Serious Stuff

Harry Potter had us all on the edge of our seats waiting for Serious Black to sneak up behind and cancel his ticket; sorry, today’s ramblings aren’t that dark.

First on the list of serious stuff would have to be a phone call I had with my dad yesterday. He was telling me how one of his balls developed a huge crack in it. Dad’s a little odd; he has one 16 pound ball and the other is only 9 pounds; no braggin’, just facts. He used to keep them in the trunk of his car until he decided that it would be easier for him to have a locker at the bowling alley. He had the 9 pound ball made for when he had surgery, something that would permit him to enjoy his favorite sport without over doing it. The plastic split, a giant fissure formed and ruined the custom ball. I think he should keep on using it just to hear it thump thump thumps down the lane, maybe throw off shrapnel as it strikes the pins and clogs up the works.

“Bowl a hundred, Dad!”

I got a neat letter from my chiropractor this past week; a special discount on all their available treatments to celebrate being in business for 21 years, all for just $ 21. I needed an adjustment; been putting it off too long as it was, as I drove over to take advantage of the special offer. I didn’t need to have my back x-rayed, that was done before I ever had my first treatment, all the same I had to ask if I could have one x-ray done.

I’d seen a picture box that a friend of mine had made, an x-ray of his police pistol. I explained all this to the receptionist at the chiropractor’s desk. There was an interesting look on her face; not quite sure how to answer my request and at the same time wondering, “Are you signed out of the mental hospital or did you recently escape?” There was a short committee meeting of doctors and technicians in the back room. Dr. Durrett came back and looked at the billing codes on the computer, going down the standard list.

“Your kidding, they have a billing code for pistol x-rays?” I laughed as she pointed to the closest simple charge that would justify adding 21 dollars to my bill. “Do you do shotguns too?”

I got my back adjusted by Dr. Upchurch which opened up my sinus cavities. She then did some hocus pocus chiropractor stuff as I lay there on my back.

“Am I officially a Catholic now?”, I asked as she finished the interesting gestures; touching my forehead and moving down to the center of my chest. Dr. Upchurch breathed out slowly and blinked as her eyes rolled noisily, not sure what to make of my question.

She continued to work on a particularly painful area just below the neck. I told her the joke about the piece of rope, the one that had gone into the bar asking for a beer. The bar tender explained that he didn’t serve rope and tossed him out the door.

Not to be denied, the rope climbed back up on the stool and asked for a beer. The bartender got a bit angry, picked him up and twisted him into a knot before hurling him out into the street where he was subsequently run over by several vehicles.

A few minutes later, having recovered from the abuse, he goes back into the bar and asks for a beer.

“Hey, aren’t you that rope I just tossed out?” The bartender gritted out as he walked closer.

“I’m a frayed knot!”

Hey, it’s the only joke I know that matched up with the huge knot Dr. Upchurch was working on in between my shoulder blades.

The x-ray technician had me lay the pistol on top of the film box as she adjusted the settings for Smith & Wesson, again, not on the list of normal procedures. I chided that most of her clients might not be loaded; but that this one was. She took the x-ray and shook her head. It’s not as interesting to look at as my friends; but I’ll bet they didn’t crack his neck as part of the deal.