andave's place

This is a column by Ray Orrock, one of my favorite local columnists. He retired last year. Once, I called him up to ask if I could use some of his columns for a speech I was giving and if he knew where I could find some more of them. He responded by giving me an autographed book.

I read mtpspur's blog today and the dry humorous way he wrote reminded me of Orrock. There's another column I'll post later; it has more bearing on what mtpspur wrote about. EDIT: come to think of it, there's another one on comic books Rich and Pen'd like. If people like this one I'll post more of his work.


"The world is full of people yearning to do for me tihngs that I'd much rather do for myself. I can't bring myself to tell them that -- partly because I don't want to hurt their feelings, and partly because I'm often guilty of the same sort of unsolicited generosity. Most of us have experienced any number of minitraumas created by someone who was only trying to be helpful. How about this? You're approaching the entrance to a department store, and look up to see a Good Samaritan holding the heavy glass door open for you...while you're still 20 yards away. I don't know what you do in those circumstances, but I almost invariably begin to jog. Ifm in fact, the door-holder is an elderly little lady who looks as if her strength is giving ou and her frail body is about to be crushed between the portals, I might break into a full run. I don't want to run -- or even jog -- but unless you are a confirmed sadist, there's very little choice.

I don't want the waiter to fill my wine glass for me, either; but an awful lot of them do. I don't mean that first little pouring which you're supposed to sip and smile and nod over. (Secretly, I've always wanted to take a tiny taste, make a pucker, dash the remainder into the sommelier's face, and shout; "Take this swill back at once!" I'll never do it, though. Too chicken.)
For one thing, I enjoy pouring from a wine bottle. Wine bottles are the perfect pouring instrument; it's fun. And I believe that wine tastes better when the glass is only one-quarter full. (It probably doesn't; but I think it does. Get your own glass and bottle.) Invariably however, if I set my glass down and look away for a moment, I'll hear an ominous glug! Glug! and glance up to see a smiling steward giving me an unsolicited fillup. "Fine. And when you're finished, how about checking the air in the souffle and changing the oild on the salad?")

My wife and I have also discovered that when we're on vacation, and the only thing we want to do is sleep 'til an ungodly hour in the morning, motel room maids are seized with a feverish compulsion to change our sheets and pillowcases at sunrist. I suspect it's part of some odd religious sect they all belong to. The first rays of sunshine have barely lightened the crack between the drapes when I hear a set of keys jangling outside our room. Then there's a soft click and the door opens a few inches...then slowly closes again. That finishes me. I can never go back to sleep, because I knkow she'll return again at irregular intervals, armed with a stack of linen, to peep through a three-inch crack at the low-lifes still wallowing on yesterday's sheets. Motel room maids are all either compulsive tidiers of unregenerate voyeurs. At least, I think it's the maids. Come to think of it, I have no idea who keeps peeking in at me like that."