. Take all the money you've made off your "workin' folks lottery" and donate it all to your non-profit organization, of which you, of course are president, treasurer and what all ever. And yes! As president, treasurer and all you surely need to pay yourself a super-sized salary. Kick a few bucks over to your favorite charities and everyone lives happily ever after.
    Aw now wait a minute! I see that skeptical expression crossin' your face. Hey! If Oral Roberts can implore countless thousands of people to send him a few million dollars or God's gonna call him home, you should be able to make a simple lottery work. I mean, what the hell? Almost every state in the union makes it work and a bunch of states all got together to make an even BIGGER lottery, which means we should be able to pool our paychecks and do the same.
    This could be big! REALLY BIG!