How the A--hole Got Stuck

by W. Lyndham Archer

Last night I spent my time flushing a wicked bat out of the house. Today there arose a potentially more damaging threat.

I had to mow the lawn without my ear mufflers and so I had to put up with the noisy engine of the Toro. This was due to the fact that when I went to expand the earpieces so that they could go over my head and fit properly, the plastic strip to which the mufflers are fastened snapped. So there I was with two pieces disjoined.

Having finished mowing, I went to the kitchen, got out the Krazy Glue and prepared to cement together the two pieces of plastic. First I took off my wristwatch so that I could measure the time the apparatus was being glued, for it only takes 30 seconds to harden. To my disappointment, I found I could not squeeze the glue out of the little tube. Realizing it was plugged up, I took a knife and sliced off a sixteenth of an inch from the tip of the tube and gave another squeeze. No luck. Not a drop appeared. So I circumcised an additional eighth of an inch from the tube. Then, to insure success, I took a pair of pliers, and, holding the shortened tip of the tube to one of the pieces I wanted to join, I gave a really fierce squeeze. Success! There was a great outpouring of glue. Keeping my eyes fixed on my watch, I held the mufflers firmly and let the glue harden for a good 90 seconds and, sure enough, the plastic pieces were joined firmly together.

However, when I went to set the repaired ear mufflers down, I discovered that I could not let go of them: both thumbs and both fourth fingers were stuck to the black plastic I had repaired. My attempts to remove my fingers from the device were futile. My skin and the plastic were as one. Norma was at the kitchen table and I told her of my plight and suggested that she call the Park Nicollet Clinic to see what they could make of this event. She called the clinic but they had no acetone, which is what Norma had read from the tube was necessary for me to become unglued.

Norma suggested the drugstore, but because that is two miles away I said she should call the hardware store, which is nearer. They had sold me the defective ear mufflers and they would give me the acetone as penance. Luckily, they said to come on over.

Driving the car was an interesting challenge. Norma put her key in the ignition and had no trouble starting the car. With both hands close together, still glued firmly to the plastic, I gripped with my spare fingers the top of the steering wheel and guided the car out the driveway. But the 90-degree right turn onto 132nd St. required her to reach over and pull the wheel hard right. Then we had a 400-foot straightaway to Highway 20. The left turn onto the highway again required her assistance and then we were off. Norma thought that 55 miles-per-hour was somewhat too fast for our present condition but it seemed to work fine. Now, with some experience, we reached the town, slowed, and executed three more sharp turns to get to the hardware store.

The clerk was most helpful and poured acetone on my thumbs and fingers and soon I was free. However, more acetone was needed because the black plastic had dissolved from the device and now spread over my hands where it, too, stuck. I noted that the repair job I had performed was entirely intact. When I went to the counter to pay for the acetone, I asked the clerk to try spreading the mufflers as if to put them on his head to see if the weld would hold. It did not hold and so I was back at square one. But, as he showed me a more expensive pair of mufflers, I asked if I could have a credit for the faulty pair. He agreed and the $17 for the new pair was reduced by $7-and-something; the acetone cost $4.

Norma said with some contempt and force that I was a stupid asshole. I replied that Harvard had offered no course in applied gluing. She responded enthusiastically, "Never mind Harvard. Years of living should have taught you something!" I said that I was only 74 while she was 75, and so she had had more of life's experience than I!

Copyright © W. Lyndham Archer 2003