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It all started with an innocent Email...
Hey Dave,
I will be in Post Falls over the weekend of the 22nd , actually getting there Friday afternoon – I suggest you warn the town council so they have time to hide the womenfolk.
If you're gonna be around you and I can pal around all day Saturday. I'm thinking maybe we hit all the yard/garage sales, mosey into a watering hole or three then for kicks we'll hold up a pizza delivery guy. Whadaya think?
Dave Howerton is not one to waste time because his response introduced immediate deep, dark depression. I mean, what better way is there to begin toying with my emotions than to casually mention a buddy living in Spokane is building a new shop and that we're gonna “pop over” to see it?
A more cruel and heartless guy never existed.
Our day of fun began with a light knuckle rap against our door. “Who is it?”
“Dave.”
“Dave's not here.”
I gathered he must of heard that Cheech & Chong skit, too, because I distinctly heard him chuckle.
I tucked a folded copy of Woman's Day magazine under my right arm, which was our prearranged signal to confirm it was really me,
and opened the door.
Standing there in the doorway, I watched him laugh. It was a hearty kind of guffaw; lending cause for me to question whether he thought I'd really do it or not.
I looked at him with squinty eyes.
“I take it my behavior is strange to you, yes? Believe me you, before this day is through you'll see stranger things. No?”
“No and yes.” He said, matter-of-factly, and I was left confused wondering if our little chat had dried up or whether Dave wasn't much of a conversationalist.
Pleasantries were exchanged and I, because of his impeccable driving record, allowed Dave to drive his car. Well, all that and the fact his gas is cheaper than mine. Indeed, his gas was almost $2.67 a gallon cheaper than mine.
One of the cool things about Post Falls is that if you left today and came back tomorrow, you'd barely recognize the damn place – that's how fast it's growing – but the mountain scenery nestled against the Spokane River never seems to change and I admired that as we drove off toward Dave's home and shop.
His shop was no different than that of a little old lady's living room. You know, like the minute they realize they're fixing to receive company they turn into little white tornadoes to get the place picked up. It takes up both bays of his two-car garage and the second I entered the joint I found myself casting a gaze of suspicion in his general direction; such was his lame attempt at trying to fool me into thinking it was always that clean.
“Nice shop, Dave.” I said, running my hands over his current project (little did he realize that I had previously sprayed both of them with WD-40), “Who'd you steal the knock-off of Norm's router table from?”
Once again, he chuckled – he's an excellent chuckler, Dave is.
I couldn't help but notice the clamps were arranged with all the precision you'd expect from a prior U.S. Navy enlistee...
His workbench was atrocious and it sported all the things you expect to see on one; a square, several pieces of paper with what was obviously weak attempts at basic math, a dull #2 pencil and several beer bottles that showed no evidence of dust having settled on them.
See how sick he is? He even made a tidy drawah in his workbench with quaint little compartments for all his little planes.
Then there were his little nuances of instilled humor; like the red fire truck he uses as a fob at the end of the string to turn on the bench light…
I told you, he's a sick man.
Here I am, currently shopless, and he's flaunting all the things I'd be doing if I weren't. I suggested that toying with one's emotions is a sick thing and it should be stopped before I hurt someone.
Besides chuckling, Dave's also good at ignoring suggestions.
“Where do you really work, Dave?” I asked in a way to squelch his obvious glee.
“I'm an operator at a plant that generates electricity.”
“Ohh, really?” I said with a yawn, “Hydro or…?”
“Natural gas.”
As I said, Dave isn't long on discussion.
“So…” I said, looking nonchalantly out my side window, “You're saying you have a turbine engine powered with Natural Gas that is coupled against a generator that is probably manufactured by General Electric that supplies…what…150 Megawatts of electricity a day and that the heated exhaust of what…1000 degrees…is used to create steam, which is used to turn yet another generator… also manufactured by GE, that produces another…what…95 Megawatts of juice? Is that what you're trying to tell me, Dave?”
“Yes.”
“Cool!” Take me to see the place.
I don't know about the rest of you guys but I love stuff.
I love stuff with lots of buttons, knobs, valves, pipes, wires, you name it - the more stuff it has, the more I love it. For me, there's no such thing as an overabundance of stuff and this place has LOTS of stuff.
For instance, there's this chamber that condenses 58,000 gallons of water per MINUTE…
There's this turbine engine that consumes 1.7 million cubic feet of Natural Gas per DAY…
There's this giant filter, what filters the air before it goes into the turbine engine…
And then, beyond all concern for my personal safety, I allowed Dave to lead me to the highest region where I saw the array of enormous fans on top of the previously mentioned condensing chamber…
“So, Dave,” I said, standing up there taking in all the views and waving my arm in a wide arc, “…this whole place is worth…what…200-million? How'd you actually get these people to believe you could make it through a day without blowing the place up?”
“I was trained in power plant operation in the Navy.”
“You mean, our U. S. Navy, Dave?”
He huffed up then smiled, “You know it! The one ‘n only“.
“Ohhh so…then how'd you actually get these people to believe you could make it through a day without blowing the place up?”
He chuckled.
While going through my tour, Dave had occasion to introduce me to Mark the Mechanic (hee-hee), Steve the Controller and Tim the Maintenance wizard and, despite my thorough interrogations, each of them seemed to be quite normal to me.
“Hey, Dave! How come is it all them other guys seem quite normal to me?”
He chuckled.
It was the type of chuckle that caused some concern about the possibility of an interrupted supply of electricity here in the Northwest United States.
From there we went in search of another Dave - the buddy I mentioned Dave had in Spokane . To save confusion I labeled them Dave's 1 and 2. I even said so to Dave 1, “Hey, Dave 1! With both of you having the same name, how'm I supposed to keep you guys apart?
“It's easy! Dave 2 is about this tall.” He said, holding his hand in the air about as high as a mailbox. “He's so short he can't even hit a urinal.”
“So, what's your beef with men, Dave? How come you rag on ‘em so?”
He chuckled.
When we arrived we found Dave 2 standing on a ladder and working under the eaves of his new shop.
“Are you still working on the soffit?” Dave 1 emphasized ‘still' in a sing-song voice.
“Bite me!” Dave 2 said.
I chuckled.
My wife, who happens to be a psychologist and licensed clinical counselor, told me that once your emotions are toyed with it becomes easier for you to give easement for them to be trampled on.
“Hey, Dave 2, I'm sure Bigmouth here...,” I said, thumbing to Dave 1, “...musta told you I'm shopless so why doncha make me feel inferior and show me whatchu got going on here?”
He was off the ladder so fast he skipped three rungs coming down – he hit the ground running and was talking a blue streak before we rounded the corner on the way to the door.
“I'm gonna do this. I'm gonna do that. I'm gonna use this here and that there. I'm gonna put this machine here and that machine there. I'm gonna pipe this and unpipe that. I'm gonna build this bench here and that cabinet there and, and and…oh yeah, the best thing is…I don't give a damn whether or not anyone's taller'n me or not, I'm gonna install a really-really low urinal in my bathroom!”
I was sickened.
It was sickening because he was saying exactly what I'd be saying if someone came over to my shop during its construction. Well, except that I wouldn't be installing a jockey-high urinal.
That's another one of the perks of being married to a psychologist; I know how to recognize low self-esteem.
Pretty soon our conversation drifted to the inevitable…
”You wanna go to Hooters with us?”
We left skid marks in his driveway and as we drove away I heard Dave 2 yelling, "What, and give up all this?!”
We chuckled as the car's tires screeched around the corner.
I often heard about it but up until that point I'd never been in Hooters.
Hooters is a magical place – much like Disney World. The only difference being you can see the characters' faces and some of their other attributes; like their name tags.
“So…you're…” I looked down to where her name tag was pinned, which happened to be right beside some of her attributes, “…Jodi, huh?”
“That's right,” She said, with a big smile, “What can I…” And, then, beyond all comprehension, my mind went blank.
Next thing I know is Dave's slapping me saying, “She said ‘getcha' not give ya you ignoramus!”
I was completely surprised when I found out I blanked out and said, “Did I order anything out of the ordinary?”
Dave shook his head while taking a healthy pull on his beer, “And you claim you're a Baptist!”
“I never said I was a good one, Dave.”
I've told you before that I'm an excellent noticer and in light of that I wanna share with you the most important thing I noticed during our tenure that day in Hooters.
You definitely need to get there exactly 45-minutes before shift change.
That way you have 45-minutes to gawk at them girls then spend another 45-minutes wiping your chin over the next batch. I even asked one of them, “Say…” I looked down at her attributed name tag, “Uggghhh, Tawny, how long do I have to be here before I can get into y'alls dressing room?”
I think I got lost in all the attributes - she either said twelve years or twelve beers, I can't recall which. When I asked Dave what she said he was even skeptical and he seems to have pretty good hearing to me.
Then, like a streak of lightning, two of these wholesome gals make a beeline to our table asking to borrow our ID's.
Now, I haven't known Dave for very long but I can tell you right now that he doesn't seem to be the victim of a soft touch. Having said that, I can tell you right now that if any of those girls had come rushing up to him asking for his safety deposit box key that not only would he have given it to them, he would drive them straight to his bank!
As our day of fun waxed we rode in bliss back to my hotel – possibly because of the beers or just plain bliss.
I still can't decide.
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