Idle Minds

Childhood mischief-making started with the question. What would happen if?

What would happen if I pinched my older brother’s chubby thigh while he sat on his potty chair?

If the wheel nuts to my tricycle were loosened to the point of falling off under enthusiastic play–what would happen? It was hilarious, when the back wheels fell off, and the tricycle skidded to a stop in the dust and dirt.

A newly found rusty saw, easily cut though corn stalks, with the assistance of my younger brother.  It brought out woodsman aspirations in both of us.

Corporal punishment administered by my father, was the most frequent answer to the question. Except for the time, I found a spring-loaded varmint trap at grandma’s. It sprang shut on my fingers, as I hollered for help. There was no spanking that time. My pinched fingers were punishment enough.

Don’t Call Us, We’ll Call You

“Do you have Prince Albert in a can?” Asked the prankster caller.  “Well, don’t you think you better let him out?”  The caller hung up to guffaws of laughter.

Telephone pranks, prevalent during my misspent youth–along with, “Is your refrigerator running?”  “Yes it is,” was the expected answer.  “Then you better catch it, it’s running down the road.”

Townsfolk knew they were kids from the neighborhood and meant no harm.

Aren’t junk phone calls annoying? During all hours of the day, especially at inconvenient times.

Telemarketers bad enough, political calls were the absolute worst. Always from the same numbers. Unfamiliar numbers, never answered. Didn’t unwanted callers ever get the message?

No call lists never seemed to help. Telemarketers and their ilk, had ways to hurdle such roadblocks. They used the local area code prefix to snare the unsuspecting. Robocalls randomly dialed number sequences.

Wireless phones were not exempted. Junk calls and text messages abounded.

Games played for commercial purposes, or games played by neighborhood pranksters?  I prefer neighborhood pranksters.