Old Grumpy picked up a nickname on one of his trips to Florida. It’s something I want to put on a tee shirt sometime soon.
It all started on the way down. We had stopped late at night at one of those all night gas stations along the Interstate. I’m always a little wary because our women are attractive and our daughters are young and nubile. You see some of the people you meet in the dead of night are what my kids call “sketchy”. There’s usually guys in there who look a little rough and ready.
Anyway, at this stop I had a creepy feeling about a couple of dudes so I went into my protect mode. This involves keeping an eye on the girls as the literally sleepwalk into the joint in order to relieve their bladders. It’s like watching a troop of Zombies.
Everything went well until my daughter emerged. It was starting to rain and she was alone, standing under cover by the doorway, waiting to make a run for the van. I was standing by the van, waving at her to get a move on it. The creepy dudes were just emerging from the door and were scanning my little beauty with wolf-like eyes. Visions of a kidnapping danced in my head.
I hollered at my wife to open the sliding door and she fairly ignored me. Zombies have slow reaction time, you see. Annoyed, I hammered on the window saying, “Open the door. Open the door!” Out of the corner of my eye I could see a look of panic in my daughter’s eyes. She was making her move.
So, I kind of lost it. I wasn’t rude or harsh, just a little over the top.
I knew, of course, that I had shot myself in the foot once again. Because when the door opened, the Zombie, who had come back to life, said, “You’re such a dick!”
Now you know where the first name came from.
You see, the crew had been calling me “Thread” (like Fred) all night long in recognition of the story I had told about the thread that nearly severed my penis a few years back. You can go back and read that Blog when you have time. You can find it under the title, “The Incident in Row B!” Given my wife’s anger, I’m thinking this was another night I might just have lost my ding-a-ling in a New York minute.
So, after this all happened, I was always addressed as “Dick Thread” for the remainder of the holiday. Yes, it does sound a little like “Dickhead” and I’m sure that was the intent.
Our Florida people had no idea why this was happening except that it might have something to do with the massive amounts of beer Willy Boy and I consumed.
The tee shirt I want to get made will say “THIS IS HOW DICK THREAD ROLLS!” Hey, maybe I can come out with my own clothing line or store called Dick’s Threads. Watch out Old Navy, here I come.
SIDEBAR TO THIS STORY: Maybe you think I am a bit paranoid, given the fact I feel vulnerable at these stops, at least in terms of my girls. But I just learned that after 17 hours without sleep your brain is impaired as if you had drank yourself to a .05 level, and once you reach 24 hours your are impaired as if you had a 1.1 blood alcohol level. That’s why I don’t advise these 24 hour drives, especially if you’re already a crazy nut bar and roll like Dick Thread.