This is a story that could use a good prop. (Please, make me stop!)
And about a man who had one to swap. And another man who was eager on such a one to hop, buy it and get it in place by Easter and its bunnies, (as in Mile High Club?) And a third who long ago, before the hand-me-downs, just may have used the aforementioned on crops as a duster.
Now this long tale I mop up …
— Since I had not posted for a while, here is a ditty of a bonus coverage. Pre, pre-St. Patrick’s Day slammed Bobtown in Roberts, despite serving just their usual fare, as early as Saturday afternoon, and at McCabe’s Shamrock Club they weren’t answering their phone even after full-length ring, but kitty-corner it was much slower of course in Hudson. River Falls and New Richmond I’m sure were what they usually are on a three-day-plus St. Pat’s, despite wind chills not far from zero once nightfall came, to make my nose run again like a spiggot, (seems like a good Irish word). But in Hudson green bling was in short supply — although there continued to be a weathered-confounding T-shirt or two to be seen — with an almost moderate amount of people at late-night closer Dick’s, however, there was that guy emulating one of the few last people at Hudson Tap, rockin’ the Irish hat/biker look, so stay out of his (rowdy?) way as he shoots darts not soccer balls. And Mallory’s rooftop patio looked great with its green glow. (Some arms were around each other.) And there was at least one party bus, but it was manning The Moose.
The king this year as far as specials that are Irish as you can get is the progressive ranks at Hudson Tap. Starting at $5 and going up by a dollar until $8 are Harp Lager and Guinness Stout in tall boys, Baby Guinness shots, Bushnill shots and Irish Mules, Shanky’s Whip Dark and Irish Whiskey and Old Fashioneds. Others thrown in at other venues include green tea shots and Jameson Mules. Some started rolling through the specials like a lass in the grass as early as Friday night, throwing in Rueben’s and corned beef to boot, and at Kwik Trip even a free pint, that of Mint milk. —
Christmas is in the books, but people still need gifts and to fly for all kinds of holidays. So just fly with it, like a new pole placed in an old hole? Now propelled with this new part in place across most continents?
This late-present idea is all about a rare, sizeable old airplane part with as its central component as in its wheel hub a rotor or rudder, shaft or rod, or whatever else you would call it. It is no ordinary thick stick, and comes from the heyday of aviation. So somebody you know with aerial aspirations might like it as a present, or a great big stocking stuffer, even if this means it is a case of it being regifted to you. That’s what’s happening here.
Oh yeah, the owner who is considering doing his part and donating the part has a pilot’s license, but too busy to build it in and make use of it, since he’s a mega-hours pharmacist and a good-size apple orchard operator, too. But not Big Pharma, just a big airplane, via his medium-size store and the small counter in front of him that lets him interact with customers On The Other Side. And he is bearing a bounty of gifts (in threes that go one better, that take away both symptoms and the side effects, and then avail an aviationist apple too? Like manna falling from the heavens.) So if you fly even a crop-duster — killing weeds and bugs, not germs and flu bugs — if you also go out and buy a tank and sprayer … But maybe that’s built into the housing of your gift? Or if you have a 747 or 757… Or cram it into a 717, if they make them that size, and come bearing a Boeing that’s a big ol’ jet airliner. Nothing more “metal” than that, as the owner of Iron Maiden’s private jet that he flies with a license, while singing Ace’s High, might have hopped on board and gone for a spin when putting his landing gear down in the area a few months ago.
The connection? Both men are named Bruce. Or his brother.
So this parts is parts may be uncommon, but is indeed an airplane part hand-me-down, and something special, and by no means a white elephant. If buying it, just put it on your 1944 credit card.
And not a payment to Roto Rooter, though what you’re getting is basically and roughly a rotor. Shaped as just maybe, in much bigger form, like one of those old oblong orb-like mashers that crushed pills in a bowl back in the day when both of the old parts had actually been put into use. One such ceramic pill crusher still sits in front of Bruce, chin-high on the counter, as an ancient if not archaic antique reminder of how pills long ago used to be dispensed. And setting next to it is a joking sign of how pharmacists are the “pillers” of society. Especially if they fly you there, too.
I will try to get back on track. Or runway. Bruce is the only one at the helm behind the counter, putting in 11 hours or more in the tin can, flying solo while dispensing pills not pez, and he is also quick with a joke and a light up your smoke … Naw, he discourages that and will help you quit. And his gift also might be for those 18-and-up. A work requirement? For getting a pilot’s license? Or a selling-second-hand-parts stipulation? Stocking stuffer suggested age? Or even getting on a plane?
Oh those stocking stuffers and the “toys” that go with them … And need to make them go, screws and bolts and batteries, like Bruce’s gift. Is this subject to gift tack?
You know who would love this airplane part as a gift. My brother-in-in-law, who goes gaga over every last gilded gizmo. So maybe I can make a deal with Bruce to obtain it, and for next Christmas …
You will have to wait for then for the rest of the story, part and parcel to invoke shipping, concerning just what this mystery part indeed is.