Sayer of the Shows - Part One of Two

Beginning with the year I Dream of Jennie premiered, and for about three years after, when my sister took over the job for a while, I was a walking, talking TV guide.  I had poor grades in math and science, passable grades in most other subjects, and was flunking history, but whenever Dad handed me that thin, stapled magazine I memorized, with one glance through its pages, every show, movie, and special on every channel for the entire week.  Of course, at that time there were only the three networks, ABC, NBC, and CBS.

When TV Turned Traitor

In the television culture of my family, power failures and technical difficulties were dreaded enemies.  I remember well my moments of anguish, when I was young in ‘68, sitting in the dark, unable to believe or even comprehend the sudden unplugging of my brain from the TV and the plunging of my senses into the eerie darkness and silence of a dead house.  Or, when it was a glitch in the broadcast, angrily whispering “Come on! Come on!

Audio Revenge

At first my wife called her new cats Lavern and Shirley.  But then our granddaughter, Sneaks, identified one as a male, so my wife decided on Agatha and Holmes.  I told her that didn’t make sense. If one is named after Agatha Christie, the other should be named after Arthur Conan Doyle: Christie and Doyle.  Or even better, Marple and Holmes; just don’t mix authors and characters! But my wife is confusedly insistent.

They Don’t Make That

In my younger life I was a 34 waist. Then for years I was a comfortable 36.  Now, I’m a 37, but they don’t make that. For some reason pants in the midrange are even numbers: 32, 34, 36, 38; it reads like a high school cheerleading chant.  I’ve spotted 29s on shelves, but never a 27, at least not at Exwork, so I don’t know what’s going on with the odd numbers. What I do know is that 36 is now too small for me, and I don’t like the uncomfortable folds that are created between the loops when I tighten my belt around a 38.

Gone Fishing

 Back in aught-seven, during the big remodel at Exwork, the tanks of live fish were moved from the pet department all the way over to the wall behind Health and Beauty Aids (HBA), with the last aisle there filled with food and tank décor, as well as other products for caged pets.  No one could explain to me the merchandising strategy of that. I don’t believe there was one. But HBA is right around the corner from Garden, and us workers were routinely tasked with bagging fish.