A DOG WITH THREE TESTICLES......

I had known Ken Kendall for many years. Always cheerful, a great yarn spinner and very entertaining to listen to, I found that whenever I was in a pensive mood, meeting him always made me laugh and forget whatever stress I was under. Tall, somewhat overweight, but in a pleasant way, he had the ruddy face of a country lad rather than a city slicker’s. Plus, he had the widest grin in the country, with only his ears to stop his face from splitting.

‘Will you have a cup of coffee with me, Ken?’ I was enjoying the prospect of a good yarn and was not to be disappointed.

‘Alright, Peter.’ He sat down comfortably whilst I ordered him a coffee. ‘I arrived here this morning and have to work my way across the towns along the border with NSW. Which way are you headed?’

‘I have to work my way back to Melbourne, Ken. There is some business to attend to here which I will have finished by tonight.’

Knowing that Ken was privately a keen breeder of dogs and had won numerous prizes by participating in the many dog shows in the country, I steered the conversation to this subject.

‘And how are your dogs doing, Ken? Any recent successes?’

To my amazement, he became suddenly very serious and nearly swallowed his coffee the wrong way.

‘Don’t ask me about that’, he stated, ‘I have had a terrible disappointment recently and suffered great embarrassment which I won’t be living down for a long time! I don’t wanna talk about it.’

Knowing Ken well, I just looked at him in expectation. He was going to tell me the details any moment now and it would be a real yarn! And perhaps it would be a funny story. But I had to help things along. ‘Come on, Ken, you can tell me? You know I love animals; you can confide in me!’

‘Oh, I don’t know, really . . . alright! This is what happened to me.’

I quickly ordered two more capuccinos as he began filling me in.

‘Yes, Peter, like I said, I had a great disappointment at a recent dog show. You know that I breed pedigree dogs and have won a number of prizes with them. Well, I have this beautiful dog and groomed him for an upcoming dog show, confident of winning a prize. Unfortunately, I noticed that the dog had only one testicle, which disqualifies him from any dog show. These dogs have to be perfect! So, I spoke with my veterinary surgeon who explained to me that sometimes one testicle remains in the body.

‘”But we can do something!” he said. “Why don’t you let me give him a silicon implant, the same size as his other testicle - it’s only a very small incision and practically invisible. Nobody will know any difference. And you can show him and win prizes!” Anyway, that’s how my vet talked and I really thought ‘beauty, I’ve solved the problem!’

‘And, what happened? Did it work?’ I was at the edge of my seat.

Ken, who quickly sipped another mouthful, suddenly assumed an expression as if he had just tasted lemon juice.

‘Well, yes and no’, he continued. ‘I had that silicon testicle implanted and the dog looked terrific. Nobody was any the wiser.’

‘And? Did you win a prize with this dog?’ I asked slightly breathless with suspense.

‘Let me finish the story,’ he reprimanded and continued. ‘On the day of the dog show, when the judges came to judge my dog, he was on a high pedestal, with the spotlights trained on him. It got really quiet as everybody’s eyes were riveted on the judges and on my pedigree dog. And then the scandal broke. The judges found that the bloody dog had three testicles! Peter,’ he touched my forearm, ‘it was terrible. I’ll never hear the end of this.’

I doubled up with laughter and wiped the tears from my eyes.

Ken spread his hands disarmingly ‘Honestly, Peter, how could I have known that the thing stuck in his body would suddenly drop overnight. And it did so just in time for the show!’

 Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

http://www.life-on-the-road.com

THE 'ATHLETIC' TRADESMAN!

‘This is ‘Springtime Nursing Homes’ an alarmed voice on the telephone informed me. ‘We have a problem with your vinyl – it won’t stay on the floor! The floor layer is jumping up and down….’

‘I am terribly sorry, but would you mind telling me where you are ringing from?’

The intake of a deep breath was heard. ’This is Brett Langley speaking. I am the manager of the nursing home in the town of Brine. Our local floor layer cannot install your bloody vinyl – it won’t stay on the floor. And our vinyl floor layer is jumping up and down!’

Writing everything down in my trusted day book, I required more details: ’I am giving your matter my utmost attention, Brett, and am noting down all the facts you are giving me….who is your flooring contractor?’

‘It’s Seaside Floor Coverings and the floor layer is a very good bloke, but he’s jumping up and down….’

‘I’ve got that, Brett. Now when can I come and meet you on site? Preferably with your floor layer and the owner of Seaside Floor Coverings…’

‘I want you to come right away, because the floor layer cannot finish his installation, he’s jumping….’

‘Yes, yes, I understand, Brett. Let me make a few phone calls and postpone some appointments I have for this afternoon and I shall ring you back and tell you the exact time I will be in your lovely town!’

And promptly, I arranged for a site-meeting for 4 pm and arrived somewhat earlier to familiarise myself with the situation.

Of course, not all tradesmen are like that. Most of them are hard working and decent people who have learned their trade properly in the colleges. They dress professionally and cleanly, remove surplus glue marks off the vinyl floor immediately and sweep the floor clean. Some even have a floor polisher with them and give their flooring a wonderful shine as the extra touch to an outstanding installation!

I had no chance of finding out to which category this floor layer belonged to – he wasn’t there!

‘Where is the floor layer?’ I enquired with amazement.

‘He is not here!’ His boss stated the obvious.

‘Why isn’t he?’ I enquired.

‘He had other things to do!’ His boss did not like being quizzed too deeply.

I took a deep breath. ‘If I come all the way from Melbourne in this matter, one would think that, if only for legal reasons, he’ll be here……’

‘You tell me and I’ll pass it on to him!’ His boss became more brutish.

‘I have to ask a few questions about the installation and if you can answer them for him, it is all right. Now what is the general problem?’

‘Well, don’t you see, it doesn’t stay put. The floor layer was jumping up and down……’

Brett Langley from the nursing home contributed: ‘ As you can see, he tried to install the stairs and couldn’t do it…your material!‘ Hitting me with an accusing look.

‘Ah, firstly, stairs need to be installed upwards not downwards – that’s the correct procedure - Australian Standard.’

Brett went on the attack: ‘Listen, he was jumping up and down….’

‘What adhesive was used? This question I directed to the flooring retailer.

‘Whatever you recommend!’

‘I am sorry, but for legal reasons you need to tell me, as I have to note down your answer.’

A shrug of the shoulder was the only answer.

The manager of the nursing home became impatient. ‘He is a very good bloke, Syd is. Tried very hard to install your flooring – for two days, actually. And then he came on Saturday as well and couldn’t do it. He was jumping……’

‘Yes, I’ve made a note of it.’

‘Now, has the subfloor been sanded and sealed?’ A shrug of the shoulders followed.

‘Has he spread the adhesive, whatever he used, with a trowel that has the correct size of notches?’ They darted incredulous glances darted at each other.

‘Has he got a trade certificate…..’

That hit home and everybody gasped!

‘Ah’, I thought, ‘he hasn’t!’

And now they were speaking to me simultaneously in a wild babble, accompanied with frantic gestures of their hands.

‘He was jumping up and down’ they kept repeating.

There was nothing more to be achieved. So, I managed to stay polite and outwardly calm and bid them farewell. This is one of the cases where I could not convince anybody of anything and drove off with the two still shouting behind me the main achievements of their athletic floor layer!

 Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

http://www.life-on-the-road.com 

LANGUAGE DIFFICULTIES…..

After nearly an hour's driving on the Sunrasia country road, I decided to stop for my purchase of oranges. It was a simple shed, knocked together with old timber and provided a little shade and protection from the elements. It had one side open and looked more like a primitive bus shelter. There were lots and lots of crates piled high around it ‘very optimistically’, I thought.
‘Good morning’ I greeted an old lady in a dark dress, bent forward with age, and seemingly selling her wares. She smiled back, welcoming me as a customer.
We all have more than five senses and somehow I felt that she did not understand me.
‘Buon giorno, signora,’ I tried my elementary – very elementary Italian.
‘Buon giorno signor’ she greeted me back ecstatically.
‘Una belissima giorna’, I pointed at the clear blue sky and the golden sunshine.
She nodded emphatically, obviously grateful for my linguistic endeavours. Knowing what I came for, she lifted with difficulty one bag of her oranges.
‘Due, por favore!’ I held up two fingers.
‘Si!’ She nodded eagerly and placed two bags onto a small table which served as a counter. The spindly legs of the table started to wobble under the weight and for a moment I had the urge to grab and stabilise it.
Since the total amount was five dollars I handed her the bank note and thought that this transaction would be final. I lifted up my two bags but she motioned me to wait, for some reason.
Rummaging around in her plastic box she tried to hand me some money, as if for a change.
Looking at it, I realised that she was trying to give me change for fifty dollars and was doing so with a grateful smile. A feeling of compassion overcame me. I felt so sorry for that poor woman who obviously had nobody left in Italy and therefore had joined her younger relations in Australia. With everything so strange around her, she was trying to cope and be productive in what we call the ‘golden years’.
‘No, no, signora – cinque dollar!’ pointing at the till where my five dollar note was secured.
She understood immediately and after her initial shock at nearly making such an enormous mistake, her smile became wider, her wrinkled face more open and her friendly dark eyes looked at me gratefully. Being aware that I would not have understood more, she warmly shook my hand and repeated
‘Mille grazie, mille grazie’.
‘Preggo’ is all I could say, hoping that it was the right thing for this situation and lifted up my bags.
I noticed a gold tooth flashing in her friendly smile and her wave of ‘Goodbye’ followed me as I drove on till she was out of my sight.

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

AN EMBARASSING MOMENT IN TASMANIA….

My next call was Alliance Floors, a large retail shop whose retailer was my long-time friend Alfred Johnson. Originally from England, he had a lovely Manchester accent. I had worked with him many years ago in a Melbourne floor covering shop where I got to know him very well. He was what people called ‘an eager beaver’, that is, hard-working, with a cheerful disposition and with his dry English observations, I always looked forward to seeing him again!

Entering his large shop, I found it empty, except for a pretty lady who was adjusting a stack of rugs – clearly a good housewife.

‘Hello! Would Alfred be around?’

She looked up at me and smiled: ‘No, sorry, he had to rush out on an urgent case and will be away for a while. I am Elizabeth, his wife!’

‘Nice to meet you Elizabeth! How are things, is business going well?’ I handed her my business card.

‘Oh, you are Peter – Al has told me a lot about you! Only good things, of course,’ she added with a giggle. ‘I have a photo at home with you and Al from your Melbourne days.

‘That’s nice, Elizabeth…..well, how is your business? I repeated my question.

‘Yes, thank you! We cannot complain.’

‘Al is a very hard worker, I know. And it is very nice of you to help him in the shop.’

She laughed: ‘Oh, I am just an unpaid worker, you know!’

‘You are a great help to him, I am sure. And should get some reward for all your good work!‘ I tried to flatter her.

And without any change in her conversational tone, I heard her say: ‘Oh, I get it every Sunday morning!’

I froze on the spot! This was one of those moments when I had the feeling of not having heard right.

‘She cannot possibly mean what I think she means’ were my thoughts. Or, perhaps, did somebody else say that in this shop? Red-faced and looking helplessly around I became aware of her pealing laughter, loud and with ‘joie de vivre’ as the French say. And her state of merriment increased in direct proportion to my embarrassment.

Finally, shaking myself out of it, I gave her some new sample swatches of PVC vinyl floorings, together with pricelist and technical data sheets. I was surprised to discover that she was very conversant in this field and offered to pass-on to Al all my imparted knowledge. Finally, grateful for her expertise, I took my leave and sat in my car for a while to ponder the situations I sometimes get into.

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

http://www.life-on-the-road.com

PLAYING AGAINST A TEAM OF WOMEN…..

Frank Rizzo was one of my favourite floor covering retailers: only a short time in business and already he owned three retail shops and also had a commercial team working on large building projects, installing floors in shopping centres, hospitals and in doing so had established himself as an outstanding flooring contractor.

But, above all, he was a great communicator and we often chatted lengthily about other subjects than our business. This time, it was no different.

‘Peter!’ His recognisable voice came over my hands-free car phone. ‘I’ll come straight to the point because I have some customers waiting here. Would you like to play soccer with a team of retailers? It is in a month’s time, on a Sunday, and I am still working out the details…..’

‘Oh, hello Frank!’ It was typical that I was still in greeting mode while he was already in the middle of the topic. ‘Did you say soccer?’

‘Yes, Peter, soccer!’ Always helpful towards a slow-thinking rep, I thought.

‘I would like to join such a team, Frank. Who else would be there – I mean any other reps?’

‘No, Peter. It is a team of retailers and you would be the only supplier there!’

That was an honour indeed! Whilst Frank has organised his competitors into the team, I would be without any business rivals there and the PR value of this would be great. Retailers would smile at me as soon as I entered their shop instead of their usual stare that says ‘oh, another rep!’

This was an exiting opportunity, but I adopted a calm voice: ’Count me in, Frank….and thank you for thinking of me.’

‘That’s all right, Peter. I figure if you are as good a player as you are a salesman, we can only win. Ha, ha.’

‘Whom are we playing? I hope it’s not a professional soccer team!’ A situation of fiasco quickly flashed through my mind.

‘Women, Peter!’

‘I am sorry, did you say women?’

‘Yes, women. A team of female soccer players. And the referee will be a well-known sports person, he’s always on television. I can’t tell you more as I am still organising everything….’

‘ A team of women?’ I was lagging behind his conversation.

‘Yes, why not?

‘I can’t play against a team of women!’

‘What’s the difference? Besides, we will win easily, have a lot of fun and a celebration after. All in all, it will be a match with a difference and certainly

great entertainment!’ Thus was the persuasive powers of a successful retail salesman!

His final words were: ’Have to go now! Great to have you in our team…talk to you later!’ ‘Click’ and he was gone, leaving me sitting in my car with great trepidation. I had never played against a team of women. What were the rules in such a case? I mean women were so gentle and sensitive and I would want to remain courteous and chivalrous.

But, how would I tackle them? I certainly could not touch them as I do not want to cause a misunderstanding.

In my irrational mind I saw myself saying to such a delicate player: ‘After you..’ and letting her have the ball. However, the more robust person in me told me not to be an idiot. But what were the rules here?

Declan had been most generous when he allowed me to purchase, with company money, a pair of football boots. ‘You cannot play in some old stinking boots – out of the question!’ was his comment.

The shorts were to be black with dark blue knee-high socks and a white singlet. But our football skills were the great unknown factor and we convinced each other that we were only playing against girls.

The day of the game arrived. It was a warm Sunday morning and on the sports ground we players met with the referee, Anthony Sedwick, a well known sportsperson I had often seen on television, commenting on matches and long distance running.

‘This will be great, Peter!’ Frank was rubbing his hands with glee, looking at the sunny sky.

A wag behind me rasped in the thickest gangster slang: ‘Where are the broads?’ Spinning around I discovered Ben Halloran, another retailer from the western suburbs. He was in stark contrast to his voice, being a smallish, rather thin person, a devout father and would not dare to joke like that in his shop were his wife is around.

A group of spectators had also arrived – where were they coming from? They cheerfully sat down on the benches and chatted amongst themselves with an air of excitement.

Then the opposing team arrived in a small bus. Looking neither left nor right, they headed straight to their changing room and reappeared soon after in their neat football team colours.

They were professional-looking in their bright yellow blouses, white shorts and yellow knee-high socks. Their boots were of the highest quality, the type only experts would buy. The hair styles were either short or straight back, ending with a pony tail. Their attractive faces were without make-up, showing no emotions; they only nodded to each other sometimes knowingly.

Without a word, they lined up on the field and the referee took charge, explaining quickly the rules, mainly for our benefit. We took positions and Anthony blew the whistle after a quick glance at his watch.

The match began rather tamely, with a quick kicking of the ball, back and forth as if trying out our legs. After which one of the girls interfered by claiming ownership over it. Racing towards our goal, my position as a defender became active.

There was a young lady with me all the time and she was about my size and very sturdy looking. Her face was smooth and comely even without the application of any cosmetics; she had ruddy cheeks and looked more like a farm hand than somebody from the city. She gave me a quick glance, up and down for instant assessment, nodded, blinked and stored a picture of me away in her mind.

Her hair was short and blond, well brushed back and she had this self-assured calmness about her that started to worry me somehow.

And there was the opposition coming with the ball!

Rushing forward to block the ball, my opponent crashed into me, knocking me to the ground with a force that made me gasp for breath. What had just happened? I had only tried to take the ball off a young lady without hurting her.

Recovering, I regained my feelings of superiority and the next time the ball came near me I went for it. So did my shadow from the opposition. I was just about to kick a pass towards my striker when I was tackled in a most severe manner. First, I felt as if I had been hit by a potato sack, then there was a whack against my shins and I found myself on the ground again.

A whistle blew and our team was given a free kick but somehow, this was easily converted into a goal against us!

I can only report that the game got rougher from then on. Never had I been so bumped into, trampled on and crashed to the ground. Oh, and a few elbow blows to my rib cage made me wheeze like a concertina.

What happened to our superiority? I glanced at my counterpart and she seemed as calm as ever, except one strand of hair had come loose and hung over her forehead. Every now and then she blew it aside. Her knowing eyes followed the ball and she kept re-positioning herself, but always covering me carefully at the same time.

Then the ball came from high in the sky towards me, meant for my enemy, of course. But this time I was determined to gain possession of it, no matter what!

As it came down from outer space, I jumped high into the air to head it off to an expectantly waiting team member in a forward position.

But I had forgotten that this was a leather ball and heavy like lead. Heading it off all right and into the correct direction, there was this blinding flash with a loud ‘crack’ and suddenly the biggest headache I had ever experienced made me stagger around the field, with my eyes closed, teeth gritted and in a daze. Did my head meet with a cannon ball? What was this object? Noticing me wobbling around, the referee sent me off the field. Somehow, I eventually reached a bench and the pain in my head went on a rampage.

And what was this loud ‘crack’? Fingering my skull I found nothing damaged but my glasses must have been involved in the act and showed a fracture in the frame.

The rest of the game was a debacle, we lost the match by God knows how many points! My friend Frank first tried to play rough, bumping happily into his attractive opponent but she hardly noticed. Running him down and hitting him on his shins a few times took his breath away and his self-confident posture gave way to an expression of first disbelief, followed by despair.

When it was all over, we had a dejected gathering in our dressing room. It was a quiet meeting as nobody had any words for what had just happened.

Finally, Frank looked up at me: ‘How could this happen, Peter? Imagine! A team of girls!’

‘I don’t know, Frank! But you’ve done your best – you played as unfair as you could!’

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

http://www.life-on-the-road.com