Stirring it Up

My father was an accomplished practical joker. He preyed upon human foibles. His last and best in this arena was in 1980, the year after he reitred to Delray Beach. He was standing around the bakery counter at Publix, waiting for my mother. The elderly Jews were grumbling about how slow the service was, as if they had anywhere else important to go, my father added.

He turned to one of the loudest grumblers, and said, sotto voce, that the reason the line was so long was that they were giving away free rye breads to the first 25 customers. There were probably 40-50 pensioners waiting.

Within seconds, my father reported, the cry rose up "I vant MY free bread. Dis isn't fair. Vy not I get free bread!"

After a few minutes, the Chief Baker stood up on the counter. "Please remain calm. There are no free rye breads. That is a rumor. There is plenty of baked goods available for purchase for everyone. That was a false rumor."

My father slinked away, grinning. He knew then that he had too much time on his hands for an active mind (how's THAT for mixing a metaphor) and shortly afterwards went back to work part time selling gift clocks for a friend.

Well, I'm my father's son, and I feel a compelling need to likewise stir things up.

I immensely enjoy the over-seriousness of many of my neighbors. Last year, everyone was up in arms about our resident Asshole's threat to poison dogs that were crapping on his lawn. Eco terrorism nearly resulted.

Now, again, dog poop has reared its stinky head. Signs are appearing anew warning dog owners against this scourge. I walked past our newest resident's house today, and they had drawn, in chalk on their driveway, a request on behalf of their grass-playing children to keep the poop away.

I don't know. I grew up on working class Long Island, and dog crap was considered part of life. In fact, stepping in it became, in our mythology, an omen of good luck. When O'Leary, Columbo, or Goldstein (again, this was working class Long Island --you were either Irish, Italian, or Jewish) enjoyed good fortune, his contemporaries would say "Wow --O'Leary really stepped in it this time!"

So I don't get this pathological fear and aversion to dog crap. I may have to take steps... Ha!

I've already planted a seed. I emailed our Association president that part of the problem was human --that my friend and neighbor Jeff sometimes defecated on peoples' lawns, too. The president thought I was telling the truth! Hmm... if a majority of residents thought this was happening...

Somebody stop me, before I summon my father's spirit, and stir up unrest...