Poor Boo Boo

At TheCompanyIWorkFor, we pretty much try to like everybody. And believe me it's hard, and also believe me, sometimes we don't succeed. But by and large we have a pretty nice bunch of clients, even the ones who tend to be pains in the asses occasionally.

But then we have our really good people. Our gems.

We have S, the pizza delivery boy working his way through college. We've known S (not Sherman, btw), since he was in high school, and his grin alone just lights up the whole office. We all kind of feel like we're his mothers in the office, like we've brought him up.

On the other hand, we have Boots. Boots is 84 years old, and walks in from time to time (when his wife lets him out) and sits in the office telling us bawdy jokes and World War II stories. It's funny, those jokes would offend if told to us by anyone other than an 84-year old man. We all feel like he's our surrogate grandpa. Who tells bawdy jokes.

But I make no bones about saying there's no one I like see swinging the door to TheCompanyIWorkFor open any more than Q. Q is a bundle of laughs, and there's no one on earth who can tell a story like he can.

Here's a little background on Q. This is a man who married young, had two kids right off the bat, and worked his way into a nice comfy lifestyle. Then when his kids were around 17 and 18 - he and his wife decided to start all over again. They had a little girl, then followed her with a little boy. Now, is that courageous or not?

So we get to hear stories of his kids, the 1st daughter's newly engaged, and the 1st son's newly out of college and joining the work force. The son's something of a free spirit. Money means nothing to him. And I mean this in the best sense of the word. The boy once made a trip to New York City for the weekend with $4 in his pocket. After graduation he took a trip across country. I'm assuming he had more cash that time, hopefully at least $20. The greatest joy of his life so far was finding a pair of shoes in a thrift shop recently exactly like (except with less wear) the pair he'd been wearing since high school.

But mainly Q will regale us with things he's heard, or read, or stories from The County. The County being a particular county in the area, on the West Virginia side, known for its, um, "different" way of life. ("Different:" Read - "Redneck.") He is totally justified in telling us these stories, because he's actually from The County - he knows of where he speaks. I'd try to repeat some of these, but I promise you, in print, and especially from someone other than Q, a lot would be lost in the translation.

He brought us one day an article from a County newspaper that he just had to read to us. It was about a local woman who'd been put into a state jobs program. A quote from the woman stated something like, "I'm so excited to be chosen to train for a job, because it means now I can finally get my teeth fixed." The story went on a ways, then ended with the narrative, "Miss So-and-so, known to her friends as 'Bucky,' will join the training program next month."

The last time he was by, he brought us something else. Now, I have tell you right up front that it's an obituary, so if you find nothing to laugh about in an obituary you might want to exit now. I personally do, because, well, they can be funny, especially in this area of the world. In fact, my folks and I have a running obituary joke. It's about pictures (yep, in our little burg you can have your picture right there beside your write-up, I know they don't do that in big towns).

When turning to the obits in our local, the Daily Tellalie, you'll invariably see a write-up with a picture beside it. The person may be 92 years old - and in the picture he's 25! That drives me crazy! I always wonder, is this the only picture they could find? Do they want to print that one so all his now-dead friends from 70 years ago will know who they're talking about? Were they just proud of his at-the-time shining jet black hair?

And so I'm always telling my parents that if I'd happen to go first I've left orders with everyone who knows me to not let them print my high school graduation picture by my obituary.

Then we also have the obituaries that are big on The Lord. "So and so passed through the pearly gates on Thursday and went to be with his Lord Saviour Jesus Christ in the Kingdom of Heaven, third cloud along on the left." Just once I want to see, "Mr X died Thursday at his home. Stoke up the fire, Satan, he's on his way!"

Anyway, Q brought us this obituary, and I'm going to print an excerpt of it here. Now - first of all, I'm probably violating copyright laws by doing it, but the copy I have's not very clear so I can't scan it. Anyway, I'm willing to bet that no one involved reads this blog, especially Boo Boo. Also, I'm leaving out real names. Well, people's names. Second, the reason I'm abbreviating the write-up is because the damn thing's two pages long. I mean, I'm happy the man had a nice full life, but really. I counted. It lists 24 different things he was in. It actually says, after all the clubs and fire departments and task forces and churches he was in, and I quote, "He loved woodworking, traveling, collecting eagles, and playing Santa Claus at Christmas time." Oh, that's nice. Open that one up and show it to little Timmy: "Hey Timmy, looky! Santa Claus died!"

So anyway, read on, if you dare.

Survivors: wife, A, of A Town; son, B and his wife C of A Town; brothers, D and his wife E of Another Town, F and his wife G of Yet Another Town; mother and father in law, H and I, of That Last Town, dear friend, J, of One More Town; his cats: Sassie, Midnight, Missy, Mister Moo, Baby Cakes, Boo Boo Kitty, Thomas P Catt, Molly, Pumpkin, Abbey, and Weebles; two grandkitties, Creamsicle and Butterscotch, and dog, Maggie May. Several neices, nephews, cousins, uncles, aunts, and friends also survive him.

He was preceeded in death by his grandparents, L and M and N and O, and his cat Auggie.

I love it: "Several neices, nephews, cousins, uncles, aunts, and friends, who we can't name because we spent all our money on space to name the kitties."

Now, don't get me wrong here. In the last couple of years I've grown quite fond of those of the kitty persuasion, whereas I used to not be so keen. But 12 cats? There has to be a stopping point somewhere. He may have succumbed to the overwhelming smell of cat pee.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* You know, I've tried give a lot of leeway to Prince Harry, because he smokes and drinks and smokes pot and if I was in that family I would too. But in his latest escapade, he was photographed at a costume party wearing a Nazi uniform. Now, at what point exactly in getting ready for the shindig and donning this outfit did he look at himself and say, "Yep, this is the look I'm going for?" I mean, any old Joe deserves a (pardon the pun) royal ass-kicking for showing up at a party as a Nazi. But someone as famous as The Prince? Did he honestly think people wouldn't notice?