On-Call Memoirs #1: Pager Anxiety

As the title indicates, I was on-call, and thus was to be available for emergencies* within the apartment community 24 hours a day on weekends and holidays, and from 5pm-8am on weekdays.
I had no life. But I did have a pager! A shiny example of yester-decade technology. It was my very first experience with such a beast; and it made me extremely nervous. Since I knew not what to expect, I assumed that it would go off as soon as I received it and placed it on my belt.
It didn't. Nor did it go off the next day. Or the next. I called the messaging company to send me a test-page to make sure that it worked. It did.
Needless to say, the little black box finally found its voice. And with that voice came an unusual phenomenon: Pager Anxiety. I would frequently wake up with a start in the middle of the night, certain that I heard it go off. It hadn't. I would feel it vibrate on my belt when it was my week off.
I hung up the pager some months ago now, and yet occasionally I am visited by phantom vibrations on my belt. There must be some pharmaceutical that I can get that will help me. Perhaps a series of shots?


*Emergencies ranged from gas leaks, squirrel invasions, dead bodies and omnipresent plumbing problems.

On-Call: Memoirs of an Emergency Maintenance Person

For over four years, I was the emergency on-call maintenance person at a large (220+ unit), historic 1930's apartment complex in downtown Minneapolis.
From time to time, I am going to post some of my experiences and adventures.

Nose-Hole Hair

As a man ages, it is a well known and unavoidable fact that hair develops where it is unwanted. As George Costanza of "Seinfeld" once said "You have to be vigilant", lest these unwanted tufts get out of hand.
However, not all men are as vigilant as they should be.
Case in point, a fellow I used to work with. Although in most other aspects he was very well groomed, he suffered from one unattended hairy-area - 'The nostril hair'. It wasn't walrus style or bushy. In fact, it was but one single hair. However, this one, single, solitary hair was very thick and very dark. And very, very long.
This rogue hair grew out of his nostril and almost all the way down to his upper lip.
I truly do not know how he missed it. In fact, I would believe that he must have taken great pains in order to not accidentally clip it while shaving.
The question then arises: 'Why?'
Perhaps he read somewhere that the length of a mans robust nasal hair proved his virility. Or perhaps he suffered from a rare condition whereby if he ever trimmed it his brain would loose elasticity. Perhaps it was a gypsy curse. Maybe he was aiming for a Guinness World Record.
I do not know.
All I know is that it was very hard to look him in the eye while speaking to him.

Rockwell would understand

In 1984, a musician (term used generously here) named Rockwell released the song entitled "Somebody's Watching Me." Rockwell may have fizzled into Motown oblivion, but the song remains lyrically true. The sense of being watched can produce paralyzing feelings of paranoia.
Especially when you are being watched by people in a vehicle.
In fact, it would appear that the number of people watching you is inversely proportionate to the amount of agility one can exhibit.
For your consideration, the following scenario: Man in car stopped along side a full school bus.

One or two children look at driver of car = Man forgets how to naturally use hands. Actions become stilted. Cell phone flies on to the floor

This attracts attention of more children = Man now unsure how to hold mouth, where to look, or how to retrieve cell phone. In an attempt to look casual he sweeps his hair back. Sadly he misses and pokes his own eye.

Now the majority of the school children are watching the man. Gestures, rude faces and hooting at peak = Man rapidly loosing control of motor functions and other bodily abilities. Breathing is labored, bladder control fails.

Light turns green and the school bus departs. Man in automobile is reduced to a gibbering mass flailing in his own filth. Outraged drivers behind him begin honking. Man looses consciousness and later awakens in Trauma Center at St. Mary's Hospital.

I guess that this is why many school buses now have darkened windows.

Study results soon to be published

The results of a study that spanned 27 years, 4 countries and 18 major pediatric research facilities were finally released to the public on Monday, January 26th 2009. After exhaustive research and unprecedented funding, the study proved conclusively that "Mama's little baby does, indeed, love shortnin' bread".

Photogenic Phil

Phil D'Argent was the single most photographed person in the history of the art. (Or craft, depending on one's perspective.)

Phil was not a model or a star. He wasn't exceedingly handsome nor bewilderingly ugly. He was neither famous nor infamous. He was not a narcissist obsessed with his own visage. In fact, he had never paid to have a photo taken. As a child, his father had worked for the service that took class pictures, so even those had been free.

He was simply forever in the shutters way.

Family photos the world over, spanning the 32 years of his life, contained Phil in different ages and settings. An unwitting participant in their snapshot of history.
On a recent week-long trip to Miami with friends he was photographed over 600 times. 15 of those photos were taken by his friends.
Only 7 were intentional.
The staged photos that occupy new frames frequently featured Phil in the background. Albeit mostly as a fuzzy, unrecognizable figure.

Phil had no idea that he was so well documented. No one did. It was simply one of those great universal facts.

One day on a whim with his girlfriend, Phil decided to get a souvenir photo taken of them in one of those little booths. It wouldn't accept his dollar bill. It wouldn't take his girlfriends bill either. He didn't give it a second thought.
A week later he went to get a photo taken for a a passport. The photographers studio had closed due to illness.
Three days thereafter his company implemented a new identification card system and he obediently qued up to get his photo taken. The machine jammed and failed when it was his turn.
The next day he went to a different portrait palace in pursuit of his passport pic. He wasn't able to make it anywhere near the store due to the crowds and emergency vehicles. The small store was ablaze.

As he dejectedly turned from the commotion, Phil came to the conclusion that he simply wasn't going to be able to get a photo taken, no matter where or for what the reason.

During those 10 minutes he was photographed 58 times by gawkers and reporters attracted to the diminuitive disaster.

He was on the front page of the local paper the next day.
It was the third time that month.