A Likely Story

by Chucky

I didn’t know it at the time, but when I started out on my own I should have realized that I was born thirty years too early to fully join the Information Age. I knew I wanted in but wasn’t sure how to go about it. I wised up a little too late academically in High School and by graduation I was scratching my ducktail wondering what to do with the rest of my life...so I joined the Navy, which promised me a great education and Boot Camp in San Diego. “A vacation spot”, my recruiter said. Well, it was a start I thought because at that time, college was out of the question. It was probably for the best because I was still not in the right frame of mind for neither college nor slinging hash, from which I could use a little vacation. Thankfully the Navy provided me with the opportunity to reject slinging hash as a career choice and offered scrubbing decks, cleaning ovens, standing guard-duty, and chipping paint and eventually a little electronic repair work.

Four years three months and 21 days after swearing to support the Constitution of the United States I decided to embark on an academic career and support myself with the training and experience provided by the U.S.N. While working in the electronic field during college it became apparent that I really enjoyed the challenges of the technical field of electronics. While still committed to finishing college with some sort of Bachelor Degree, it was hard to visualize actually earning a living through the study of history and European cultural heritage which fascinated me. I really was mesmerized by being a techie, a self description that I have enjoyed most of my life. To this day ,possibly to my vocational detriment, it still fits.

Around age 28 I started becoming politically aware. I remember at that time wanting to vote for JFK, but also remember having no political reason for doing so other than he was good at asking for “Eisenhower’s job”, as he put it. It was a moot point because at the time I was too young to vote for JFK. The first president that got my vote was Richard Nixon and he would get it again today. At about this time I became a bit unstable and restless and set off to see the world, without the framework of a port-hole, so to speak. During the next twenty-five or so years I supported myself with various occupations sometimes technical, sometimes hazardous in different parts of the world without any outside support. I was enjoying total freedom I told myself, and indeed the journey was a cultural and philosophically enlightening experience, the results of which cemented my political beliefs to the right of center. Mind you I wasn’t giving it a lot of thought while that 2 1/2 ‘ foot diameter, three ton log was thundering down the mountain behind me... toward the creek bed in front of me... while logging in Oregon that summer of ‘73 but I’m sure that it helped build confidence that Chuck Michael can take care of himself. And of course during those few magical, precipitous seconds, trying to get around that log, I actually knew which direction , and at what speed I was headed. In a way that was becoming a comfortable feeling. Well, the good Lord provided me with a propitious hole to fall into at just the right time, and after watching that log crash by inexorably on its way to the creek bed with my ghost impaled round and round on one of its broken branch stubs I dusted myself off and began the joy of facing the rest of my life without a scratch while the faint cant of the hook tender, who witnessed the entire affair from across the valley, echoed:” I wouldn’t blame you if you quit right now Son.”(which I didn’t) Must have been quite a show. Anyway, I left the Willamette Valley with a whole new attitude, and an inkling of religious awareness, or maybe it was a reawakening of strict Christian upbringing, which I had come to reject, because it interfered too much with all the fun I was having.

Logging was a great experience , a little too great, but it got me into fantastic shape so I divorced my wife and went commercial fishing in Florida-never did make any money at it, but took in fully the unencumbered nature of living in the Keys while learning how to tie fishing knots and build lobster traps, and fight. The guys in Florida seem to like to fight a lot. If you were worked till you dropped all or your life, were never taught to take a bath, slept a lot of the time on the side of the road drunk out of your mind, and could never remember to brush your teeth. Hey! Where do you get your recreation?. So they sought solace in knocking one another’s teeth down their throat.. Fun at first, but take my word for it: It doesn’t last. Skiing is cleaner, and the company much more rewarding. After another year or two working as a part-time this and that I decided that I needed a brand new Ford Van, and toward that end landed a job as a telephone central office installer in Central Florida. my first real job in nearly a century. They taught me how to install and tie cabling...day after day after day until the van became mercifully paid for a year and a century later.. Actually they fired me for insubordination before I could quit, but I needed the medical insurance for a mending ankle. Blue, Orange, Green, Brown, Slate. BlueOrangeGreenBrownSlateblueorangegreenbrownslate...... FORGODSAKE! SHADDAPP! like my Service Number, that color code scheme became indelibly imprinted on my hard drive. Showing up stoned and remaining so all day long helped.

During those days in WinterHaven I broke my ankle skydiving and having decided that that was not the correct relationship to develop with an airplane, began taking flying lessons, which made a lot more sense to me. Now here was something really interesting, with lots of technical stuff to know that no one else does. What romance! Then the money ran out as it always does. The cost of learning how to fly is the same now as it always has been and always will be.  All you got.

My life was beginning to take shape. Flying money flowed during the next few years, albeit sporadically, and after a stint in Saudi Arabia working as a tech for Saudi Airlines and bootlegger I was back with enough to finish my flying education, or begin it depending on your point of view. Right! All I had. “There it is. Make me a pilot. HOTDANG!” I began accumulating hours through cropdusting and instructing. Working was getting to be lots of fun again, and continued to be so, gaining flying licenses in three countries and graduating to flying multi-engine charter throughout Europe and the U.K. during the next 7 years. ThenthebottomfelloutandIlostmymedical.Endofflyingcareer. SSSHHHHHOOOOMMMMMM! What was that? That was your flying career Matey. Your sole

raison d’ etere. Your entire existence...and about $80,000. Was it something I had done in the past where all of my sins were catching up? No. That's what marriage is for. Pondering philosophically for a few moments, I cheered myself up by getting another divorce and returning to the States.

Not one to cry in my beer. (I never dilute any alcohol but straight Scotch. Just a dash of water over the cubes to enhance the taste.) I applied for a position as a roving avionics troubleshooter for Beech Aerospace Services, and for the following two years until settling down traveled throughout the U.K., the Mid East, Far East and South America troubleshooting and repairing aircraft for BeechCraft. In 1989 I left for a while to become a jump pilot and later a mechanic for a flying club and then Alaska Airlines and then back to Desert Storm with Raytheon. A relapse into unstable bliss, no doubt, that only served to remind me of the rewards of stability. About that time I think that I started becoming broody so when I landed in the Ft. Hood Area I bought a house and began looking for someone to give it away to. My beautiful wife of four years and mother of our two children and I met as I was drooling in a tax course she was teaching I married my tax advisor. Hey! Not just a pretty face here!

In the past ten years I have grown in any number or ways, all of which are manifested in my beautiful wife and only children, two gorgeous daughters. During the past five I have been educating myself in both hardware and software. Commitment is, I think, a key ingredient in a solid relationship, to a stable life, and certainly the means to an end. Commitment to God. family, country, and to oneself...And certainly a sense of humor.

…and then there is Crossroads Systems . but this was written in 2001. since then there was Iraq with Raytheon for 2 years then my present gig with Killeen ISD.

Update: So much for comittment. I opened up the door in late 2008 and got served with divorce papers. She has proven quite vindictive since then. Come to find out after a year of being single again  I was married to someone who hated me. I don't think I've ever been hated before. After twice being the dumper, I'm not programmed to be the dumpee. That's the tough part. 

So after contemplation of this ultimate rejection my conclusion is that the reason I'm on the tail end  of three bad marriages is the inescapable fact that I never wanted to marry any of them, even Judy, the only one of the lot worthy of being addressed as a lady. Maybe they sensed it. Even though, to my mind, I was less than obvious. To their mind maybe I wasn't.

A Day in the Life

The  Dead Cat
There is a dead cat lying in the road outside of our office window.
“Hey Jack! There’s a dead cat in the road”
“Really? Lets have a look.
Jack rises from his desk across the room and walks to the window.
“Now that is exciting Doolittle. Here we have a situation providing us with some excitement, something to peer at besides the multi-colored balloons dancing around the car lot.”
“I wonder if anyone will run over it again? Its right in the way of the wheel tracks for the lane.”
“Now that is something to think about Doolittle”, replies Jack.
“Yes. That and our view of the car lot will provide enough content for discussion the rest of the day.”
Jack walks back to his desk and returns to staring into his computer screen.
The phone rings a couple of times. There were a couple of emails to answer. A cursory look at the time reminded him that it is still an hour away from lunch.
“Hey Jack. The cat is gone. Someone must have come by and cleaned him up. My guess is Animal Control did it.”
“What? Dolittle; you were too busy to notice? Well, that’s the end of our interesting tidbit for the day. There’s nothing more to discuss besides what’s for lunch.”
Jack looks at Doolittle.
“I bought a fish over the weekend to keep me company.”
“That’s nice Jack.”, Doolittle replies.
“Its a Gold fish.”
“Really? What color is it”, says Doolittle absent mindedly. He is working on something on his computer.
“Its  Gold, Doolittle. Most all Gold fish are Gold. I named him Herbie. I was going to call him Nemo but Nemo was a clown fish.”
“So now you have something to do at home Jack, caring for your fish and all, and you have your worms.”
“I haven’t named any of them yet. They aren’t all that friendly. As a matter of fact I can’t find any of them since putting them in their tub. And there are too many. Supposed to be about 1000. Thats what the ad said. They are probably chilling out down at the bottom somewhere. Maybe they’re all dead. No telling. This summer I’ll dump the whole thing outside and start another one.“
“Dump them out? Just dump them out? You are going to just dump them out in the yard?”
Jack notices that Doolittle has donned a sarchastic mantle, thereby spicing the conversation and inviting a creative response from Jack.”
Jack jumps to the challenge.
“Well, no Doolittle. I’m going to sort them out and give each a decent burial whether they are alive or dead.”
“I hope you are more caring about Herbie. What if Herbie dies from neglect? What will you do with him?
“I will give him a decent burial too Doolittle. Yeah! I’ll plant a stalk of corn and give him a decent burial beside the corn, then commence with a little ceremonial funeral dance to send him off to his happy hunting ground.”
Jack returns to his email. The phone rings just as Doolittle turns in his chair and opens his mouth to draw a responding breath...
“Helpdesk Jack speaking.”
“Hi. I was wondering if you could help me.” says the faint voice.
“Yes, I bet I can because this is the help desk, Miss.”
“Well my computer won’t turn on”
“What kind of computer do you have?”, Jack inquires.
“Its digital computer. I think I overheard someone say that’s what it is. Yes, its digital computer.”
“No Miss, I mean what sort is it? Is it a desktop of a laptop?”
“I never hold it on my lap so I would say its a desktop.”
“Well, no Miss. I mean is it one that you could take home with you if you wanted to.”
“Well, if I took it home I would have to disassemble all the wires and things and that is way too much trouble, so I would say, no. I don’t take it home.”
“Ok, so its not what you would describe as portable so that means its not a laptop.”
“I suppose, but I would  never put it on my lap. Its on the floor, but the screen is on my desk along with the keyboard. I bet that makes it a floor top rather than a desktop or laptop huh?.”
This is getting interesting and probably worth sharing with Doolittle.
“Miss, I’m going to put you on speaker phone.”
Jack hits the phone button and Doolittle’s interest peaks; he turns in his chair.
“Miss, When did your computer start acting this way?” Jack glances over at Doolittle, smiling at his mounting curiosity.
“It was like this when I arrived this morning.”
“Miss, its almost Noon. What time did you arrive at the office this morning?”
“About 7:30.”
“Miss you waited all this time to call the helpdesk? Four hours? I suppose you were spending that time doublechecking your connections and doing some troubleshooting before calling me huh?”
“Well, no. I phoned you as soon as I could.”
“Miss, are there any lights at all shining on your computer?”
“No, no lights on the computer.”
“Ok. I want you to press the power button and turn the computer on, ok?”
“Ok. Just a minute.”
minutes go by.
“Where is the power button.”
“Its on the big box sitting on the floor. Should be on the front.”
“OK, just a minute.”
Jack glances knowingly at Doolittle.
“I can’t find the power button.”
“Miss, Can you go get someone else to help you with this matter?”
“I would rather not. I’m afraid. I took me all this time to just find my desk and I don’t want to try to find my way out again.”
Doolittle cracks up.
“Miss. Are you visually disabled? Is that why you had trouble getting to your desk?”
“No. Its totally dark in here. I can’t see anything.”
Doolittle falls off his chair.
“What is all that laughing. Sounds like a party or something.”
“No Miss. No party. So you tried the light switch when you walked in the room.”
“That doesn’t work either.”
“Ok Miss. I think your electricity is out.”
“Of course my electricity is out any fool can tell that. What kind of a help desk are you anyway?”
Doolittle is trying to catch his breath.
“Miss, I’m going to call you an electrician. Where are you?”
“I’m talking to you on the phone. Duh! I must be by my phone huh? which is sitting on my desk. Duh. Do you suppose I’m sitting at my desk? What a silly question. Excuse my impatience but I expected a little more help than this. Are you going to fix my computer or not?”
“Well yes Miss. I’m going to call you an electrician if you tell me where you are located.”
“You already asked me that and I told you. Why are you going to call me an electrician? I’m a secretary; a senior secretary I’ll have you know. No need to get shirty with me Young man! The idea! You coming over here and calling me an electrician. I’ve heard of these preversions some people have. I’m a secretary, and not that kind of girl.”
“Mamn. Where are you located? If you tell me where you are located I will send someone to help you.”
“I’ll just bet you will. Is this for sure the helpdesk? I may have dialed the wrong number. You haven’t been much help so I’m wondering if I’m speaking to the helpdesk or dialed the wrong number and got some prevert who now wants to come over and take advantage of me.”
“Mamn. You have nothing to worry about.”
“So now you are insulting me huh?. I’ll have you know Young whippersnapper that I was quite the looker in my day and am still turning down offers. Ok. Not so many offers lately but still...say!
Who are you really?”
“Mamn. This is the helpdesk.”
“Can you come over yourself? If you’re the helpdesk maybe you could show up yourself. You sound nice. Just knock on the door and follow the sound of my voice.”
“No mamn. I am glued to this chair and can’t come over myself.”
“Who glued you to your chair? That’s horrible. Don’t you worry young man. Who is your supervisor. I’ll have a talk with his boss. They can’t do that to you.”
Jack gives up and decides that at least this conversation is at least more interesting than talking about the dead cat. Doolittle eagerly looks on.
“Mamn. Did you know there is a dead cat in the road outside my window?
“Really?”
“Well not now but there was this morning.”
“Oh! That poor thing. How did he die?”
“I think he got hit by a car, Mamn.”
“I’m really beginning to have my suspicions about you Young Man. Well, Duh. Dead cat in the road and you are thinking that maybe he got hit by a car. Maybe he died of kitty Kat lukemia or had a stroke.”
“Mamn, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes! You can fix my computer!!”
“Yes Mamn, If you tell me where you are I will call you an electrician.”
“THERE YOU GO AGAIN.”

Haji Ants

By Chuck Michael

9/22/03

I am sitting on my porch at Camp Speicher, an Army airfield in the Iraqi desert near Tikrit. The crumbs from my granola bar are on the move. Closer observation reveals a little black ant pushing on a piece of granola three times his size. He is working it like a D9 operator would a tree stump. Pushing, gunning the engine till it exhausts itself and the tracks started to spin in the soft earth, then backing out and going around the other end and shoving it from that direction. In an attempt to vent his frustration at the granola he hares out and about, running around in circles for 5 or ten seconds and then back at it. Another ant approaches and he sallies forth to chase him away. Deciding finally he isn’t getting anywhere, he tears off in the direction of his nest as fast as his 6 legs would carry him. I know because I follow him. He is incredibly fast. For his size and considering the terrain he has to negotiate, it is quite amazing; as fast as my normal walk. These fellas have minds of their own. They get out of your way when they see you coming. They travel alone and never form a chow line like regular ants at a picnic. About 5 minutes later here he comes back again, pushing and biting and pulling like the Little Ant That Could. A few minutes more and a bigger ant arrives which the little one doesn’t try to chase off. Can’t you just hear them at the nest. “SPIKE! Spike! I just stumbled across a gold mine. You are not going to believe the size of this food Man. It is like stupendous Spike, and it’s like too good to be true Man.!This is some sort of new-fangled man made energy bar stuff or something. Its like the Empire State Building or something Man. I can’t move it by myself. C’mon Spike. Lets go get it”.

“Yeah, yeah….I’ll be along in a few minutes. I got to finish stacking these fly eggs for the Queen’s banquet tonight. Here. Grab that last carcass over there and push the payload out of here. I’m a mess. How does she stomach this crap? I’ll be along after I get cleaned up”, says Spike.

“Sure Spike. I mean you smell like you’ve been rolling in someone else’s vomit to be honest. Gad! This stuff is yucky. This is what she eats? Or is this just what she feeds her boyfriends? Hey. Hurry up though Huh? Like we have to get back out there before those red ants from B Company find it. You know how they are. We’ll be all day fighting them. “ They double-team that lump of granola all the way back to their nest, which is about 100 feet away. They dispatch half a shelled peanut with the same determination. Figuring the scale to our size would work out to dragging 10,000 lbs for miles, I estimate. Maybe these are imported Egyptian pyramid builder ants that hitched a ride through the Red Sea on one of Moses’s camels. The Bible isn’t clear on this point but it is feasible that these guys are decendants of Pharos ant farm. Wouldn’t that be cool, the ant farm Pharo had when he was a kid and one morning before heading off to be worshiped he has a closer than usual look and notices little teeny tiny pyramids…Naaaahh! Occasionally one of these ants would stop long enough for me to observe her closely. Their rear ends stick up in the air at about a 45 degree angle which reminds me of a funny car. They are built like a fork lift rigged for the Daytona 500; like something out of the Monster Garage. Their legs are long and light compared to their stocky bodies. The rear legs are jointed in the middle like a deer, which I suppose gives them their mind boggling speed; reminds me of something George Lucas would dream up. Their mouth is surrounded by large mandibles. I have seen them grab something, lift it up and when they started to move, the top heaviness toppled them forward but they didn’t let go, rather turned upside down, still gripping the food verticaly, head down, swaying back and forth, 6 legs flailing, trying for control again, then take a few steps further and repeat the process all the way rolling and tumbling to the nest. It’s funny to watch because when it happens they are repeating their rolling and tumbling routine every couple of seconds or so. You can see her out there 70 feet away; a little black dot on the desert, somersaulting with her granola on her torturous path to the crib. These guys don’t build mounds. They just have a nest with multiple entrances-holes in the ground if you will. Truly, if they were our size, we wouldn’t be here. They are picky about their food also. As if they have a lot of choice in the Iraqi desert. They won’t eat dead flies I swatted, but rather grab them and look in the carcass for eggs. If they find none they drop it and continue on their everlasting egg hunt to the next one, and finding one with eggs, scurry off to their nest fast like lightening. You can’t see them for dust. Watching closely, its almost as if you can watch them making a decision and once made nothing deters the sprint to the nest. Bee line. No time wasted. I dumped a packet of sugar out on the ground. They haven’t taken an interest in it. Surprisingly, they avoid any water I spill in their vicinity. They will walk through it but I’ve never seen one of them paying much attention to it; which reinforces my Red Sea Theory. They are perfectly suited to their environment. They remind me of HoDaddy surfers that love the beach but hate the ocean of which in their environment, there is plenty of the former and absolutlely none of the latter. I crumbled a whole bar of granola for them, expecting to see the entire colony out there eventually. No, there were more ants gathering up the spoils but not many more. Seeing as how they are Hajji ants, maybe they are all Muslims and discourage women working outside of the home. For that matter they could be Amish, who generally feel the same way. No way they’re Baptists. Nevertheless, the next morning there was only one oversize crumb, which they were still sawing up. Given a choice, they seem to hunt around for the biggest piece they can carry at first before scrambling off. They know about power to weight efficiency. Like the song goes: “These guys ain’t dumb” I have a plywood porch supported by a 2 x 2 boards. Nooo. I know what you’re thinking. They didn’t try to carry off the porch. Once they decide on a piece worthy of their efforts off they go like some high school kid peelng out of the parking lot after school, fairly leaping off the porch’s edge rather than walking vertically down.” No time to waste. Got to get this back to the Queen so she can spawn more ants (or make her boyfriends eat it) and increase the size of the colony”; almost like they are awarded points for showing up with the most chow. Politically, I think they are Communists. Yes, it sometimes does get boring out here. .