Yield: Our illicit teenage drinking
Much of the appeal of the “good ol’ days” from old geezers like me is that the funny stories from those days just keep on coming.
I went to lunch last week with an old geezer named Milkan Tosser and we got to telling stories about some of the jobs we had back when we were young. Then the conversation morphed into incidents from our younger days when we tried to be grown up by sneaking illicit alcoholic beverages from various sources.
That’s when ol’ Mil recalled his teenage job driving a truck route as a milk hauler picking up cans of milk from the many small dairies in his county.
Mil said that one hot, sultry, humid summer day he stopped to pick up milk cans at a farm and he noticed some brown beer bottles nestled all cold and inviting from the bottom of the ice-bank milk cooler. So, he pulled one out to investigate.
The bottle wuz half-full of liquid, but the top of the bottle wuz plugged with a cork, not a regular bottle cap. Well, Mil decided that the beer bottle owner was being frugal and not drinking the entire bottle after he popped the cap.
After giving about a half-second thought to the idea of putting the illicit beer back in the milk cooler, ol’ Mil’s parched throat and sweaty brow won the day and he popped the cork out of the bottle and took a big swig.
Ugh! Yuk! He discovered quickly that the beer bottle contents wuzn’t beer, but some kind of cattle medication.
Mil said he spit it out as best he could and drove the rest of his route waiting to get sick. But, he said he had no ill effects and that the cattle medicine must have long-term benefits because he’s never suffered from black-leg, brucellosis or anaplasmosis.
That’s when I had to tell a somewhat similar story about illicit drinking from my teen years.
My dad, ol’ Czar E. Yield, wuzn’t a regular imbiber, but he savored his occasional beers. And only time I recall that he bought wine was around the Christmas holidays.
Well, one December evening when I wuz putting a 10-gallon milk can in our ice-bank milk cooler, I noticed a gallon jug of wine bobbing around in the ice-cold water. I took a look and it wuz a gallon jug of Mogen David grape wine with only a swig or two taken out of the bottle.
So, looking around surreptitiously, I opened the jug and took a big swig myself and put the bottle back. The next evening, I did the same.
Well, ol’ Czar must have had a sharp eye on the level of the wine in his jug and he must have determined that I was sipping when I shouldn’t have been because on the third evening the entire jug of wine wuz gone. I figgered he’d gotten wise and hidden the jug from me.
I looked and looked for where he’d hidden that jug of wine, but couldn’t find it.
Well, the next morning while dad wuz milking, my job wuz to put out hay for the cows and heifers and then go to school. I wuz up in the hay mow and used my hay hook to pull out a bottom bale to make a pile fall down. Crash! Bang! When the dust settled, not only were there bales of hay at my feet, but good ol’ dad’s hidden-way jug of Mogen David wine.
So, I did what any good red-blooded American farm boy would do in that case. I took a short swig from the jug and then hid the jug from ol’ Czar in a horse manger on the first floor of the barn.
Funny thing, Dad never mentioned the missing jug and neither did I. But I did finish the jug with little sips over time.
Another friend of mine, ol’ Teller Likitis, has been having a medical problem that required numerous tests and repeat tests. His doctor scheduled one more final test. Well, the day before the test, a nurse from the doctor’s office, called to remind Teller about the appointment.
She told him the time, then asked, “Do you understand why we are doing this test?”
Teller never missed a beat in replying, “Why sure. The doctor needs to make more money!”
He said it got so quiet on the other end of the line that he thought the nurse had hung up.
Farmer to grouchy teenage son: “Son, did you know you were adopted?”
Son: “Then I want to go live with my biological parents!”
Father: “We are your biological parents. Now pack up. Your new ones are picking you up in 20 minutes.”
Overheard at the coffee shop: “It’s an irony that the judges who say we don’t need to stand up for the national anthem expect us to stand up when they enter the courtroom. Wonder what they’d do if they came into a courtroom and everyone took a knee?”
Probably a contempt of court citation.
That’s enuf wisdom for this week. Buckle up. Bundle up. Check the first-calf heifers. Hope the new calf is a heifer or a bull. Have a good ‘un.❖