Thursday, February 12, 2009


I talk to my boss at work on a week daily basis. He's a 56-year-old bachelor with no immediate family living close by. In fact, he only has two nephews; the rest of his immediate family are dead. He's a rather interesting guy to talk with, and I'm pretty sure it will be me who will find his body when he finally goes "tits up" (his phrase, not mine). I'm surprised he's still walking around on God's little acre of Earth. His brother died when he was 51, and his dad was 46 when he died. His mom had those sturdier-than-an-Amish-barn Mormon genes and died last year at 90.

Today he took a diabetes test because as part of the wellness program at work, he found out his glucose levels were alarmingly high. To get ready for the test, he gave up two cans of Pepsi, out of his six cans he normally drinks. Remarkably, the test came back clean. He says it was because of his regular consumption of potato chips, where a significant majority of the fiber he eats each day comes from. This guy has nine lives, and he's used up at least seven.

He used a couple of his lives when he was around the age of 24 and hit a hog with his paper-route truck in Georgia. He was thrown from the truck and severely damaged some internal organs. The insurance money from the accident was just enough to get him back to Provo to finish school, and hopefully find a wife. He still hasn't found a wife, but he does celebrate "Hog Day" every year by indulging in all foods that come from a pig.

Another of his lives has been spent in the dentist chair. I've never met anyone who goes to the dentist more than him. My sister Kathy served a mission in some rural parts of West Virginia, and she said a common thought amongst many of those West Virginians is to just pull all the teeth in their 30s so they don't have to worry about them for the rest of their lives. I keep telling my boss he should adopt to those ways. And then I strum a refrain of the Deliverance tune on my air banjo. He gets my "southern, inbred" humor, even though he doesn't appreciate it.

When I actually worked in the office, it drove me crazy whenever he would rub his belly when he would talk about foods he liked to eat. This boss, mind you, had the same size belly as me and a co-worker when me and the co-worker were nine months pregnant. And every time he bought a Pepsi, he would put the cold can of Pepsi under his armpits to cool him down AND warm up the Pepsi. He calls it a win-win.

But the most annoying thing about my boss is when he gives me advice on eating right and working out. About eight years ago I ran my one and only marathon. He started dishing out advice on how to train and not over do it. I was so fed up with his "advice" that me and another co-worker challenged him to a foot race. It was a 50-yard dash. He was sure he would beat us. No surprise, he didn't. I think we crushed his ego pretty badly. Being raised in southern Georgia when desegregation wasn't implemented until he was in high school, you can imagine the shock of being beat by two women in a foot race would do to his system. One more of his nine lives down the drain. If you can believe it, he thinks he can beat me now that I've had three kids and gained a few pounds. I don't want to risk killing him to prove him wrong.


Aundrea said...

This guy's physical description kind of reminds me of my middle school Spanish teacher, Senor Sanford. Ask Kulani about that guy:)

Fish said...

When is pig day? We should cook for him the next time it comes around. Kalua Pig, Bacon, Sausages . . . there's got to be something good we can put together.

I liked Senor Sanford. I learned a lot from him. He trusted the advanced class a lot, so we got along well.

Lady G said...

Can I just say to all the masses who read this blog that this info is

I know. I used to work there too. :)

Frischknecht Fam said...

If you ever decide to race again, I'll bring him some oxygen . . . though I'm guessing a Pepsi might be more effective.