Melty

  When I first started working at Belk in Columbia Mall, I was put in charge of the Books and Candy departments.  I loved to work in Books.  I had a lot of experience selling books.  Candy was a different story.  Despite wanting to sell books, I found that the majority of my time was spent selling candy.  Of course, I had to sample the candy to know what I was selling.  At least, that was my excuse.  

 One item we sold a lot of was something called "Smooth N Melty Mints".  They were flat and came in several bright colors.  They came in a cellophane bag.  Most of our sales came from folks planning weddings, because they served them at receptions.  They were $3.99 per bag.  

 A man came into the store on a Saturday in the summer to buy several bags of the mints.  He was getting them for his son's wedding that evening.  There was a warning on the bag that said not to leave the mints in a hot car.  After all, they would melt.  He bought the bags and left.  A few hours later, he stormed into our store and laid these blobs of melted mints on my counter still in the bags.  He said he had driven over to Dutch Square and had left the mints in his car.  When he came back out, they had melted in the bags.  I showed him the warning on the bag about not leaving them in a hot car, but he was furious and wanted to sue the store for selling a faulty product.  He wanted to see my supervisor.

 I called her to come out and talk to this angry man.  When she heard what had happened, she had to stifle her laughter.  I was trying to do the same.  I wanted to suggest to the man that he take some scissors and cut the mints, but I knew that would just throw gasoline on a fire.  He wanted to exchange the mints for good ones.  My supervisor showed him the warning label on the bag, but he wasn't satisfied.  He threatened to cut up his Belk charge card and told us he would tell others to do the same, because we sold defective merchandise.  My supervisor told me to give him an exchange for new bags, which I did.  

 My supervisor told me to throw them away.  I kept one bag to show customers what would happen if they left the mints in a hot car.  It never happened again on my watch.

Streaking

  Back in 1974, I was a junior at Presbyterian College.  There was a fad on campuses all over America called Streaking.  Students would run nude across campus and try not to get caught by the police.  We were warned a head of time that the PC students were not allowed to streak.  It would mean that the police would arrest whoever they caught, and the school would take appropriate disciplinary action including expulsion.  

 There was a rumor around campus that some students were going to streak on an upcoming night.  The police were ready, as were the administration officials.  No girls showed up for the event, but a few guys did.  They had bags over their heads to avoid being recognized, and there was alcohol involved.  One of my Theatre friends went running across campus, but his bag turned sideways, and he couldn't see out of the eye holes of the bag.  He ran right into a police car and was stopped.  He was fined for indecent exposure and let go.  The school didn't do anything except tell him not to do it again.

 I got caught up in the streaking fever that night, but I wasn't going to run across campus.  I stripped down in the restroom of the Student Center and ran ten feet to the next building over which was a classroom building.  I don't think anybody saw me, because all of the attention was on the students across campus.  Just as well.

 Some of the girls did expose their butts from the windows of a dorm to the adoring boys down below.  We cheered for more, but that was all they were willing to do.  

 It was a wild night at PC.  It was supposed to be a religious school.  It was in name only.  

Plate

  I never had a vanity license plate for my car.  Personalizing it just wasn't what I wanted.  Maybe it was a little paranoia, but I just didn't want to stand out in traffic.  I wanted anonymity.  I just took whatever plate the DMV would send me.

 One day, I got the plate in the mail, and to my surprise, the plate read "DMW 777".  It had my initials spelled backwards plus three "7s", which was my lucky number.  When I had plates before, I had to remember them by making up words that were close to the letters and numbers.  Now, it was a no brainer.  Was it a stroke of luck that I had this special plate?  Was it random?  I didn't really have a clue, but I knew I could easily remember it.

 I worked at Columbia Mall, which had some crime areas near there.  It wasn't in the best of neighborhoods.  As I was getting off work from Macy's, a friend wanted me to see her new car.  When I walked back to my car, I saw that my license plate was gone.  It couldn't have fallen off, because I had securely fastened it.  There had been a rash of stolen license plates from cars in the parking lot.  Panic set in.  What if the person used my plate on a car involved in a crime, and I would be blamed for it.

 There was a Richland County Sheriff's substation inside the mall.  I went in there to report my stolen license plate.  They told me I wasn't the first one that this had happened to, which I already knew.  They gave me a slip of paper to take to the DMV to get a new plate and to present to any officer, if I got stopped before getting to the DMV.  Thankfully, there was a DMV close to the mall, so I didn't have to go far.  I could take a lot of backroads getting to the mall from my apartment so as to avoid as many officers as possible.

 I got a new plate with random letters and numbers.  I really liked "DMW 777".  I hope whoever used it after me liked it, too.  All the way to jail.

Forging

 From early on in my academic years, I had been told by teachers and my parents how smart I was.  Testing revealed that I had an above-average IQ bordering on genius.  There were two problems with me being so smart.  The first was that I didn't study for tests. I just didn't see the need to study.  The second problem was that I just didn't care about my grades, even though my teachers and my parents did.  It was very hard for me to make an A or a B, unless it was in a class I liked.  Unfortunately, there weren't many of those classes being offered. When I got to college, I found that I was very good in Speech and Drama.  I loved those courses and made A's in those.  I had a 4.0 in my major which made up for those F's.

 In 8th grade, I was not doing well at all.  I got beat up every day by bullies. I hated coming to school.  My grades were suffering.  So, I decided to do something that would avoid the embarrassment of bringing home a bad report card.  A parent had to sign the report card, before the student brought it back to school.  I learned how to forge my father's signature.  

 He signed things in a very distinctive way.  It took practice to sign "John K. Durst" correctly.  The last name was easy, because he used the line off of the "D" to go above the rest of the letters and cross the "t" at the end.  I worked for about a week to get his signature down to a copy of his.  I would turn in the report card with the forgery, and my teachers never knew the difference.  Some kids would be creative and change "F's" to "A's" by just adding one line.  Some of the teachers got wise to that and changed from printing grades to using cursive writing.  It was harder to make that change for the students.

 One day, my father asked me why he hadn't seen my report card in almost a year.  I tried to make up an excuse, but nothing was very believable.  He called the school and asked them if they were still issuing report cards.  They said yes, every six weeks.  My deception had been discovered.  My father was mad at me along with my teachers.  I felt the sting of the paddle that my father gave me for my forging his name. From then on, my father knew when a report card would be released, and he demanded to see it.  Those days weren't happy after that.  

 I still didn't study, and I still didn't care about my grades, but at least I graduated by the skin of my teeth.  High School.  College.  Graduate school.  No more forging.

Amazing

  One of the places I loved to go to, when I lived in Fort Worth, was Six Flags Over Texas in Arlington.  It was halfway between Fort Worth and Dallas.  I also loved roller coasters, and I found that I could ride one coaster and sing the first verse of "Amazing Grace" before the first drop.  For some reason, I found that very calming.

 Before moving to Texas, I went to Six Flags there while in college.  They had two things there that I really liked.  One was a tower that you could go up in and see the entire park.  The other was a gondola ride that went across the park.  Since I was a little mischievous back then, I used both things for pranks.

 I was riding the gondola ride and had some pennies in my pocket.  I was about 20 feet above the ground, so I dropped pennies from the gondola on unsuspecting people.  I tried not to hit them on their heads but aimed for right in front of them.  Sometimes I missed and actually hit some people.  I didn't think they knew it was me, but I learned later that some people had reported the Pennies from Heaven.

 I moved onto the tower.  It was much higher than the gondola, and it was a hot day.  How do you cool off the people walking below the tower?  By spitting off of the tower and aiming at people.  It seemed perfectly logical.  I got a few good spits off of the tower, when a security guard came up to me.  He asked me if I had been spitting off of the tower.  I denied it, but they had witnesses.  He then asked if I was the one who was throwing pennies at people off of the gondola.  Of course not, I said.  They had witnesses.  I was asked to leave the park.  I was with some friends, but they didn't care.  

 Fortunately, it was about the time I was to meet up with my friends to leave anyway.  I bet the people I threw pennies near kept the money, and the ones that got spit on got cooled off some.  They never got the chance to thank me.  I was the "Lone Stranger". 

Hut

  When I was a member of Kilbourne Park Baptist Church, we had a great youth group.  Because we were so tight, the church decided to give us a house on the property for us to hang out in.  It had been used for Sunday School classes, but the church didn't need it anymore.  We were very excited to get this one-story house.  It had two large rooms on either side of the house which were separated by a long and wide hallway.  It had wooden floors and sheet rock for the walls.  We needed to do some work to get it the way we wanted it.

 The church provided us with the necessary materials like paint.  They also gave us some adult help on how to paint the walls mostly with rollers.  We had fun painting the walls, as well as ourselves.  We learned the trick of using masking tape for the edges.  There was some disagreement on what colors to paint the walls, but the majority ruled--purple, white, green and pink.  Some of the kids wanted to paint the walls in psychedelic colors, but the church said no.

 As we were preparing the house, we had an idea to knock down the hallway walls and make one big room combining both side rooms and the hall.  We asked for sledgehammers to get this done.  One of the church's members was a contractor.  He had the blueprints for the house.  He came by one day and asked us what we wanted the hammers for.  We told him about our plans, and his mouth dropped open.  He told us that if we were to go through with our plans, the roof would cave in.  Those two walls supported the roof.  We decided that we would just use the rooms as they were and not to knock down any walls.  It was probably a good decision.  

 The church called it "The Youth Hut".  It was our home away from home, until the church took it back and used it for other things.  Eventually, it was torn down and turned into a parking lot.  We had a lot of fun in that house.

Tub

  I prefer baths to showers.  I always have.  It reminds me of my childhood.  A word of advice:  never lose your inner child.  I take baths and listen to music. It is the nicest part of my day to be in a hot bath and listening to my stereo.  Today, it was Stevie Ray Vaughan.  Showers are okay, if I don't have a choice.  It is just relaxing to be in a bath.

 This brings me to an experience, when I lived in a condo in Greenville.  The buildings were close to one another, and they formed alleys between each building.  My bedroom was on the second floor and overlooked the alley and the back of the next building.  The guy, who lived in the opposite condo, was a bit overweight.  I'm being nice.  He probably weighed 300 pounds.  Every morning, unless it was storming, he would come outside on his porch; strip down to nakedness; and stand in a metal tub to take a bath.  Even in the rain and the cold, he would have this ritual.  Unfortunately for me, I would see him from my bedroom.  I wanted to look away, but it was like watching a car wreck.  Maybe, he was too large to fit into his tub inside, although those tubs were pretty big.  Maybe, he was a nudist.  I never met him to find out.  He was the real-life "ugly naked guy" character from "Friends".

 I would hope that we would have thunderstorms in the mornings, because it wouldn't have been safe for him to stand in a metal tub with water.  Although, I secretly wanted for him to test the laws of electricity.  Some of the condo's residents complained about his show every morning, but the owners said he was within his rights to do that on his property.  If he had been a supermodel, and she was bathing herself outside, it would have been vastly different.  If anyone sees me taking a bath outside on my porch, call the folks with the rubber rooms.