Profane Gas and Passing The Smell Test

Folks, never be the only person in your family to own a pickup truck. Like wise, never be the only one who knows which is the business end of a screwdriver. Believe me, nothing good will ever come of these things.
Years ago I worked at a local hardware and lumber store and had to deal with all kinds of people. Many of our customers were not overly educated. Grilling out this past Memorial Day reminded me of a funny incident from those days. A woman came up to the counter and told me she wanted some “profane gas.” It was all I could do to maintain my composure as I rang her up a tank of propane gas.
On another occasion I had a woman ask me where to find a “three-sprong cadapter.” That one took me aback and I asked her what she needed it for. It seemed someone had sold her a window air conditioner and told her all she needed to do was to get an adapter to allow her 220 volt air unit to work off a 100 outlet. I finally convinced her to either return the air conditioner or call an electrician.
There was another time when a woman (ladies, I am not picking on your gender, many of our male customers were just as clueless) said her chiropractor told her that her bed needed to be raised a few inches. I did not want to charge her for a couple pieces of scrap wood I knew we had so we went out to the lumber yard and I picked out two chunks of suitable wood. I assumed that her headboard was in need of the extra height. No, she told me she needed pieces for all four bed legs. I could not convince her that she was only slightly defeating gravity. She left a happy camper with four pieces or wood.
I see where Charleston City Council is debating whether to mandate that all new bars opening up in a certain area of downtown close by midnight. I do not have a dog in this hunt because the only times I see 12 a.m. is when one of my cats wake me up. However, this does not pass the smell test of fairness. It does remind me of something my friend’s father used to tell us back in high school – “Boys, nothing good ever happens after midnight.” We heeded his advise on occasion. If the ordinance passes, I guess the new establishments will not be hosting any New Year’s Eve parties.
Last week I was up on Rivers’ Avenue and saw a billboard advertising the services of a law firm. I will not mention the attorney. There was a picture of a smiling woman and the lawyer and the the caption read something like “I slipped in a hotel lobby and the result … $800,000” I may have gotten the wording a little wrong, but that was the gist of it. I assume they settled out of court because if I were on that jury, I would need to see brains oozing out of the woman’s ears or bones protruding from arms or legs before I would ever even think about awarding that large sum of money.
Well, it is time to sign off. I have many hotels to visit in my slick soled shoes. Wish me luck.
James David Altman lives in West Ashley and has been a contributing columnist for several publications. He’s the son of the late former S.C. Republican House of Representative of John Graham Altman III. You can reach him at rabidreb@gmail.com