I see my YCOP non-friend has now taken to belittling my profession. So much for expounding upon your already anemic position when mocking someone’s job will suffice. (?) Works for him.
And since the subject came up, let’s take a whack at it. Admittedly, the pest control industry has a bad reputation. Well, at least in Hollywood. Every time I see pest control “professionals” portrayed in movies, they are usually depicted as being somewhat mental and armed with overblown control devices that spew fire or something equally bizarre. Trust me, I do not have the capability to burn any opposing forces out of their fortified bunkers, although, that does sound like it‘s be a ton of fun. Where do I get me one of those flamethrowers?
I think the reason my industry has a somewhat negative image is because it is an industry made up of mostly father-and-son firms with little training and even less expertise. Then you’ve got the national concerns that franchise to anyone with enough scratch and a predisposition for the aforementioned flamethrowers. They spend more on advertising than they do training, so be careful when walking your fingers through those yellow pages. To be perfectly honest, if you chose not to deal with my company, there is only one other that I would recommend. One.
What makes my outfit unique is the fact that they will not hire anyone with any experience in our field. They won’t hire bad habits, they want a clean slate to train and then they train you to near death. When I consider all of the nights I’ve spent studying for company tests, it makes me want to flip out when someone calls me what they usually call me: “Hey, Bug Man!” Bug man? Yeah, I suppose. But if you knew how much studying, accreditation, licensing, retesting, CD-Roms and college courses I’ve had to endure, you’d understand why that typical refrain bugs me. When you pay for my services you’re getting a major dose of expertise and experience sprinkled with professionalism. Want proof? My company is the only pest control company in Pennsylvania who’s employees do not have to attend monthly training meetings held by the state’s Department of Agriculture. Fact is, we train much more than is even required of us. And that’s but one of the reasons Pest Control Technology magazine named my company “America’s Finest” pest control company in November 2004.
I forget how many endorsements I have on my Pesticide Certification license, but I’m a bit of a specialist anyway. My specialty is protecting structures from wood-destroying insects, particularly subterranean termites. Of all of the insects that I’ve come across, termites are probably the most frail of the entire bunch. They’re teeny tiny, they’re blind, they can’t survive if exposed to direct sunlight or even rainfall. When disturbed they run like hell back to the safety of the soil. They’re persistent, they’re secretive and if left to their own devices for too long they can literally destroy your home or place of business. And just when I get to thinking I’ve seen it all, they up and surprise me all over again. Fact is, there’s no shame in being fooled by the likes of them. Little buggers.
This valley we call home is practically overrun with termites. Trust me here, I am not exaggerating in the least. Our now retired long-time termite technician once told me that this valley had two types of homes: Those that have been treated for termites and those that will be in the future. I chuckled in response. Experience has taught me that he wasn’t making a funny when saying as much. Actually, his assessment of things was spot-on accurate. Industry-wide, the re-treatment rate for homes invaded by termites hovers right around 20 percent. Last I heard, my company’s rate was much, much lower than that. In other words, even after they are forced out of a structure they’ll continue to look for other entry points. They are relentless.
Anyway, when someone gets to hacking on exterminators, I either pay them little mind, or laugh at their utter lack of knowledge in all things pest control. When it comes right down to it, I’m proud of the unmitigated fact that I work for a company that is second to none in it’s industry. I work for a company with unmistakable longevity and a company that also dominates whatever market it chooses to hang it’s logo in, sans any advertising. Thing is, our reputation is all the advertising we need. And if that’s not enough, I work in an office that strives for and often wins the company’s “district of the year” award on a yearly basis. So, in my industry, I am one of the best of the best.
Hack on my chosen profession if you must, but understand that your less than fact-based opinion is much ado about nothing. And when the termites turn your sill plate, header boards and floor joists into structurally failing mush, know that you could do a hell of a lot worse than to have me penciled in on your calendar.
Enough with all of that.
I get enough termite talk as it is.
This daylight savings thing has me discombobulated of late. Wifey tells me to get up, but when I open my eyes I know it’s too completely dark to be later than, say, 3 in the morning. Eventually I get around to eye-balling the smallish alarm clock and spring out of bed as if there was a pubic fire burning out of control down…well, somewhere thereabouts.
I perused both newspapers early this morning and very quickly found myself reading the following Citizens’ Voice exclusive while not quite believing it at the same time.
If you missed it, check this blurb from the anonymous Stop “Gentlemen’s” Club 10 site:
What we're asking for are volunteers to anonymously take digital pictures of men entering or leaving Gentlemen's Club 10 and e-mail them to email@example.com.
All pictures will be posted promptly in the hope that men will be discouraged from being corrupted by the activity hosted at Gentlemen's Club 10.
Now, according to the site’s owner, “Mr. Family,” if we shame the club-goers on the internet we’ll in effect be building better families and making for a more decent culture. In his mind, young children will not be desensitized to strip clubs which he says degrade women. And the women themselves will not be enticed into a life of drugs, alcoholism and prostitution.
Excuse me for saying so, but the corner bar usually contains many women totally willing to be degraded, but rarely on a stage, or on top of the bar. Well, sometimes. If you’re lucky. Fact is, while hanging out in bars may not get you invited to a Leadership Wilkes-Barre luncheon anytime soon , it’s a heck of a lot cheaper than therapy and much more fun than making with the moralistic Mr. Family bit. While my brass knuckled bar days may be well behind me, I do look back upon them very fondly. There’s no denying that over the entire course of a mostly misspent existence some of your best memories are likely to be of the goings-on that started in bars. If you’re lucky.
I’ve been in stripper bars a sum total of two times. They make no sense to me therefore I do not partake of such activities. The way I figure it, when girls get to undressing in front of me, I want to join in the fray and wake up in the morning regretting it. You see, the “look, but don’t touch” routine just doesn’t go far enough to satisfy those urges that were hard-wired into me long before I took my first breathe. They call it “strip-tease” for a perfectly good reason and I don’t want to be teased for any good reason.
But I must warn Mr. Family that it’s perfectly legal to partake of such activities, regardless of his having elevated himself to being Luzerne County’s chief of the fledgling Silicone Implant Police’ digital camera hit squad. And I must also warn him that he‘s going to get some chump‘s eye sockets rearranged when they get to snapping pictures of the wrong guys, or the wrong license plates. There’s some very big boys running in these parts and some of them don’t take too kindly to pansy-assed individuals mucking about in their personal business, titties or otherwise. And the fact is, mucking about while cloaked in anonymity is proof of one’s being a pansy-assed individual. You want to change the world, but you want others to do it for you while you lay very low? Makes me want to visit the nudie bar completely on spite. I promise, I won’t touch. Dammit!
Our anonymous do-gooder got the tar beat out of him in absentia on WILK’s morning show by Nancy & Kev, but did make an appearance on Sue Henry’s show and generated more calls than I can remember on any previous topic. We seemed smart and he was well-spoken, but I couldn’t help thinking that he ought to stick to thumping on his family bible in private. Know what? Pray for me ‘til the Red Sea parts again, but don’t tell me what I ought not be doing according to your straight-and-narrow moral compass. If I want to take in some skinny, but top-heavy chicks jiggling their erogenous wares all over the frickin’ place, I’ll do it and I’ll pose proudly for any of your do-gooder nimrods that attempt to take my picture. I’ll even make sure they get the spelling of my name right. Lookit here, Markie visited the strippers and it’s right here on the internet for all to see. Oh no! I’m going to pop 3 bottles of Tylenol capsules and wash it all down with some lemon-scented ammonia. NOT!
Say it ain’t so, Markie! Say it ain’t so! You like…boobies?
Yepper. I’m not a stuffy, pretentious, phony baloney do-gooder like Mr. Family. I’m very, very old fashioned. I like girls. And while that may shock some of you on the planning committee of the annual church picnic, I make no apologies for being the way that I am. You know, the way Mr. Family’s god made me to be.
I will not take issue with Sue Henry’s radio show instincts. She spotted a hot topic and the overheating phone lines proved her right. But, with that said, I still can’t believe she had on a do-gooder big on moral absolutes, big on stamping out sin, but very small on courage when supposedly standing for his unflappable convictions.
And if I may, after a rather trying workweek, ain’t nothing better than a blaring jukebox, nine balls being racked, pinball machines being worked over, smoke in the air, a slightly inebriated couple two-stepping and the beer taps a flowin’. And if some girlie’s wiggling around off in one corner wearing nothing more than sandals and a headband, who’s to say it’s offensive save for the do-gooders who incessantly chew their nails while others are kicking back and chilling out?
You got your picture perfect version of Heaven all picked out, so leave ours alone.
I know this immigration imbroglio is a pile of hot poop, but the politicians on the national stage can’t conceive of their losing their cushy seats, so we’re just gonna have to enjoy the smell. And why should the incumbents worry when the only measure of their value to their constituents seems to be how much pork they can procure for the purposes of building glitzy stuff we never even knew we needed? An inflatable dam suddenly comes to mind. Who gives a flying funk about algae blooms, a fecal matter lake and fish kills? Uncle Paul got the money to build it!!!
I will say this. So far, I’m not buying into this American Dream bullspit whereas the illegal immigrants are concerned. When I encounter these recent immigrants, they turn their gaze away and make it painfully obvious that they want nothing to do with me. As fas as I’m concerned, they are here to work under-the-table jobs, grab as many entitlements as they can and send as much money as they can back to wherever it is that they escaped from. That’s not racist or bigoted. That’s what I’m seeing in my neighborhood. And the city had better get after this new phenomenon whereby dozens of people are inhabiting single-family dwellings. If I can see what’s going on, why can’t city employees? Whatever.
It’s all very frustrating.
Wifey appreciated the congrats on the cake. It did take a bit of work.
I’m up to 4 grandkids (grand rodents) now, but I think I’m in for a bit of a lull whereas new additions to the clan are concerned. We shall see.
Pizzazz? Maybe. The doctors have always called it being hyperactive. And I have to say that being hyperactive seems to lead to much more fun than what not being hyped-up would likely lead to. Works for me.
Stay in touch.
There it is!!! The official beer of The Heights!