Each morning, to get started on the right foot, I take
my vitamins. As part of this ritual, I
tear off a page from the calendar which acts as a checks and balance later on
in the day. If the page on the calendar hasn’t
been changed then it means I forgot to take my vitamins.
The calendar rewards me with a piece of trivia printed
on the pages. For instance, the other
day I learned that a Chef’s Hat has 100 folds in it that represent the number
of ways an egg can be cooked. That’s the
kind of information that might be found on the old Trivial Pursuit game.
This morning’s information had me chasing a memory
from way back as I read, “Camels can hold a grudge and wait patiently for their
opportunity to take revenge.” I’ve never
owned a camel; had dogs and cats over the years; but never a camel. The idea that camels can hold a grudge and
then wait patiently for the opportunity to take revenge; now that’s diabolical.
While working day shift as a police officer there was
a Mobil gas station located on Westheimer at Commonwealth that offered shade from
the sun and good company to chat with.
It was a great location to set up for red light violations since
Commonwealth was a one-way street, making it safer to begin the pursuit of a
violator. The owner of the station
enjoyed having a police car present on the property and Mike Koetting, one of the
mechanics working there, had a warped sense of humor that matched my own.
One hot summer day while Mike had the hood up on my patrol
car checking on something that was making an odd noise, I flipped on the siren
to prank with him. Mike hit his head and
flinched, a natural reaction to being startled.
He grimaced and let me know he’d get even.
Each time I’d set up under the gas station’s awning, looking
to catch a red-light violator; but in the back of my mind was the warning, a
gentle reminder that Mike would find a way to get even for having been
startled. As the days passed it appeared
that Mike lost interest in getting even.
Weeks became months and eventually I forgot all about having pranked
with Mike.
A year later to the very day, I’d settled in under the
awning enjoying a slow traffic day.
While relaxing in my thoughts, comfortable knowing I was surrounded by
friends, Mike came up from behind with an air ratchet that he used on my elbow
which was casually hanging out the window of my patrol car. Had I not been wearing a seat belt I might
have exited through the window.
“Gotcha! Now we’re
even.” Mike had penciled in the date on
his calendar, the day to get even. All
this time I thought he was a mechanic; turns out Mike’s a camel.
