Today Pam and I were listening to a person on YouTube. It was someone who is on the radio every day. Portions of their broadcast are replayed on YouTube.
This person was talking about some politicians who had done some really bad things… allegedly. The commentator was suggesting serious consequences for these naughty politicians .
I said out loud, “Hang ‘em!”
Pam said in enthusiastic agreement, “Yeah, like they used to do with cow wrestlers.”
Me: “Cow wrestlers? I don’t think you mean wresters, I think you mean rustlers.”
Pam started laughing and that short conversation was over.
It reminded me of my friend Mike.
My friend Mike wanted to be a worm wrangler.
Sometimes you have jobs that lead to long lasting friendships. Other times those friendships evaporate after you separate from an employer. My friend Mike was in this second category, so that I never found out if he got to be a wrangler.
When Mike wasn’t working I had the distinct notion that he spent a lot of time at the bait shop nearby to where he lived somewhere in that mysterious state of Arkansas. They drank coffee there at the bait shop, and were routinely interrupted to sell bait.
Men, retired and wishing they were retired, would go to the bait shop and drink coffee, talk about the weather, the fishing prospects and most importantly to swap stories. Mike was good at all of that.
Apparently he was also really good with worms.
He wanted to retire and be a “worm wrangler”. I don’t know if he was going to get paid in money or if he was going to be paid in coffee. If he were paid that would make him a professional and he might have to join the PWWA… Profession Worm Wrangler Association and pay union dues and go to meetings etc. So my bet would be that he just got paid in coffee, and maybe smokes. I don’t know if you can smoke in a bait shop, but if you can, Mike would.
Mike traveled in his job and I traveled in mine. Our jobs necessarily overlapped and we would find ourselves working together. When that happened we would drink coffee, talk about the weather and the people we worked with and how the world could be better if we were in charge. We did a lot of driving and that driving was intrrupted by calling on customers and wannabe customers. (Wannabe, meaning we wanted them to be customers, but they were reluctant for some unknown and unknowable reasons.)
On the occasion of meeting Mike I would ask him about his dream of working in the bait shop upon retirement. I would purposely mis-state his dream job by asking something like…
“Are they still holding open that job for you at the bait shop as ‘worm rustler’”
I knew this would cause fireworks. It always did and I was very entertained.
He would say, “What is wrong with you?!?!?! How many times do I have to tell you it ain’t rustler… it is wrangler!”
Mike was not a big person and he talked with his hands. So when he would get excited his hands would start beating the air and he would be shaking all over because of the flailing arms.
“Don’t you know the difference between a wrangler and a rustler? I’m a wrangler!”
I don’t think he ever fully explained the difference between a wrangler and a rustler.
Nor was there any instructions on how to wrangle a worm. In my pea sized brain you “herded” them into a styrofoam container making sure there was some dirt in there with them to make them feel good about their short lives and put a plastic lid on. Maybe you would write with a marker on the outside the container “Worms”. Or maybe you would scribble the type of worm “Night Crawlers”. Or “Red Worms”… if there is such a thing.
Was Mike an actor and played a part when asked about his future rustler endeavors? Did he really think that I couldn't remember that we had done the rustler vs wrangler bit many times? I couldn’t tell. He played his part over and over again and the theatre lasted until the friendship was over.
I hope Mike is wrangling worms somewhere in the hills of Arkansas…
… and I hope Pam does not take up cow wrestling.