Analogalicious

bumped, because there's absolutely no reason you should have to read my lame joke before this masterpiece - wobs

I had a wonderful working weekend at the Oregon Coast last weekend. I would gladly put AFT 3544 up for "Most Kick-Ass Union: All-Around" if such a competition existed. 16 people working together in harmony and good spirit, willing to do whatever is necessary to make the union better. Love.

The point of this post, however, is to recount two very special people who went above and beyond the call of union brotherhood and entered themselves into a a more special category which has no name. Okay the name is "men," but it would be sexist if I said so.

Our little retreat faced one crisis, namely that there was an Oregon Duck football game happening in the middle of the retreat. It was originally supposed that the game could easily be recorded and viewed when the business portion of the retreat had ended and the more important socializing began. What better way to socialize than over some good clean college football? Kidding, of course. It might surprise you to learn that, in the general, graduate employees are not big fans of the college athletics, believing, instead, that scarce resources might be better used to pay them.

Unfortunately, VCRs have gone the way of American labor unions -- once ubiquitous and useful, but now largely seen as antiquated and annoyingly analog. (BOOM!) There was a VCR on site (we rent a large house), but the remote had long been replaced with a universal remote, which is fine, unless you have a standard video tape, which is good for 2 hours, unless you use the remote to adjust the recording setting from "Standard" to "Extended Long Play." So we were faced with a (potentially) four hour game and a two hour tape. Now, a lot of grad unions would have packed it in right there, devolving into an acrimonious debate about the futility of "taping" anything. Not the GTFF. It was calmly suggested that I purchase another tape when I drove into Waldport to to pick up more wine and beer. Brilliant.

Football watching crisis number two happened when the grocery store in Waldport didn't have blank tapes. And, when you think about it, why the hell would they? The 17 year-old who I asked practically laughed at me. Then he said the words that will haunt my sleep for some time, "I can't think of any place that would have them in this town." I should mention that the game had already started and I was under a tight deadline. But before I mention that, you might find it interesting to know that my sleep was actually haunted last night by a dream wherein I had to stop a suicidally depressed Keith Appleby (no relation) from shooting himself in the head. With a gun. It was pretty intense. Somehow this dream later morphed into me stopping Sarah Palin from shooting herself in the head. Less intense.

Anyway, I was on a deadline and beginning to start my mind whirring about alternatives, if I was unable to secure a second tape. I was driving a short distance down Highway 101 when I noticed a drug store. I hoped that mixed in with the notions and pills might be a dusty old video tape. I should stop here to mention that all of my interactions regarding the video tape were complicated by the fact that I now pronounce the word "video" as "vidja" after Hank Hill in a family-beloved episode of King of the Hill. The fine service industry employees from Waldport suffered repeated queries about the possibility of me purchasing a "vidja tape" from them. As I was walking into the drug store I had a stoke of genius. Failing to secure a regulation video tape, I could attempt to purchase an old video tape from one of the many, many junk antique stores that make their home on the Walport shopping strip and tape over the tabs and use it to record the game. For some reason I was picturing the movie being Curly Sue.

The drug store "used to have" video tapes, but I could tell by the woman's reaction to my question that the "used to" was sometime in the '90s. She did, however, suggest that I check out the Radio Shack. She asked me if I knew where it was, god bless her sweet little heart. After getting directions, I started out. On the the half-mile journey to the Shack, I passed a video store, a grocery store larger than the one I had patronized earlier, and an ACE-brand hardware store. All potential tape-purchasing resources. Lesson here? Do not trust 17-year-olds in Waldport to help you find technology that was being phased out when they were born.

The Shack had two options for me, the regular "6 hour" tape or the super "9 hour" tape. The "9 hour" tape -- really a three hour tape without the ELP -- would come in handy if the game went into OT, but it was $5.99 as opposed to $1.99 for the regular tape. I made the snap decision to save the four bucks and go standard.

All went smoothly as far as swapping the tapes out. It happened to be halftime when I went downstairs where the tv was playing the game -- I loudly sang the UO fight song in case the announcers were talking about how awesome Oregon was looking and kept my eyes lowered, unnecessarily as it turned out. Those paying attention might notice that having one tape completed at half time means that we are pushing it for getting the whole game in, but I wasn't worried as it was the end of the halftime break and I figured the game got a late start. Those really paying attention will note that I don't know if "half time" is one word or two.

Around 3:30 pm the retreat had concluded business for the day, but the tape still had an hour to run. No problem. We could just let the tape run until it was done and watch the game at 4:30 pm. Unless...unless the game went into overtime. Then we risked missing the crucial last plays of the game. Yes, we could catch the 11:00 pm replay of the game, or more to the point, wake ourselves up at approximately 3:30 am to catch the last few minutes, but this seemed extreme. I might mention here that by this point it had become pretty clear that only two people at the retreat actually cared about the game, myself and the aforementioned Appleby, who later that night would go on to become my "wine stain" buddy, as we managed to slob all over ourselves.

That is one Glenn "GMo" Morris stepped up to the plate, offering to check to see if the game was indeed going to finish before the tape did. His first report to us was that there would be no problem. This was a relief. Appleby and I even briefly contemplated a trip to the beach with the intention of watching the game whenever we got back. While we schemed, Glenn reported to me that he had earlier been mistaken and there were indeed thirteen minutes left in the game. We had approximately 20 minutes of tape. Given that all football games are legally required to stop the clock every forty-five seconds to give Americans a chance to weigh their purchasing options, we knew we were in trouble.

That is when a second "man" stepped up to the proverbial plate and offered to stop the tape during the commercial breaks, so that the tape didn't run out. Wes Shirley is his name, becoming my hero is his game. Not only did he perform this vital function, he also got up and pushed the fast forward button through all the commercials for us during the game.

Now, it may have a occurred to many of you that Glenn's earlier "mistake" about the time was an indication that the game went into overtime. You are better than me. Or more sober. And less likely to underestimate Glenn's knowledge of football.

In addition to these two awesome men, who never ever once let on that the game went into overtime, let alone who won, the entire house, save me and Appleby (and maybe Katie, I can't remember), knew who won the game and they never let on in the least, even as we were punching things, cursing the fates, and then running around the house in jubilation.

These truly are brothers and sisters. I love them. Again, I will put these people up against any union in the country. Bring them on. We'll tape it.