Vintage Dilbert March 16, 2016

Vintage Dilbert
March 16, 2016

One young academically excellent person went to apply for a managerial position in a big company. He passed the first interview, the director did the last interview, made the last decision. The director discovered from the CV that the youth’s academic achievements were excellent all the way, from the secondary school until the postgraduate research, Never had a year when he did not score.

The director asked, “Did you obtain any scholarships in school?” The youth answered “none”.

The director asked,  “Was it your father who paid for your school fees?” The youth answered, “My father passed away when I was one year old, it was my mother who paid for my school fees”.

The director asked,  “Where did your mother work?” The youth answered, “My mother worked as clothes cleaner. The director requested the youth to show his hands. The youth showed a pair of hands that were smooth and perfect”.

The director asked,  “Have you ever helped your mother wash the clothes before?” The youth answered, “Never, my mother always wanted me to study and read more books. Furthermore, my mother can wash clothes faster than me”.
The director said, “I have a request. When you go back home today, go and clean your mother’s hands, and then see me tomorrow morning”.

The youth felt that his chance of landing the job was high. When he went back, he happily requested his mother to let him clean her hands. His mother felt strange, happy but with mixed feelings, she showed her hands to her son. The youth cleaned his mother’s hands slowly. His tears fell as he cleaned. It was the first time he noticed that his mother’s hands were so wrinkled, and there were so many bruises in her hands. Some bruises were so painful that his mother shivered when they were cleaned with water.

This was the first time the youth realized that it was this pair of hands that washed the clothes everyday to enable him to pay the school fee. The bruises in the mother’s hands were the price that the mother had to pay for his graduation, academic excellence and his future. After finishing the cleaning of his mother’s hands, the youth quietly washed all the remaining clothes for his mother. That night, mother and son talked for a very long time. Next morning, the youth went to the director’s office.

The Director noticed the tears in the youth’s eyes and asked:  “Can you tell me what have you done and learned yesterday in your house?” The youth answered,  “I cleaned my mother’s hand, and also finished cleaning all the remaining clothes”.

The Director asked,  “please tell me your feelings”. The youth said, “Number 1, I know now what is appreciation. Without my mother, there would not be the success for me today. Number 2, By working together and helping my mother, only I now realize how difficult and tough it is to get something done. Number 3, I have come to appreciate the importance and value of family relationship”.

The director said,  “This is what I am looking for to be my manager. I want to recruit a person who can appreciate the help of others, a person who knows the sufferings of others to get things done, and a person who would not put money as his only goal in life. You are hired”.

Later on, this young person worked very hard, and received the respect of his subordinates. Every employee worked diligently and as a team. The company’s performance improved tremendously.

 

Author Unknown - Please comment if you 
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Vintage Dilbert March 15, 2005

Vintage Dilbert
March 15, 2005

My dad’s name was George Bullard. He was born in a rural area, right up in the northeast corner of Mississippi that most folks call British County and the locals just call paradise. My dad was about 50 when I was born, but I was very fortunate to have had him.

He raised and trained bird dogs his whole life. If the bird dog business got a little slow, he’d paint a house or two, but after he got up in his 60s, someone persuaded him to get into politics. He ran for the board of aldermen, and he was elected by a landslide. Everybody loved him.

His assignment was fire commissioner. Now, the only things the previous fire commissioners had done were go to meetings and make political decisions. My father liked to get involved, though, so he went to the telephone company and said, “Can’t y’all hook my telephone up with the one at the fire department?”

So they did, and every time the fire department telephone rang, our phone rang—one long, continuous ring until you picked it up—and then you didn’t talk; you just listened to see where the fire was so he could go. And he went to all the fires, day or night. He knew almost nothing about firefighting, but he knew how to encourage young men, so he’d go and encourage ’em.

I got involved because my father had almost stopped driving at night because of his age, and as a teenager with a driver’s license, I’d drive him at three o’clock in the morning.

After his few turns as board alderman, several people, myself included, persuaded him not to do that anymore. But when he left, he found that he missed the camaraderie he had formed with the firemen, and because the firemen and the police department were in the same building, he missed the policemen too. So he would just go down there to visit every now and again. And this being a small town, they worked out something which might not have been real legal, but they taught him how to operate the police radio, and anytime anybody wanted a day off or was sick, he’d go in and work an eight-hour shift.

But one day, he got to his job down at the police department, and he discovered, to his amazement, they had a prisoner!

I did say it was a small town. It was most unusual.

And that morning, he really didn’t have much to do. He’d wander back and talk to this young man, and when he went out for lunch, he brought a couple hamburgers back for him. Well, by one or two o’clock, he had made a decision about this young man, and he always trusted his instincts about people. He had decided that in spite of being long-haired—way down to here, which my father hated—he was a decent young man, so he’d see if he could help him.

He started to inquire of him, “Why are you still here? You seem like such a nice young man. Won’t anybody come get you out of jail?”

And the young man told him, “Well, I had a little too much to drink last night, and they arrested me for drunken disorder, and here I am.”

My dad said, “Well, what would it take to get you out?” And he said, “Well, I have to pay a two-hundred-dollar fine.” My dad said, “Well, why can’t your family pay the two-hundred-dollar fine?” He said, “Well, I think if I could talk to my father face-to-face, I could get the two hundred dollars from him, but I don’t know how he’s going to react to a collect call from the Boonville jail.”

My dad mulled this over a little while, and he said, “Well, do you think if I turned you loose, you could go find your father and get two hundred dollars and come back?”

I’m going to remind you that my father’s only duty was operating the police radio that talked back and forth with the cars.

So the young man said, “Well, see, I’m from Corinth, Mississippi, and that’s about 20 miles north. They impounded my car. I got no way up there.”

And my daddy said, “Well, is it a blue Chevrolet?” And he said, “Yes, sir.” And then my daddy said, “It’s parked out in the parking lot. I can probably find the keys.”

So he scrounges around in the desk drawers and finds the keys, and he not only releases the prisoner, over whom he has no authority, he gives him a getaway car.

Well, as the kid leaves, my father says, “Now, son, I believe if I could borrow two hundred dollars from my daddy, I’d borrow another five to get me a darn haircut.”

At about four o’clock, the policemen started coming back to change shifts, and as they came in, they check in on the prisoner. And they discovered, to their dismay, that they didn’t have one. And they said, “Mr. George, what happened to the prisoner?”

My daddy was busy doing his closing-up paperwork, and he said, “Oh, yeah. I turned him loose.”
And the police officer said, “You did what?”

“Turned him loose.”

“Mr. George, why did you do that?”

Daddy said, “Well, he just seemed like a nice young man, and he’ll be back in a little while with his two hundred dollars.”

And the police officer was kind of taken aback. He’d known my father all his life; my father was like a grandfather to most of those guys. The officer said, “OK, well, we’ll take care of this,” and he went back to the other policemen to try to figure out how they were gonna get out of this without my father losing his unofficial job, and one of them says, “Well, we ought to remind the chief that George Bullard helped get him elected.” But another of ’em said, “Oh, I got a better idea. Let’s just tear up the paperwork, and we’ll just pretend we never arrested that boy.”

Well, my father wouldn’t hear of it. He said, “Oh, no. I know that boy’s coming back. I know he is.”

And the police officer said, “How can you be so sure? You don’t even know him.”

And my father’s answer was simple: “He told me that he would.”

They waited around, and 4:30 came and five o’clock, and of course, no young man returned. And at about 5:15, they’re trying to get my dad to go home, ’cause his shift ended at five.
He’s kind of stoic, and he says,“No, I’m gonna wait around until he comes back.”

One of ’em observed, “Might be kind of a long wait.” But no, my dad didn’t get discouraged.
All of a sudden, the door opens, and the young man walks in—shaven, short hair—walks up to the counter, and they don’t even acknowledge him, ’cause they’re still mulling over what they’re gonna do to save my dad, and finally the young man says, “Excuse me; I’d like to pay my fine.” And that kind of got their attention, but they still didn’t recognize him, and one of ’em walked to the counter and said, “What fine is that you’re talking ’bout?”

He said, “Well, you guys arrested me last night—locked me up. I owe two hundred, and I’m here to pay it.” Started counting out 20-dollar bills. When he got to 200, the police didn’t say a word, but they wrote him out a receipt. They thanked him. The boy started to leave. When he got to the door to go out, he turned around and—almost as if he knew what the situation was like there in that office with my dad—said, “Oh, by the way, Mr. Bullard, I’m sorry I was late getting back, but I had to wait in the line at the barbershop.”

by Wanda Bullard

From the MS&D archives…. Enjoy 🙂 Kenny T

Morning Story and Dilbert

Morning Story and Dilbert Vintage Dilbert
July 21, 2013

I have a friend named Monty Roberts who owns a horse ranch in San Ysidro. He has let me use his house to put on fund-raising events to raise money for youth at risk programs.

The last time I was there he introduced me by saying, “I want to tell you why I let Jack use my horse. It all goes back to a story about a young man who was the son of an itinerant horse trainer who would go from stable to stable, race track to race track, farm to farm and ranch to ranch, training horses. As a result, the boy’s high school career was continually interrupted. When he was a senior, he was asked to write a paper about what he wanted to be and do when he grew up.

“That night he wrote a seven-page paper describing his goal of…

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….another Beau story just in time for the weekend!!!

Shootin' the Breeze

Some professionals with important responsibilities “make rounds.”  Physicians make hospital rounds.  Security guards make rounds.  Military personnel go on patrol.  Beau and his assistant, Camo the cat, make their daily rounds by patrolling around our ranch.  It kind of ticks me off.  I will explain.

Beau is a Yellow Labrador Retriever.  God designed him to, well, retrieve.  God invented other breeds to patrol.  For example, Great Pyrenees dogs patrol the perimeter.  We used to have a half Pyrenees/ half Australian Shepherd who could both herd and patrol.  Beau has refused to accept his designated role in life.  So has Camo.

Each morning at first light, Beau and Sadie wake us up by shaking their collars.  The do not bark.  They do not scratch at the door.  They shake their collars and have trained me  to respond by letting them out.

Sugar, my sleepy wife, has trained me to get out…

View original post 215 more words

Vintage Dilbert March 11, 2011

Vintage Dilbert
March 11, 2011

A son took his old father to a restaurant for an evening dinner.  Father being very old and weak, while eating, dropped food on his shirt and trousers.  Other diners watched him in disgust while his son was calm.

After he finished eating, his son who was not at all embarrassed, quietly took him to the wash room, wiped the food particles, removed the stains, combed his hair and fitted his spectacles firmly.  When they came out, the entire restaurant was watching them in dead silence, not able to grasp how someone could embarrass themselves publicly like that.  The son settled the bill and started walking out with his father.

At that time, an old man amongst the diners called out to the son and asked him, “Don’t you think you have left something behind?”.

The son replied, “No sir, I haven’t”.

The old man retorted, “Yes, you have!  You left a lesson for every son and hope for every father”.

The restaurant went silent.

I hope you enjoyed this story about Dad's as much as I have..... 
Explore the MS&D archives for over 1000 additional stories... 
Take Care and God Bless :-) Kenny T
Author Unknown - Please comment if you know the author
 so credit can be given

This is one of my favorite stories from the MS&D archives…. Warning, you may need a Kleenex!!!

Morning Story and Dilbert

Morning Story and Dilbert

As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on a wallet someone had lost in the street. I picked it up and looked inside to find some identification so I could call the owner. But the wallet contained only three dollars and a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been in there for years.

The envelope was worn and the only thing that was legible on it was the return address. I started to open the letter, hoping to find some clue. Then I saw the dateline–1924. The letter had been written almost sixty years ago.

It was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting on powder blue stationery with a little flower in the left-hand corner. It was a “Dear John” letter that told the recipient, whose name appeared to be Michael, that the writer could not see him anymore because her mother forbade it. Even so…

View original post 1,393 more words

Vintage Dilbert March 6, 2008

Vintage Dilbert
March 6, 2008

I met an old man today while waiting for my prescription at King Soopers.

He was huffing and puffing, tired from pushing his walker around the store. So he took a seat in the chair next to me, almost taking me out with his elbows as he sat down laboriously.

I was already irritated. I have an ear infection, and the pain can be excruciating if you’ve ever had one, so the last thing I wanted to do was listen.

But, whether I wanted to listen or not, this man decided to talk to me anyway. He told me he wasn’t getting a prescription today, but that he simply wanted to sit down while his wife finished shopping because he was old and tired.

He asked what was wrong with me.

“Ear infection,” I said.

Then he asked if I was married.

I told him no, that I was actually far from it and finally happy being single for the time being.

“Bachelor for life, eh?”

I told him no, that I do plan on getting married at some point.

“Good for you!” he said, and then he told me that he’s been married for almost 60 years. He was 29 when he got married, but when he knew, he knew, he said.

“You’ve got to wait for the right woman. We were so happy,” he says. “‘Course, over the years I went blind and lost my health, so she has to do all the driving and take care of me. She’s gotten a bit grumpier since those early days, and it’s tough being old and falling apart, but we still love each other. You know, I have 18 grand kids. Can’t even keep up with their birthdays every few weeks.”

And you could tell this man was genuinely happy. Through all the prescriptions, blindness, crazy family and old age, he and his wife have made it work and they still take trips to the grocery store together to shop. He has to force himself to walk around that store, but he does it because he loves being with her.

That’s the stuff I’m waiting for. I want to crawl into my grave with no legs, blind as a bat and happy as a lark that I fell in love with the right woman and we created a beautiful, healthy family together.

“Mr. Garramone?” the pharmacist called out.

I stood to get my prescription, which took a few minutes due to an insurance issue, and when I turned around he was gone.

Since I didn’t get the chance: thank you, old man, for being one of my angels and showing me that it’s okay to wait. And that it’s important to listen. Even when you only have one good ear to do so.

by Louie Garramone
Editor: Caroline Beaton
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