Post 694 - Journal Entry from 1985

Uncovered while picking up some spilled files:

Journal Entry May 20, 1985

Received a call yesterday just as I was getting ready to be late for work.  I said, “Hello.”  The caller said, “Hello, Jim.  John Garcia here with some good news for a weapons fanatic like yourself.”

Now, such comments over the phone really get my mind working.  First of all, who the hell is John Garcia?  I knew a John Garcia in high school, but he was at least four years older than me, and I think we used to call him Juan.  Or he used to call him Juan.  But I haven’t spoken with Juan or John or anyone named Garcia since somewhere in the mid 70's.  And then this “weapons fanatic” stuff – I mean, I’ve expressed an interest to Hobday or Lematta* that I might like to get one of those black powder muskets and pretend I was Dan’l Boone and scare various wild birds from my parents’ swampland, but I would consider that as qualification to be a fanatic.  I truly thought about all of this before I finally said -

“Well, I couldn’t consider myself a fanatic.”

John (or Juan) had a quick reply to that.  “I’ve got an UZI!”  He said it like I would drop the phone, pass out, wake up again, run to the bank, get a quick loan at 35% interest, and then dash to his feet, panting, begging to hold this instrument of persuasion and call it mine.

My response wasn’t quite what he was expecting.

I said, “That’s nice.”

Now Juan (or John) was sounding uneasy - and suspicious.  “Is this Jim Middleton?”

I told him You Betcha.

“Well, it doesn’t sound like Jim Middleton.”

The only other Jim Middleton I’ve ever met was my grandfather, and since he has been dead for about four years, I don’t really know what he’d sound like now.  In addition, he was into Lincolns, not guns.  Juan wasn’t finished, however -

“What nickname do we call Mr. Ruble?”

Hoo boy, here it comes, I thought.   Some secret password, some coded message with this question to separate the wimps from the Survivors.  The only thing that popped into my head at this time was “Barney,” but I didn’t say this for fear of being right, and then who knew what would happen?

“Are you a friend of Ron Hobday’s?” I asked, instead.

This seemed to be a major shut down for Mr. Garcia.  He said, “Hoo, am I sorry.  Excuse me,”
and he rang off.

I was still late for work.

*two former fellow pharmacists in my hospital days

Yee HA!