28 March 2013
652
R. Linda:
Yup, as promised one more creepy story. This time no slithering, just clicking along the floor and a buzz when in flight. At the time I read the comments to me prior blog story, I sat at me desk at work, chuckling. Bobby Hendricks, one of the financial reporters, was passing me by at the time.
"Gee Gabe, I could use a laugh right about now; what's funny?"
So I reluctantly told Bobby me story without telling him about me blog since I don't want me co-workers to read it, being they provide a lot of the fodder for your amusement. I told him about Tonya and the prize, how the neighbours had come over and told a story of their own and how it related in Tonya's mind to her prize and the humour I was getting out of her reaction.
He laughed at the right places and looked appropriately horrified at the others. He had pulled up Ms. Jaio's chair and was sitting half in me cubicle, half out. Ms. Jaio was out at the time; otherwise, if he had pulled up her chair, he'd be sitting on her lap. For some reason, this image was in me brain, but I be losing me mind as it is, so it's no wonder.
Anyway, he sincerely said, "Gabe, I am from Jacksonville, Florida. When I was a teenager, my dad, grandda, cousin, and a coupla uncles went hunting at Apalachicola."
Once again, Apalachicola! This place has quite a reputation. I was intrigued. Did anything strange or unforeseen happen there? The answer was, "Not so strange, you could say unforeseen, though."
Here's his story that might give you the willies the next time you drink your morning coffee. It goes like this:
The "boys" had rented a cabin in the marsh, and they were going duck hunting. This was Bobby's first time hunting. He had just got his first rifle and was eager for the trip. The cabin was nothing special; we were talking six guys, all out to get down and dirty in the swamp and hopefully bag themselves a few ducks that they planned on eating for dinner. Well, that first day, they got five. They plucked and got them ready, put them on a spit outside on the open fire they had made. Well, it was a good night of feasting and joke telling and the usual guy time.
They had planned to get up very early the next morning to go out just before first light when the ducks started to fly out. So the grandfather decided (his usual habit) to make the coffee the night before, so all they'd have to do was heat it up in the morning while breakfast was cooking. Yeah, we are talking about the height of laziness, and no one really cared if it was fresh or not.
Now, down south and at this time, Bobby said they used the big old coffee pots where you put the grounds in the bottom, filled the pot with water and boiled it. Then, you left it to steep until the grounds settled to the bottom. Personally, I can't imagine a cup from one of those pots without a mouthful of grounds. Just sayin'.
The next morning the first one up, the grandfather, turned on the stove to heat the coffee. By the time the breakfast of eggs and toast was up, the coffee had broiled (again) and had been left to steep. Everyone got their plates, except for Bobby and his young cousin, poured their coffee and sat down to eat.
The first indication anything was amiss was Bobby's dad commenting on his coffee tasting really bitter. Bobby's uncle said he thought his was too, and the other uncle asked the grandfather if he had used a different brand of coffee than they were used to.
"No," said the old man, "but I agree with y'all mine tastes terrible."
They threw the coffee outside and the old man got the pot to throw that out. When he opened it and looked inside, he saw at least 10 giant roaches or palmetto bugs. Yup, they had crawled into the warm container in the night and had been boiled to death the next morning.
When the men saw what they had been drinking, they were sick outside. Yes, they were. They had nothing left in their stomachs when they were done bringing it all up.
So they went without coffee for the day and did not hit three birds. Bobby said his dad would make mention just to goad his brothers of the roach-infested coffee, and one of them would barf off the side of the boat, and the other held his stomach as he rocked in the bottom of it. Now, this from hunters who clean dead things and have no qualms about handling innards. I dunno. They were green the entire day, and the two young ones were the only ones that shot the ducks. So dinner that night was meagre, to say the least. The next day, they woke up to a mess of roaches running around the kitchen. These are men's men, but when it came to remembering the roach-flavoured coffee, they were rather turned off by the sight. That's saying a lot they'd be repulsed at all.
For the next day, these bugs were running around the kitchen, to which Bobby's dad put in a call to the owner of the cabin. He told him about the roaches, and the old codger who was used to living near the soil said, "Aw jess throw em' a piece a bread. That'll keep em' all in a corner eatin' on it. That's what I always do."
Yup, that's what he said to do. And they did and it worked sort of. But going coffee-less for five days made the adults a bit squirrelly and they ended up snarking at each other to the extent they decided to call it a day and go home.
"Roaches?" I asked, eyeing my Styrofoam-covered cup. Had me coffee tasted funny? I was convincing meself it did.
"Yup, they were roaches and it seemed like each day there would be more of them than the day before. That might not have bothered everyone so bad because those bugs are everywhere in Florida, but that they drank them . . . well that was hard to swallow. My uncle Matt hasn't drank coffee since."
"I'll bet, and quite literally," I said as he got up to leave.
When he was gone, I carefully opened the lid on me coffee, fully geared to see roaches floating in it. You know, they pour that stuff, stick the lid on, and God knows what's floating in that dark liquid. After that, I could hardly sip me cup a joe. I took a couple of sips and just couldn't do it.
Now I be in a real pickle over this because I love me coffee, but unless I brew it, I can't seem to bring me lips to the lid top.
These stories must stop because if I keep it up, I will not be going outside or up to the attic, nor will I be drinking coffee. I will be looking under me bed and in the fireplace before I go to sleep, and if I have to get up in the night, you can know I will have a torch with me. Oi, oi, oi! Or as Fionnula said, yikes, yikes, yikes! So, while I have been entertaining you, who don't mind these creepy things, I have mentally psyched meself out. I will be sleepless, home-bound and coffee-less, and that will make Gabriel a very grumpy boy.
Oi!
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Yup, as promised one more creepy story. This time no slithering, just clicking along the floor and a buzz when in flight. At the time I read the comments to me prior blog story, I sat at me desk at work, chuckling. Bobby Hendricks, one of the financial reporters, was passing me by at the time.
"Gee Gabe, I could use a laugh right about now; what's funny?"
So I reluctantly told Bobby me story without telling him about me blog since I don't want me co-workers to read it, being they provide a lot of the fodder for your amusement. I told him about Tonya and the prize, how the neighbours had come over and told a story of their own and how it related in Tonya's mind to her prize and the humour I was getting out of her reaction.
He laughed at the right places and looked appropriately horrified at the others. He had pulled up Ms. Jaio's chair and was sitting half in me cubicle, half out. Ms. Jaio was out at the time; otherwise, if he had pulled up her chair, he'd be sitting on her lap. For some reason, this image was in me brain, but I be losing me mind as it is, so it's no wonder.
Anyway, he sincerely said, "Gabe, I am from Jacksonville, Florida. When I was a teenager, my dad, grandda, cousin, and a coupla uncles went hunting at Apalachicola."
Once again, Apalachicola! This place has quite a reputation. I was intrigued. Did anything strange or unforeseen happen there? The answer was, "Not so strange, you could say unforeseen, though."
Here's his story that might give you the willies the next time you drink your morning coffee. It goes like this:
The "boys" had rented a cabin in the marsh, and they were going duck hunting. This was Bobby's first time hunting. He had just got his first rifle and was eager for the trip. The cabin was nothing special; we were talking six guys, all out to get down and dirty in the swamp and hopefully bag themselves a few ducks that they planned on eating for dinner. Well, that first day, they got five. They plucked and got them ready, put them on a spit outside on the open fire they had made. Well, it was a good night of feasting and joke telling and the usual guy time.
They had planned to get up very early the next morning to go out just before first light when the ducks started to fly out. So the grandfather decided (his usual habit) to make the coffee the night before, so all they'd have to do was heat it up in the morning while breakfast was cooking. Yeah, we are talking about the height of laziness, and no one really cared if it was fresh or not.
Now, down south and at this time, Bobby said they used the big old coffee pots where you put the grounds in the bottom, filled the pot with water and boiled it. Then, you left it to steep until the grounds settled to the bottom. Personally, I can't imagine a cup from one of those pots without a mouthful of grounds. Just sayin'.
The next morning the first one up, the grandfather, turned on the stove to heat the coffee. By the time the breakfast of eggs and toast was up, the coffee had broiled (again) and had been left to steep. Everyone got their plates, except for Bobby and his young cousin, poured their coffee and sat down to eat.
The first indication anything was amiss was Bobby's dad commenting on his coffee tasting really bitter. Bobby's uncle said he thought his was too, and the other uncle asked the grandfather if he had used a different brand of coffee than they were used to.
"No," said the old man, "but I agree with y'all mine tastes terrible."
They threw the coffee outside and the old man got the pot to throw that out. When he opened it and looked inside, he saw at least 10 giant roaches or palmetto bugs. Yup, they had crawled into the warm container in the night and had been boiled to death the next morning.
When the men saw what they had been drinking, they were sick outside. Yes, they were. They had nothing left in their stomachs when they were done bringing it all up.
So they went without coffee for the day and did not hit three birds. Bobby said his dad would make mention just to goad his brothers of the roach-infested coffee, and one of them would barf off the side of the boat, and the other held his stomach as he rocked in the bottom of it. Now, this from hunters who clean dead things and have no qualms about handling innards. I dunno. They were green the entire day, and the two young ones were the only ones that shot the ducks. So dinner that night was meagre, to say the least. The next day, they woke up to a mess of roaches running around the kitchen. These are men's men, but when it came to remembering the roach-flavoured coffee, they were rather turned off by the sight. That's saying a lot they'd be repulsed at all.
For the next day, these bugs were running around the kitchen, to which Bobby's dad put in a call to the owner of the cabin. He told him about the roaches, and the old codger who was used to living near the soil said, "Aw jess throw em' a piece a bread. That'll keep em' all in a corner eatin' on it. That's what I always do."
Yup, that's what he said to do. And they did and it worked sort of. But going coffee-less for five days made the adults a bit squirrelly and they ended up snarking at each other to the extent they decided to call it a day and go home.
"Roaches?" I asked, eyeing my Styrofoam-covered cup. Had me coffee tasted funny? I was convincing meself it did.
"Yup, they were roaches and it seemed like each day there would be more of them than the day before. That might not have bothered everyone so bad because those bugs are everywhere in Florida, but that they drank them . . . well that was hard to swallow. My uncle Matt hasn't drank coffee since."
"I'll bet, and quite literally," I said as he got up to leave.
When he was gone, I carefully opened the lid on me coffee, fully geared to see roaches floating in it. You know, they pour that stuff, stick the lid on, and God knows what's floating in that dark liquid. After that, I could hardly sip me cup a joe. I took a couple of sips and just couldn't do it.
Now I be in a real pickle over this because I love me coffee, but unless I brew it, I can't seem to bring me lips to the lid top.
These stories must stop because if I keep it up, I will not be going outside or up to the attic, nor will I be drinking coffee. I will be looking under me bed and in the fireplace before I go to sleep, and if I have to get up in the night, you can know I will have a torch with me. Oi, oi, oi! Or as Fionnula said, yikes, yikes, yikes! So, while I have been entertaining you, who don't mind these creepy things, I have mentally psyched meself out. I will be sleepless, home-bound and coffee-less, and that will make Gabriel a very grumpy boy.
Oi!
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
