Once upon a time I use to work in Fort Collins for a spice company (Custom Blending Inc.). It was a very small company but it was a great company and I am sure they are still doing fine back there in Colorado still today.
I use to get to work extremely early in the morning and would often take my lunch break and get a bite to eat around noon. Well actually I hardly ever ate lunch. It was probably more like driving around the area smoking cigarettes.
One day not long after I got the job at Custom Blending I was driving back in an industrial area and came across a taxidermy studio (Chapman's Taxidermy).
I had just recently graduated from the Northern Virginia School of Taxidermy and was really thinking I was the best taxidermist in the world, but after walking through the front door and noticing all of the blue ribbons and awards of excellence discovered right then that I wasn't barely worth a sh** as a taxidermist.
I introduced myself and asked if he (Bob Chapman) could use any help. He told me to stop by tomorrow and we would talk about it. I agreed to that and bolted back out the door and almost forgot about my other job Custom Blending.
After talking to the wife and working out a plan we figured that I could work a few hours a day there, if he was interested.
The next day came and lunch time couldn't come soon enough. Finally 12 o'clock! I busted out the door, stuck the pedal to the medal, smoked a stog and rushed up to the front door of Bob's studio.
He had a customer and I felt as if he didn't remember who I was, but once the customer left he said hi, glad you could come back would you be interested in starting today? I of course was excited, surprised and very happy to say yes.
2 o'clock came and I busted out the door, stuck the pedal to the medal, smoked a stog and rushed up to the front door of Bob's studio. I walked in and he had 3 Rainbow Trout laying on the table. He had a fillet knives, a brown paper bag and a grease pencil.
I watched him trace out a pattern of the Rainbow and was just amazed because where I was from and how I learned how to do taxidermy was completely different then what Bob had done in just the first few minutes of my new job. I was wondering if I had gotten myself in to deep and was way over my head.
We worked on skinning and cleaning the first two fish together and quite naturally his was done much quicker and had a few less holes in it than mine did. After several years of working on skinning fish I learned not to cut as many wholes in the specimens due to the fact there was a doc in pay if I did cut holes in them. I wasn't the fastest skinner and probably still ain't, but I do a good job and I am very thorough.
So as the years went by and our friendship grew I also started going over to the shop more often. I would go over for my fifteen minute break at 10, lunch time and after I got done working at 2. It all became very routine.
That is until one day when I walked in the front door and couldn't find Bob anywhere. This was somewhat normal as Bob would leave the shop open for me because he knew I was gonna stop over and smoke anyways and he was probably just on a beer run just down the street.
I looked around and was looking at a fish that Bob had just completed when... WHACK! Right in the ass I feel this very sharp and stinging sensassion and I was like. "What the Hell was that!". Bob was laughing his ass off when I discovered him hiding up in the rafters.
Bob hopped down on a barrel and had a blowdart gun in his hand. I immediatly turned and looke to see if there was a dart sticking out my ass. There wasn't and he showed me that he had a handful of apoxy ball BB's he made in his pocket for ammo.
Still I had not a clue as to what the Hell was going on so I said "What the Hell is going on!" as I sat there rubbing my ass. He very cheerfully said and chuckled out "It's Scooter Season". Not thinking this was very funny I walked out of the shop rubbing my ass.
Lunch time came and I busted out the door, put the pedal to the medal and smoked a stog and as I walk in the back door of Bob's studio notice that he is not in his shop once again and when I turn to see if his motorcycle is still here feel a WHACK right on the right side of my love handle.
"What the Hell was that!?" I scream in pain. As Bob steps out from behind the dupster he very cheerfully voices out "It's Scooter season". I'm like are you friggin' kidding me? I am thinking that the paint fumes have finally caught up to this old man, and as I turn around and retreat to my Isuzu Amigo because I decide to take a short lunch today hear a WHIZ right by my head. I jump in the truck and head back over to the Spice company.
I get off of work and I slowly drive over to the shop and smoke two stogs and am just burning up inside because my ass and back are sore from this morning. I pull up to the shop and see Bob sitting on his bench and I notice that he is actually working rather that Fing off. As I approach him all I hear is WHAP! My eyes immediatly tear up and both he and Brett Kirk burst out into laughter.
I'm not thinking this is too funny as I am looking at Brett holding a blowdart gun hooked up to an air compressor. The only thing I can think of is asking him why, and what the hell was going on. But what came out was "How many PSI are you using". Come to find out it was only 75.
Anyhow, as I am sitting on the bench with my ass, back and now right pec in pain turn to the two A-holes and say "OK when does this Scooter season, start and when does it end?" Bob says "Today quite naturally, it's April Fools day". I say "OK, when does it end?" Brett says, "Turkey season". "Oh well that's not so bad" as I'm holding my blood blistered boob. Bob just chuckles, "Not fall Turkey season, next Turkey season,... Spring." I'm like "OK, if we are gonna do this we need to give Scooter a break. I say if I touch something here in the shop I am 'HOME FREE''. Bob and Brett both aggreed to those terms and elected the tool box in the shop 'HOME FREE' and if I touched it I was safe for the visit's intirety.
I finish skinning my two fish and head home, go to bed, wake up go to work, burst out the door at 10 am, floor the gas, smoke a stog, rush to the front door of the studio the next day and walk in and WHACK!!! Right in the same as cheek as the day before and without a chuckle he say very calmly as he reloads his blow dart gun "Scooter season". I immediatly sprint slide and tag the tool box and just like a kid scream "Home free! Home free!"
Three times a day, every day for five years I went zippin, sneaking, sliding and sprinting to that old beat up tool box and have had many of hunters buy a Scooter license (conciquently, the price of a pack of cigarettes) over the years in hopes of bagging a trophy Scooter. Some were successful, some were not. But for the few who were lucky enough to try can bet that they thought the opportunity was well worth the price.
On the very last day that I lived in Colorado I walked into the shop and of course did not see Bob at all. Not 15 minute break nor during my lunch hour. I of course was overly cautious and planned out my bolt for the last blitz for the 'HOME FREE TOL BOX'. I crashed the door did a summerslat roll and dove on my belly and slid across the floor. I hear WHIZZES past my ears as I am getting smacked in the ass by pellets and as i stand up see a bungee cord and rope obsticle course that I would have to navigate through to get to my 'HOME FREE' safety net. I make it through all of the sh** finally and turn the corner for the home stretch and notice that the tool box is missing and there sits a cardboard tomb stone that reads hear lies Scooter, bla, bla, bla...
I didn't have time to read the note as everyone that had baught a Scooter license over the years was there and was ready to bag them a Scooter. Well I finally made it to my make shift 'HOME FREE' station (My Isuzu, Amigo) and that was the end of Scooter season.
Since I moved to Nebraska they have not opened a Scooter season. Though, it was literally a pain in my ass at times, I do sincerly miss being stalked by Bob Chapman.
I use to get to work extremely early in the morning and would often take my lunch break and get a bite to eat around noon. Well actually I hardly ever ate lunch. It was probably more like driving around the area smoking cigarettes.
One day not long after I got the job at Custom Blending I was driving back in an industrial area and came across a taxidermy studio (Chapman's Taxidermy).
I had just recently graduated from the Northern Virginia School of Taxidermy and was really thinking I was the best taxidermist in the world, but after walking through the front door and noticing all of the blue ribbons and awards of excellence discovered right then that I wasn't barely worth a sh** as a taxidermist.
I introduced myself and asked if he (Bob Chapman) could use any help. He told me to stop by tomorrow and we would talk about it. I agreed to that and bolted back out the door and almost forgot about my other job Custom Blending.
After talking to the wife and working out a plan we figured that I could work a few hours a day there, if he was interested.
The next day came and lunch time couldn't come soon enough. Finally 12 o'clock! I busted out the door, stuck the pedal to the medal, smoked a stog and rushed up to the front door of Bob's studio.
He had a customer and I felt as if he didn't remember who I was, but once the customer left he said hi, glad you could come back would you be interested in starting today? I of course was excited, surprised and very happy to say yes.
2 o'clock came and I busted out the door, stuck the pedal to the medal, smoked a stog and rushed up to the front door of Bob's studio. I walked in and he had 3 Rainbow Trout laying on the table. He had a fillet knives, a brown paper bag and a grease pencil.
I watched him trace out a pattern of the Rainbow and was just amazed because where I was from and how I learned how to do taxidermy was completely different then what Bob had done in just the first few minutes of my new job. I was wondering if I had gotten myself in to deep and was way over my head.
We worked on skinning and cleaning the first two fish together and quite naturally his was done much quicker and had a few less holes in it than mine did. After several years of working on skinning fish I learned not to cut as many wholes in the specimens due to the fact there was a doc in pay if I did cut holes in them. I wasn't the fastest skinner and probably still ain't, but I do a good job and I am very thorough.
So as the years went by and our friendship grew I also started going over to the shop more often. I would go over for my fifteen minute break at 10, lunch time and after I got done working at 2. It all became very routine.
That is until one day when I walked in the front door and couldn't find Bob anywhere. This was somewhat normal as Bob would leave the shop open for me because he knew I was gonna stop over and smoke anyways and he was probably just on a beer run just down the street.
I looked around and was looking at a fish that Bob had just completed when... WHACK! Right in the ass I feel this very sharp and stinging sensassion and I was like. "What the Hell was that!". Bob was laughing his ass off when I discovered him hiding up in the rafters.
Bob hopped down on a barrel and had a blowdart gun in his hand. I immediatly turned and looke to see if there was a dart sticking out my ass. There wasn't and he showed me that he had a handful of apoxy ball BB's he made in his pocket for ammo.
Still I had not a clue as to what the Hell was going on so I said "What the Hell is going on!" as I sat there rubbing my ass. He very cheerfully said and chuckled out "It's Scooter Season". Not thinking this was very funny I walked out of the shop rubbing my ass.
Lunch time came and I busted out the door, put the pedal to the medal and smoked a stog and as I walk in the back door of Bob's studio notice that he is not in his shop once again and when I turn to see if his motorcycle is still here feel a WHACK right on the right side of my love handle.
"What the Hell was that!?" I scream in pain. As Bob steps out from behind the dupster he very cheerfully voices out "It's Scooter season". I'm like are you friggin' kidding me? I am thinking that the paint fumes have finally caught up to this old man, and as I turn around and retreat to my Isuzu Amigo because I decide to take a short lunch today hear a WHIZ right by my head. I jump in the truck and head back over to the Spice company.
I get off of work and I slowly drive over to the shop and smoke two stogs and am just burning up inside because my ass and back are sore from this morning. I pull up to the shop and see Bob sitting on his bench and I notice that he is actually working rather that Fing off. As I approach him all I hear is WHAP! My eyes immediatly tear up and both he and Brett Kirk burst out into laughter.
I'm not thinking this is too funny as I am looking at Brett holding a blowdart gun hooked up to an air compressor. The only thing I can think of is asking him why, and what the hell was going on. But what came out was "How many PSI are you using". Come to find out it was only 75.
Anyhow, as I am sitting on the bench with my ass, back and now right pec in pain turn to the two A-holes and say "OK when does this Scooter season, start and when does it end?" Bob says "Today quite naturally, it's April Fools day". I say "OK, when does it end?" Brett says, "Turkey season". "Oh well that's not so bad" as I'm holding my blood blistered boob. Bob just chuckles, "Not fall Turkey season, next Turkey season,... Spring." I'm like "OK, if we are gonna do this we need to give Scooter a break. I say if I touch something here in the shop I am 'HOME FREE''. Bob and Brett both aggreed to those terms and elected the tool box in the shop 'HOME FREE' and if I touched it I was safe for the visit's intirety.
I finish skinning my two fish and head home, go to bed, wake up go to work, burst out the door at 10 am, floor the gas, smoke a stog, rush to the front door of the studio the next day and walk in and WHACK!!! Right in the same as cheek as the day before and without a chuckle he say very calmly as he reloads his blow dart gun "Scooter season". I immediatly sprint slide and tag the tool box and just like a kid scream "Home free! Home free!"
Three times a day, every day for five years I went zippin, sneaking, sliding and sprinting to that old beat up tool box and have had many of hunters buy a Scooter license (conciquently, the price of a pack of cigarettes) over the years in hopes of bagging a trophy Scooter. Some were successful, some were not. But for the few who were lucky enough to try can bet that they thought the opportunity was well worth the price.
On the very last day that I lived in Colorado I walked into the shop and of course did not see Bob at all. Not 15 minute break nor during my lunch hour. I of course was overly cautious and planned out my bolt for the last blitz for the 'HOME FREE TOL BOX'. I crashed the door did a summerslat roll and dove on my belly and slid across the floor. I hear WHIZZES past my ears as I am getting smacked in the ass by pellets and as i stand up see a bungee cord and rope obsticle course that I would have to navigate through to get to my 'HOME FREE' safety net. I make it through all of the sh** finally and turn the corner for the home stretch and notice that the tool box is missing and there sits a cardboard tomb stone that reads hear lies Scooter, bla, bla, bla...
I didn't have time to read the note as everyone that had baught a Scooter license over the years was there and was ready to bag them a Scooter. Well I finally made it to my make shift 'HOME FREE' station (My Isuzu, Amigo) and that was the end of Scooter season.
Since I moved to Nebraska they have not opened a Scooter season. Though, it was literally a pain in my ass at times, I do sincerly miss being stalked by Bob Chapman.
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