Story by Al Batt (Author)
I have reached that mystical age where the hair that is disappearing from the top of my head is magically appearing in my nose. There is a regular rain forest growing in my schnozzola. You would think that I work in a factory that manufactures hair-restorer and that I spend 8 hours a day plus overtime inhaling Rogaine fumes. Well, tough times require fast action. What I need is a nose hair trimmer.
I pay a visit to my favorite drug store. I walk in with my head held high. I have to, it’s the only way my bifocals will work. The pharmacist greets me like I am a rich uncle at the door. “Why, Mr. Batt, what a pleasant surprise. We are always so happy to see you.” With his howdying done, he presses the button on the store’s intercom. In an instant, the facility’s speakers blare the news, “Attention, all departments. Al Batt has entered the building. I repeat, Al Batt has entered the building. All those in need of a good laugh, please gather in aisle 11.”
Aisle 11. An aisle that I am all too familiar with. It is the aisle that contains the various ointments for the treatment of cuts, scrapes, abrasions, chafing, slivers, scratches, bites, burns, stings, itches, irritations, sunburn, dry skin, wounds and other assorted owies. “I don’t think I deserve such treatment,” I protest.
“I agree, but the store isn’t often very busy at this time of the day. Let me call my wife and maybe she can bring her church circle in. You deserve a crowd. I can’t tell you how much your little visits do for the morale of everyone who works here,” said the druggist. He has to yell in order to be heard over the din caused by all of the people scrambling to get to aisle 11. “Sometimes, we get to feeling a little sorry for ourselves. After all, we are only human. Then you show up and we realize that we don’t have it so bad. What is the rash du jour?”
“I will require no ointment today,” I answer.
“What? You can’t mean that. The entire store is gathered in aisle 11. Why, your ointment use is legendary. Please tell me that you are kidding. This will have a devastating impact on employee morale. Profits will plummet. Jobs will be lost. Homes will be foreclosed upon. People will suffer from depression. Divorces will run rampant.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, but I need a tool this time.”
“A tool?”
“Yes. A manly tool. Something I can use to chop things down.”
“An axe? A handsaw? I’m afraid we don’t handle chainsaws. This is great. If you buy one of these things, you will need a lot of ointment. An axe would be a good thing for you to have. I’ve noticed that a number of the weeds on your lawn grow to tree-like proportions.”
“No, the tool I need is even more masculine than a double-edged axe. What I need is_and here I am going to depend on your professionalism in keeping this confidential_what I need is a nose hair trimmer.”
“A nose hair trimmer? This is wonderful. This is even better than the rarest of ointments.” Here he pauses to make another store announcement about my need for a nose hair trimmer. It appears that no one knows where such trimmers are located, so everyone gathers around the fingernail clipper display. I take this opportunity to sneak out the front door.
Have I gotten my nose hair trimmer? No, I am waiting for Black and Decker to come out with a 5 horsepower, diesel powered one that not only trims, but also vacuums, mulches and aerates. When I harvest a crop, I really harvest a crop.
