Here is my long-winded pipe smoking memory for you.
During my senior year of high school I qualified for a business program called D.E. (Distributive Education) whereby I attended school a few hours in the morning taking required courses, and the second part of the day I worked a part-time job, receiving school credit for my on-the-job training. I was employed in the advertising department of the city newspaper The Gary Post Tribune as a clerk messenger. The job was little more than a gopher and file clerk. And part of those duties included hand delivering a rough draft (referred to as 'proofs') of newspaper advertisement to customers at various downtown business establishments for their approval, proofreading the ad for possible errors. And if discrepancies were discovered I'd immediately report back with the corrections before the paper went to print. Keep in mind this was 1967/68, well before the technology of personal computers and the convenience of e-mail changed the way we do business, so time sensitive documents needed to be hand delivered.
The downtown business section of Gary, Indiana was still booming during the 60s' and a majority of the paper's advertiser/customers were department and clothing stores, jewelers, grocery and drug stores, restaurants, florists, furriers, and downtown theaters ... but from time-to-time there might be a self employed professional like an architect, accountant, or lawyer who ran his or her business from a small office on the upper floor of a bank building or a record or book shop. An isolated out of the way location not prone to much foot traffic.
Well one day I was making a delivery to one such office on the upper floor of an older building. A building that to my knowledge I'd never seen anyone coming to - or going from - regardless of what time of the day I'd make a delivery. So for all I knew the advertiser I was visiting might be the only tenant occupying the building. The office was on the fourth floor/top level, situated clear at the end of the hallway - the furthest point from the elevator. And on this occasion the elevator broke-down mid-floor somewhere between the second and third floor. There was a telephone in a recessed box above the elevator control panel with a sign that read: "For Emergency Use Only". Unfortunately the phone - like the elevator - was out of order. It didn't even have a cord attached to the receiver. Also located on the control panel was a bright red 'EMERGENCY' button that sounded an alarm bell through the elevator shaft. But apparently, unless you also happened to be trapped somewhere in the elevator shaft, you couldn't hear the alarm bell. So there I remained from around 2:30 until somewhere around 4:00 when the guy working on the 4th floor decided it was quitting time, and discovered a faulty elevator - with me inside. He eventually called for the building maintenance man to retrieve me.
During the entire ordeal in the elevator I could do nothing but nervously pace back-and-forth while smoking bowl after bowl of John Rolfe Reach Brandy pipe tobacco from a cheap 99 cent pug-nose corn cob pipe I purchased at a novelty shop. After smoking this little pipe non-stop for nearly two hours, puffing in a near panic state, the pipe actually caught fire and began burning. By the time I was rescued my pipe had given up the ghost and was little more than a charcoal briquette. Between the dry throat and tongue bite I could barely utter a heartfelt "Thank You" to the maintenance man.
@ghostsofpompeii, I have heard it said, that a pipe provides comfort, and is a companion in times of trouble. Your story illustrates that point to perfection!
I created a new one yesterday. I decided to go fishing with my Dad and we were enjoying the strange 70 degree weather in St. Louis. A giant lunk of a fish grabbed the poll and I jumped up in excitement. In my excitement, my pipe came out of my mouth and began falling towards the water in front of me. With my quick reflexes I caught it, but with my not so good balance I got a right shoe full of river mud. As my Dad laughed his ass off; his fishing pole began to bounce from a new friend he spilt his beer all over him screaming "THIS IS A BIGGIN!!". As we both pulled in our respective fish we found who the real winner was. I had caught a channel catfish totaling 10 lbs. Dad had caught a Carp, 2.5 lbs. (The hook looked bigger than the fish) Score 1 out of 1,000 for the young buck!
Comments
Here is my long-winded pipe smoking memory for you.
During my senior year of high school I qualified for a business program called D.E. (Distributive Education) whereby I attended school a few hours in the morning taking required courses, and the second part of the day I worked a part-time job, receiving school credit for my on-the-job training. I was employed in the advertising department of the city newspaper The Gary Post Tribune as a clerk messenger. The job was little more than a gopher and file clerk. And part of those duties included hand delivering a rough draft (referred to as 'proofs') of newspaper advertisement to customers at various downtown business establishments for their approval, proofreading the ad for possible errors. And if discrepancies were discovered I'd immediately report back with the corrections before the paper went to print. Keep in mind this was 1967/68, well before the technology of personal computers and the convenience of e-mail changed the way we do business, so time sensitive documents needed to be hand delivered.
The downtown business section of Gary, Indiana was still booming during the 60s' and a majority of the paper's advertiser/customers were department and clothing stores, jewelers, grocery and drug stores, restaurants, florists, furriers, and downtown theaters ... but from time-to-time there might be a self employed professional like an architect, accountant, or lawyer who ran his or her business from a small office on the upper floor of a bank building or a record or book shop. An isolated out of the way location not prone to much foot traffic.
Well one day I was making a delivery to one such office on the upper floor of an older building. A building that to my knowledge I'd never seen anyone coming to - or going from - regardless of what time of the day I'd make a delivery. So for all I knew the advertiser I was visiting might be the only tenant occupying the building. The office was on the fourth floor/top level, situated clear at the end of the hallway - the furthest point from the elevator. And on this occasion the elevator broke-down mid-floor somewhere between the second and third floor. There was a telephone in a recessed box above the elevator control panel with a sign that read: "For Emergency Use Only". Unfortunately the phone - like the elevator - was out of order. It didn't even have a cord attached to the receiver. Also located on the control panel was a bright red 'EMERGENCY' button that sounded an alarm bell through the elevator shaft. But apparently, unless you also happened to be trapped somewhere in the elevator shaft, you couldn't hear the alarm bell. So there I remained from around 2:30 until somewhere around 4:00 when the guy working on the 4th floor decided it was quitting time, and discovered a faulty elevator - with me inside. He eventually called for the building maintenance man to retrieve me.
During the entire ordeal in the elevator I could do nothing but nervously pace back-and-forth while smoking bowl after bowl of John Rolfe Reach Brandy pipe tobacco from a cheap 99 cent pug-nose corn cob pipe I purchased at a novelty shop. After smoking this little pipe non-stop for nearly two hours, puffing in a near panic state, the pipe actually caught fire and began burning. By the time I was rescued my pipe had given up the ghost and was little more than a charcoal briquette. Between the dry throat and tongue bite I could barely utter a heartfelt "Thank You" to the maintenance man.
I don't like tight closed spaces either.