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Topic ClosedRosie’s Rebuke

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TasunkaWitko View Drop Down
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aka The Gipper

Joined: 10 June 2003
Location: Chinook Montana
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Points: 14749
Direct Link To This Post Topic: Rosie’s Rebuke
    Posted: 29 March 2004 at 04:32

Rosie's Rebuke

© 2004 Ken Overcast

Rosie worked down at the Co-op when I was a

kid. My Dad and Grandad always did a lot of the

shoppin' to keep our outfit going at that place, so

we got to know him pretty well. I guess his real

name was Cloyd Rosenbaum, but Rosie is all anyone

ever called him. What a nice fella he was, too. He

was a broad shouldered, red faced sort of a guy

that walked with a pretty pronounced limp. His gait

seemed to get a little worse as he grew older, and

his hearing wasn't as good as it could have been either.

He was the guy in charge of the hardware store,

and the one that pumped the gas or got the barrel

of oil for you from the warehouse across the street

from the station if that's what you needed. Rosie

was nearly as old has my Grandad, and had worked

in that place ever since I could remember.

One July day back in the fifties, he got himself

in a real mess. I just happened to be in the right

place to hear the entire exchange I'm about to relate,

or the poor guy would have probably gone to his

grave wondering why that lady from back east had

been so rude to him.

A big blue Oldsmobile with Illinois plates pulled up

beside the gas pump, and as always, Rosie was on

the job. His limp got even more pronounced when

he was in a hurry, and giving good prompt service

was a matter he took very seriously. He hobbled

out to the car just as the gentleman doing the driving

was getting out.

"Fill 'er up?"

"Sure. Better check the oil, too," the guy said over

his shoulder as he headed into the office. "Thanks."

Rosie started the gas pump, then dutifully checked

the oil and was just heading around the car, washing

all the windows as I happened by. Boy, gas station

service sure has slipped, hasn't it? I heard the entire

exchange he had with the lady passenger and giggled

my way into the station to watch the enfolding drama

out the window.

As he approached the passenger side of the

vehicle, the lady rolled down the window and said

something to Rosie that he didn't quite hear correctly.

He smiled and gave her a courteous answer, and

hobbled over to the building and began to unroll the

air hose that was wrapped around an old tire rim

nailed on the wall.

Had I not heard the conversation, the poor guy

would have never understood the icy response he

received from the lady when he returned. He was

standing there, air hose in hand, with a friendly face

full of anticipation, as the obviously disgruntled lady

rolled up her window, locked the door, and angrily

turned her back to the helpful attendant. Totally con-

fused, he re-coiled the air hose and finished the

windows, with the clearly indignant lady insolently

snarling at him through clenched teeth.

"Wonder what was the matter with her?" he

asked (mostly to himself), as he came back into

the station and the driver who had finished paying

for the gas went out the door.

Now, Rosie was a perfect gentleman, so you can

just imagine his horror as I explained the lady's

strange behavior through sobs of laughter.

The lady had asked, "Excuse me Sir, but do you

have a rest room?"

Now, that seems like a logical enough request,

but back in the days before there were vacuum

cleaners out near any of the gas pumps and the

vehicle floor boards were routinely cleaned with a

whisk broom, what Rosie THOUGHT he heard was

every bit as logical. Here's what he heard:

"Excuse me Sir, but do you have a whisk broom?"

"No Ma'am we don't," he smiled helpfully. "But

don't worry. Just open the door, and I'll blow 'er

out with the air compressor."

TasunkaWitko - Chinook, Montana

Helfen, Wehren, Heilen
Die Wahrheit wird euch frei machen
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