I'm the smartest one in the room - the non-shop, non-business sub forum chat thread

Possibly a leak or a draft?
 
Leak or draft...I doubt it. A couple of us moved all around that area, all the doorways, etc. with tissue paper and couldn't make it move. If there ain't draft to budge tissue paper, there ain't draft to move stainless steel chain.

No earthquakes reported. If building settling, it didn't disturb the pitcher of water right next to it. That's still my favorite non-Scooby Doo or Ghost busters explanation.

Not the first weird thing like that I've seen, just the latest. There is a tendency to....acknowledge possibilities, but focus on the real and present dangers that are most likely to truly be harmful. It's weird, but...whatever.



"Beware!! I am an ookity spookity ghooosstt!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever...I'm more worried about this jerk with the dirty shank stabbing somebody!"

"But....I'm so spooky!!" *Rattles chains**lights flicker*

"Could ya' leave that light on, please, I'm looking for a tattoo gun?"

"Darn it! I'm gunna go haunt a middle school gym or bathroom or something! You guys are mean!"
 
It’s another long night here in the local prison. I’ve actually come to savor those. When it’s not a long night, it’s sheer panic. We are rarely so blessed as to find somewhere in between. So…I sit and ponder. I reminisce. I think of all the plans I’ve made. Some that I will see come to fruition, most that won’t. I’m sitting here remembering a time when I nearly took a life in the line of duty.

I was working the tower one day. I’d recently come on duty, completed my pass ons, and performed my equipment inspection. That’s always important, but especially important when working the tower. Our Larue AR style precision rifle is equipped with a Leupold Mk. 5 Tactical scope that has exposed turrets. You can never be sure when the previous shift may have sat there and used them like a fidget spinner, or figures they’re smarter than the Firearms Instructor or Range Officer that zeroed it. I verified the firearms was in an appropriate condition and assumed my duties.



Master Control had just called recreation movement. It was a gorgeous Summer day, so the yard filled with approximately 350 inmates within a matter of minutes.

My eyes never stop moving. Scanning. Looking for anything unusual. I verified no one was near zone Kilo. That is a camera blind spot there that is popular for fights, beatdowns, tax collecting and general prison gang violence.

Near the west fence, made conspicuous by his size, I noted inmate Vincent Smith. (Pseudonym, of course) He had just recently been released, but…I noticed he was back again. He was one of life’s unfortunate losers. He came from a family that had their best reunions inside the prison wire. A guy who had never accumulated murder or sexual assault charges, but came in on a handful of general assault charges…domestic violence, bar room fights, etc. After that it’s pages of parole violations and failure to meet conditions of release. He had clearly lost the genetic lottery twice over. The first time was simply being born into a white trash family with a genuinely low IQ. Not low enough to qualify for special needs, but low enough to limit healthy functioning in life. The second genetic short straw is that he was born a midget. His four brothers had a similar mental acuity, but always bullied him due to his small size. No one can dish it out like a brother, I guess.

Consequently, he became a very disliked inmate. Tremendous “Inferiority complex” or “Little Man’s Syndrome” Always cutting people off. Beligerent. Rude. Would ask about a disciplinary policy, then cut you off a quarter of the way into your explanation and explain his “proper” interpretation to you. I hated that, because I spent a lot of time considering poly-syllabic terminology that he might understand. Then felt it was all for naught, as soon as he cut me off. At one point in time, he thought he was wrong about something, but then he realized he was mistaken.

I watched him as he and his rag tag rabble of a prison gang stood around playing hacky sack. At least they were entertained kicking a bean bag instead of someone else’s head.

I took a sip of strong black coffee from my favorite Stanley travel cup as I pondered what he and others like him could have done to prevent such a fate when a fight broke out in the far corner of the yard.

Real world prison fights aren’t always what you think. It is sometimes two guys with their fists held up bouncing back and forth while talking tough and praying that an officer comes by to break it up quickly. They really don’t wanna get hurt, but they don’t wanna look like a coward either. So, I wasn’t surprised to see that this appeared to be the case. I called for an incident response team, and stood by as I waited to see nature take its course here in the concrete jungle.

While watching our two combatants and soon to be participants of the spicy sauce taste test, I spied an…unusual movement from the corner of my eye. It was inmate Smith! Attempting to escape! The fight was just a ruse! He was approaching the razor wire up top when I’d spotted him.
I cursed under my breath, picked up my rifle, and braced myself to do what I must to.

I grabbed my rifle, and transitioned to Condition one. Round chambered, safety engaged. I assumed a kneeling position, with my handguard braced on the corner of the watch tower. Once I found my target in the crosshairs, I reached up and dialed the scope to 8x. I had trained for this moment nearly as much as I had prayed to never know it. Check my target and it’s surroundings. Postural stability. Isometric tension, and a respiratory pause as my finger. As I ran through my mental checklist, I saw him swing his legs over the top. He was fixing to be in “No man’s land” The space between the two tall razor wired fences.

I disengaged the safety on the rifle. Pulled up the slack of the trigger. Just as I felt sear movement I stopped. I flipped the rifle back onto safe, and set it down.



For it was at that moment, I realized that despite all his flaws and wrong doings, he was…after all…just a little con descending.
 
Runs With Scissors said:
It’s another long night here in the local prison. I’ve actually come to savor those. When it’s not a long night, it’s sheer panic. We are rarely so blessed as to find somewhere in between. So…I sit and ponder. I reminisce. I think of all the plans I’ve made. Some that I will see come to fruition, most that won’t. I’m sitting here remembering a time when I nearly took a life in the line of duty.

I was working the tower one day. I’d recently come on duty, completed my pass ons, and performed my equipment inspection. That’s always important, but especially important when working the tower. Our Larue AR style precision rifle is equipped with a Leupold Mk. 5 Tactical scope that has exposed turrets. You can never be sure when the previous shift may have sat there and used them like a fidget spinner, or figures they’re smarter than the Firearms Instructor or Range Officer that zeroed it. I verified the firearms was in an appropriate condition and assumed my duties.



Master Control had just called recreation movement. It was a gorgeous Summer day, so the yard filled with approximately 350 inmates within a matter of minutes.

My eyes never stop moving. Scanning. Looking for anything unusual. I verified no one was near zone Kilo. That is a camera blind spot there that is popular for fights, beatdowns, tax collecting and general prison gang violence.

Near the west fence, made conspicuous by his size, I noted inmate Vincent Smith. (Pseudonym, of course) He had just recently been released, but…I noticed he was back again. He was one of life’s unfortunate losers. He came from a family that had their best reunions inside the prison wire. A guy who had never accumulated murder or sexual assault charges, but came in on a handful of general assault charges…domestic violence, bar room fights, etc. After that it’s pages of parole violations and failure to meet conditions of release. He had clearly lost the genetic lottery twice over. The first time was simply being born into a white trash family with a genuinely low IQ. Not low enough to qualify for special needs, but low enough to limit healthy functioning in life. The second genetic short straw is that he was born a midget. His four brothers had a similar mental acuity, but always bullied him due to his small size. No one can dish it out like a brother, I guess.

Consequently, he became a very disliked inmate. Tremendous “Inferiority complex” or “Little Man’s Syndrome” Always cutting people off. Beligerent. Rude. Would ask about a disciplinary policy, then cut you off a quarter of the way into your explanation and explain his “proper” interpretation to you. I hated that, because I spent a lot of time considering poly-syllabic terminology that he might understand. Then felt it was all for naught, as soon as he cut me off. At one point in time, he thought he was wrong about something, but then he realized he was mistaken.

I watched him as he and his rag tag rabble of a prison gang stood around playing hacky sack. At least they were entertained kicking a bean bag instead of someone else’s head.

I took a sip of strong black coffee from my favorite Stanley travel cup as I pondered what he and others like him could have done to prevent such a fate when a fight broke out in the far corner of the yard.

Real world prison fights aren’t always what you think. It is sometimes two guys with their fists held up bouncing back and forth while talking tough and praying that an officer comes by to break it up quickly. They really don’t wanna get hurt, but they don’t wanna look like a coward either. So, I wasn’t surprised to see that this appeared to be the case. I called for an incident response team, and stood by as I waited to see nature take its course here in the concrete jungle.

While watching our two combatants and soon to be participants of the spicy sauce taste test, I spied an…unusual movement from the corner of my eye. It was inmate Smith! Attempting to escape! The fight was just a ruse! He was approaching the razor wire up top when I’d spotted him.
I cursed under my breath, picked up my rifle, and braced myself to do what I must to.

I grabbed my rifle, and transitioned to Condition one. Round chambered, safety engaged. I assumed a kneeling position, with my handguard braced on the corner of the watch tower. Once I found my target in the crosshairs, I reached up and dialed the scope to 8x. I had trained for this moment nearly as much as I had prayed to never know it. Check my target and it’s surroundings. Postural stability. Isometric tension, and a respiratory pause as my finger. As I ran through my mental checklist, I saw him swing his legs over the top. He was fixing to be in “No man’s land” The space between the two tall razor wired fences.

I disengaged the safety on the rifle. Pulled up the slack of the trigger. Just as I felt sear movement I stopped. I flipped the rifle back onto safe, and set it down.



For it was at that moment, I realized that despite all his flaws and wrong doings, he was…after all…just a little con descending.
Click to expand...
🤣🤣🤣 One was not enough!
 
Runs With Scissors said:
Leak or draft...I doubt it. A couple of us moved all around that area, all the doorways, etc. with tissue paper and couldn't make it move. If there ain't draft to budge tissue paper, there ain't draft to move stainless steel chain.

No earthquakes reported. If building settling, it didn't disturb the pitcher of water right next to it. That's still my favorite non-Scooby Doo or Ghost busters explanation.

Not the first weird thing like that I've seen, just the latest. There is a tendency to....acknowledge possibilities, but focus on the real and present dangers that are most likely to truly be harmful. It's weird, but...whatever.



"Beware!! I am an ookity spookity ghooosstt!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever...I'm more worried about this jerk with the dirty shank stabbing somebody!"

"But....I'm so spooky!!" *Rattles chains**lights flicker*

"Could ya' leave that light on, please, I'm looking for a tattoo gun?"

"Darn it! I'm gunna go haunt a middle school gym or bathroom or something! You guys are mean!"
Click to expand...
👻Just a hungry ghost . Don't feed 'em .

Unless it's a Graboid Tremor !
 
No puns in this. Just a sucky moment in time. We did a port call in some no longer remembered small town in Mexico. They had the local law enforcement manning the pier entry area because the threat was people sneaking aboard local fishing boats or whatever else to steal anything not nailed down. We were at the far end pier and assured we wouldn't see anyone but our own people walking down the pier to our ship during non working hours.

So imagine my surprise when I'm standing topside watch with a rifle and a guy with a shotgun comes walking down the pier. Immediately get on the radio and start yelling at the quarterdeck watch there's a guy. No reply. I'm trying to keep my eye on this guy as he slowly keeps walking up and I'm running as close to the quarterdeck from above as I can get. I'm screaming my head off at them and they don't hear me through the wind. Great. I chuck my spare battery at them to finally get their attention. Shotgun bro is now a couple hundred yards away looking at his feet as he walks.

The quarterdeck guys are now screaming through a megaphone at shotgun bro and the security alert alarm starts up making a racket. I'm staring down the sights at shotgun bro as he finally looks up. You can see the blood leave his face as he does a sprint away from our pier and down a different one. He proceeds to climb aboard one of the fishing boat and starts frantically waving at us. At some point the local law guys show up and secure the scene with us securing the brow and our piece of pier.

End of the story is the guy was trying to guard a fishing boat and was used to it being at the end of the dock. It's late, hot, he's tired and was just shuffling along to his normal lot in life. Not a favored memory.
 
We,got,about a foot,of snow here in central VA, unlike last time, this time it looks like someone came in and plowed our streets. That left about two feet at the end of the driveway to clear when it warms up a bit. Should melt some today and tomorrow with warmer temperatures.
 
You can't make this up 🤣

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I know, I know it's French but har har dee har all the same
 
When we awaken to find a huge berm of snow blocking us in our driveway it is so easy to envision it happening.

The backwards trucker hat, the yellow tobacco stained teeth reflecting moonlight as he howls with malevolent laughter, double clutches, grabs another gear, drops the plow another inch as the sparks fly from it. The hard packed bits of snow piling ever higher as the demon on his shoulder dances a jig of delight and mentally "high fives" the plow driver.

In the present it's easy to realize that dude is one of my blue collar brothers struggling through his daily grind at O' dark hundred, trying to find a spot to pull over and pee, wondering if he might get a whopping three hours of sleep before his daughter's school concert recital, and genuinely clearing the roads the very best he can with the time he has and hoping to avoid every tailgating, road raging idiot who can't be troubled to wake up a few minutes early.

But...when you're running late, sweeping or shoveling snow off you're car, hoping it's warm before you have to go, and you look up to see that berm, the full trash can you'd left out the night before knocked into the ditch. you realize you could spend your retirement trying to drown that guy in a dunking booth...
 
Let's dial back the violent revenge fantasies, satirical or otherwise.
 
Has to be better than the "Barf" brand laundry detergent we used in the sandbox. Everything was imported there so no clue what language thinks barf is good for cleaning.
 
Runs With Scissors Runs With Scissors I didn't know what a dunking booth is, and looked it up.... I see now, just a harmless carnival game people volunteer for. Carry on.
 
I think people from the Midwest or upstate NY are laughing at all of us when we get a few inches and everything shuts down. To think opposite, I wonder if the upstate NY’ers and midwesterners cry out loud when they have 90 plus weather…..or maybe they say thanks so they don’t have to wear bundles all the time!!! David, do you Canadians laugh at us when we complain about the weather? Other stuff to laugh at us yes, but let’s try to stay with the weather for now. David, do you guys have a version of the ground hog thing like US?
 
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