Each week Gary offers a variety of observations and personal experience in a highly engaging commentary from East Texas. Join us for Borderline with Gary Borders in his new time slot, Fridays at 7:45 a.m.
An unhappy customer called me the other day. He had every reason to be displeased, because we had given him poor service. His approach was to use foul language, which I endured. I figured he would eventually settle down and then maybe we could reason together.
I was searching online for a way to apply for a gas card for the newspaper and ended up in my email account by clicking on the wrong box on the screen. An email, titled in all caps YOUR OPPORTUNITY FROM EXXONMOBIL LONDON, appeared.
It seems Mr. Peter Alexandra needs my assistance. He “overinvoiced” a contract a few years ago. “I need your full cooperation and partnership to re-profile this contract funds amounting to $2.5 million to your name as the contractor that executed this contract in Asia few years.”
We moved the newspaper office on a recent Saturday, on the day coincidentally that I marked my 59th birthday.
It was a day of trying not to strain my back, and doing what I can to assist men much stronger and younger than me to move desks, filing cabinets, and all the other furnishings — in time for us to open in our new location the following Monday morning.
I was reminded of the Sex With Chickens story recently when passing a truck loaded with them, headed to the processing plant. That reminded me of a fight I had with the Leander Police Department four years ago over releasing police reports while running a paper there.
I come from a family of daydreaming drivers, which often leads to missed turns and abashed backtracking.
Once while heading back from New Orleans with a carload of teenagers I forgot to get off I-10 in Beaumont to head north into the Piney Woods. Next thing I knew the sign said “San Antonio, 175 miles” and Houston was in my rearview mirror. My passengers were not pleased.