Hat Tips

Hello, I’m writing this on Cyber-Monday. I’m not a real tech guy. I can’t program the coffee pot to make coffee in the morning.

dean-meyer

By Dean Martin  

Sponsored by these friendly businesses: Buckskin Bar & Grill and Farmers Union Insurance Agent BreeAnn Hauck

I don’t set an alarm clock, because if I set it for seven, it wakes me up ten minutes after I have gone to bed. I don’t set the TV recording thing and my clock in the pickup stays on Mountain Time all year long. Daylight savings just doesn’t cut it in Dean’s World.
But, in spite of not being a real tech guy, I have become attached to my phone. If I feel my pocket and my phone isn’t there, I break out in hives, my blood pressure rises, a cold sweat breaks out, and I begin uncontrollable shaking. And then I start grasping all over and screaming for someone to call my phone so I can hear it. Which doesn’t work very well when you are the only one in screaming distance.
Last week, I think I reached a new low. I had arranged to meet a few friends about sundown for intelligent conversation and ridicule. This would probably involve dice or pinochle cards. This was on a Monday evening.
Beings it was Monday, I thought I would call my brother and check on the cattle market at the weekly sale in Rugby. Now, I don’t recommend it, especially in the traffic in Dickinson, but I was on the phone while driving. Not texting mind you. But visiting. As I pulled into the parking lot and dismounted (that’s what we cowboys say) from the pickup, I continued talking.
Just, out of sheer habit, as I reached for the door of the pub, I felt my shirt pocket to be sure I still had my phone. Gone! I swore and started back to the pickup. My brother asked what was wrong. I told him I had forgotten my phone in the pickup and was heading back to the pickup. There was a pause and he asked whose phone I was talking on. Made me feel very smart.
I have one friend who does not have a cell phone. Other than that, he seems to be a fairly normal guy. Well, not really normal or he probably wouldn’t be my friend. But I marvel at this guy! How does he doe it? What if there is an emergency? What if we need a fourth for pinochle? How does he check the markets? How does he take pictures of his cat? How can he learn to sing “All about the bass?” That’s pronounced base. Not like the fish.
He eloquently explains that he got by for a lot of years without checking the markets several times a day. And he can’t change the market anyway. He doesn’t care to dance when doing chores. If he is not busy, he will already be at the pinochle game. And he hates cats.
But then, by chance, he agreed to haul a load of cows for me. And he didn’t show up at the appointed time. His pickup had gone on the blink. We met him on the road and I assured him, that although he had promised me, I would not hold it against him, and we could make another trip, although we would be loading in the dark of night. I really made him feel bad.
We made the seventy-mile trip back to the pasture in the dark. There, thanks to us having to make the extra trip, right by the corral, stood the last bull we had been missing! And if my phoneless friend had made the load, we would still be short that bull!
One of these days I am going to leave my phone in the house all by itself. But not today.
Later,
Dean


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