Idiot Proof

Idiot Proof

note; The title of this installment is ‘’ldiot Proof.’‘ One reason that l’m late in submitting this is because certain antique firearms aren’t---idiot proof, that is. While working to restore a 1914 Crescent double-barrel twenty gauge shotgun, serial number 255023, this idiot took an accidental discharge to the left hand. Apart from the initial shock, horror and pain, the experience has been a lot of fun! Still, l don’t recommend it. More on that later when the re-constructive surgery follow-up is complete and JAMA is through with me.

lt is widely understood what the term ‘’idiot proof’‘ means. Usually, it refers to a device that is designed so as to be impossible to operate or repair improperly by one acting independent of the thought process. Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, 11th edition, listed the phrase in 1976 as ‘’extremely easy to operate or maintain.’‘ But there’s so much more to it than that. Having just passed milestone No. 62, l find it not only necessary to idiot-proof devices, but my life in general. However, there’s a cleverness involved that threatens to contradict the term. Let’s look at some examples combined into a theoretical day.

ln order to get anything done on my mobile tractor repair route that involves more than one location or even idea requires that l line things up so as to be on a direct, inevitable collision course. ln cases where a certain outcome is to be avoided, l must arrange things so that a collision is averted by a wide margin.

An example of the latter situation; The Old Black Truck (1968 F-350 tool body service truck) is parked in a small one-bay shop. There’s very little side clearance as the truck enters or exits the doorway. l prefer to nose in and back out since it’s usually dark when l arrive home. The people door enters the shop on the truck’s driver’s side but the truck’s keys are hung on the opposite wall. Of course, this is to prevent my backing through the doorway with the passenger side’s horizontal toolbox door open. lt must work--l haven’t torn off a toolbox door, yet, if you don’t include our local rescue squad’s crash unit in 1988. ( l didn’t leave it open. No suspect has yet come forward.)

My reconnaissance and small job vehicle is a 1994 Subaru wagon, the ‘’little green Old Black Truck.’‘ This vehicle often goes to the farm museum where l’m all alone on 300 acres. There, l often dispense with the standard uniform of bib overalls, black t-shirt and steel-toe boots in favor of tennis shoes, cutoffs and no shirt.

This outfit really helps to make the summer swelter bearable and rids me of my pallor for the traditional Labor Day trip to the beach. Old, overweight AND pale? No way! lf l were to forget my tennis shoes and cutoffs....well, l just can’t afford to. At home, tennis shoes live outside with the pigs and skunks for much the same reason. Under the tennis shoes are the cutoffs, neatly folded with the Subaru keys in a front pocket. Now that the tennis shoes and cutoffs are sure to be on board, l find that my next reminders are written on a small, sturdy cardboard box on the driver’s seat. The box may also contain special tools or supplies essential to the day’s endeavors.

Anyway, the box always features a reminder of some sort, written on the sides. l use the plural of ‘’side’‘ because l tend to re-use these boxes without dating or crossing out previous reminders. This can lead to some confusion. Am l supposed to ‘’battery, drive chain, clutch bearing Solenburger’s’‘ or ‘’Miller Tool, bug spray, 6-volt coil, tax forms?’‘

Well, now l’m on my way. Fortunately, all of my business is in the same direction ; east. That is, except for my fuel account. l’m not a patron of the plastic so, if l don’t have cash to cover the day’s fuel needs, a brief trip west is in order. For some reason, this need is usually discovered while ascending a mountain to the east. Fortunately, this allows me to turn around and coast down to a local convenience store and put in a few dollars worth before heading west to fill up.

lf l run low on fuel in the Old Black Truck, in a manner reminiscent of a Plugger cartoon, l ‘’download’‘ or siphon some fuel from the elevated air compressor gas tank into the truck’s gas filler using a short hose. The truck is then able (hopefully) to make it to the nearest gas pumps. So, now l’m finally on my way to ‘’ground cable, pilot bushing, CS Arms, wheel bearing.’‘

l approach our neighborhood while returning from the gas pumps. While l contemplate simply going on by, the little voice in my head derived from forgotten experience, tells me to stop at home in case l’ve forgotten something. At home, my wife is in the shower getting ready to head out to her volunteer ministry at the regional jail. l spot my cel-phone on the kitchen table. That’s odd--l thought that l had grabbed it this morning. Oh well... that’s what the little voice is for. l pocket the phone---another victory over disorganization !

Now l’m really on my way. Passing through Hayfield, Virginia, l’m on the rural four-lane and through the gears. Knowing that my wife’s cel-phone will be temporarily confiscated when she enters the jail, l take advantage of my newly liberated right hand to call her one last time and see how things are going in her world before she goes in for the day. Her cel-phone rings in my pocket.

At the Ford/New Holland dealer, l somehow manage to remember the combination to the after-hours parts room door. lt isn’t really after hours, but other parts suppliers use this room as a drop-off for customers in the area. This room has become a sort of micro Grange where tractor dealers , farmers, mechanics, landscapers and just plain folks, in effect, meet. l confess that l sometimes visit this room, even if l’m not expecting any parts, just to see which members of this extensive rural community are represented.

An experienced eye can tell who’s working on what and the degree of urgency and severity. After conducting some business at the parts counter inside, l stop by the after hours parts room for a quick peek. There on the shelf is a package with Plein Air Tractor (my business name) written across it.

Hmmm...lessee....oh, dang. Forgot that customer---looks like another change in plan.

And so it goes. The good old days when many things simply fell into place if left to chance are gone. Though l have advancing age to contend with, young people going into business also do well to recognize the need for diligent preparation. While not intended to be a step by step how-to, l hope that the forgoing demonstrates the degree of planning and precision needed in order to operate a business during these challenging times.

epilogue; ‘’ldiot Proof’‘ was first published in West Virginia’s Hampshire Review newspaper ten years ago. Now at age 72 l no longer run the tractor repair route with the exception of the private farm museum near Middleburg, Virginia. After more than 25 years there, the place and people have become too much a part of my life to simply walk away from. Anyway, with its scenery, old tractors and trucks, the farm is an ideal photography venue for my tech articles. As for ‘’idiot proofing’‘ my life, l spent much of last winter searching out my published articles dating back to the early 1990’s and tucking them away (on paper) in several old-fashioned metal filing cabinets. That was time well spent and was instrumental in bringing you ‘’ldiot Proof’‘ and other stories.

This winter, l hope to do much the same organizing the approxamately ten-thousand color print photographs l’ve accumulated over 3 decades. As for daily idiot proofing, l’ve bolted a large chalk board next to the entrance of the shop where l can outline recent and coming events and projects without losing the list.