Not long after I received my discharge from the military I needed a job. But they were hard to come by, so I went to the closest employer to me. Living out in the country, that employer was St. Regis Logging Company. It was going to be a temporary job. I ended up being a temporary logger for 18 years. I really like working in the out of doors. During that time there were both somber and humorous times.
The somber moments came with the job. Logging to this day is a dangerous occupation. In the 18 years I worked in the woods there were 11 deaths. 6 in one year. But I should add that other than one, the others were caused by errors in judgement on the part of the victim, doing stupid things that they would have never thought of doing when they first started. But, unlike most jobs, in this occupation a lapse in judgement could cost the person his life, if not injury. Anyway, onto the humorous!
After work several of us loggers often got together at the local pub. Most of the time we talked logging. On one occasion there were about six of us sitting around a table. I happened to glance over and saw this old guy, Jim, who was a regular. When he had too much to drink, it was not a pretty sight, the worst being he would lose bladder control. Like I said, not pretty. And like I said in my post “Limping In The New Year,” I always had the supernatural ability of attracting drunks as long lost friends. Jim was no exception. Royce Woodworth, whom we called Woody was sitting next to me. I nodded toward Jim, telling Woody, “You watch. Sooner or later that old varmint will spot me and be coming over. Hopefully he’ll still be wearing dry britches.”
He passed our table as he staggered to the restroom. Though he was dry entering that meant nothing. I once witnessed him entering the restroom dry and still coming out wet. Go figure. Anyway! After a few moments here he came. He was dry, but there was something I didn’t notice. Sure enough he staggered up to us with a big grin, pushing his eyes up into narrow slits.
“Hi ole’ buddy!” he slurred out as he stood between Woody and myself. “Who’s your friend here?”
“Hi Jim,” I replied, “this is Woody, a buddy I work with.”
Sitting, Woody’s head was about crotch level to Jim who was standing beside him. Woody turned around to shake hands and was immediately nose to nose with Jim’s penis which he had obviously forgotten to replace to it original location while in the restroom. When Woody realized what his eyes had just focused in on he went straight over backwards, taking three glasses of beer with him.
Jim stared down at Woody laying on his back and slobbered out, “I think it’s about time that that fella be cut off. He can’t even sit a chair.” He then staggered off, leaving us at the table in tears.
Chet who owned the tavern was behind the bar,
” Chet,” Jim slurred out with a swaying finger, “don’t give that guy anymore beer. He’s a danger to society.”
Chet just shook his head and chuckled.