A Short Tale

Back in 1984, I moved from San Jose to Dunsmuir, California. SP had hired me out of the trainmen's ranks to 'go firing' on the Shasta seniority district, and as it turned out, I was the last fireman ever hired on what had formerly been the Shasta Division.

To accomplish the move, I loaded most of my family's wordly goods into a company-provided boxcar at the College Park Yard team track (next to the piggyback ramp - both long gone) for the journey northward to an eventual unloading spot at the south end of the McCloud River Railroad main track in Mount Shasta.

Knowing full-well that the car would roll over the Roseville hump if I didn't take precautions, I placed 'DO NOT HUMP' placards on the car's ends and sides. I could envision the contents arriving in a shattered heap at one end of the box. Yep, you guessed it - the placards did no good, but fortunately the heap's contents largely arrived unbroken.
In the process of offloading, I placed the placard shown at right into the rear window of my pickup truck, as a memento and forgot about it.

A few days later, my wife had an occasion to use pickup to run to the market, and she returned red-faced and put-out. It seems that the off-color innuendo suggested by that sign behind the pretty young gal was just too much for the local boys to pass up without a honk and wolf whistle. She darn near poked my eye out in flinging the offending sign at me, but that only added to my laughter, which quickly advanced to a state of prolonged hyperventilation.

That evening, I found the sign resting on my pillow outside the bedroom door. Wives always get the last laugh, it seems.

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E.O.