A Picnic Every Day

I used to roughneck for a man named Delmer Miller; he was quite a colorful character and had part of his nose missing from a long-ago fight. He was rough-edged, but had a great sense of humor. (and could also be petulant and childish, as you'll see) I was single when I worked for him and like most bachelors, my lunch box didn't hold a decent meal - or the love - that most married men's lunch boxes had in them. I often went out to work with not much to eat, sometimes just a few packages of cheese crackers and a couple of pieces of fruit.

After missing many meals because I would sleep right up until the time to go to work, I got in the habit of making a couple of sandwiches when I got home, then putting them in the fridge. I also bought some small Tupperware containers from my sister and filled them with slices of tomato and lettuce so they wouldn't make my bread soggy until I was ready to eat my sandwiches. I also learned to use mustard on my sandwiches because on hot summer nights mayo or salad dressing would spoil before it was time to eat.

Sometimes while eating our lunch - when we had time to eat it* - Delmer would quip "Ain't this great? A picnic every day!"

It was funny the first few times we heard it, but...

*(I used to work for an old man and we once had some down-hole trouble on the rig and for several nights we didn't even have time to eat our lunch.  One of the other roughnecks was bitching about it on the ride home and the old man told him "Hell, boy...I give you two chances to eat every day!"  "I'd like to know when THAT is!" sniffed my co-worker. "Well..." dryly replied the old driller, "Once on the way out to the rig and the other on the way back.")

Delmer had a wife who absolutely doted on him and once when I brought out some stroganoff my mom had given me when I ate supper with them, told his wife that he too wanted something else besides sandwiches in his lunch box. That day, while Delmer was asleep, she cooked a big batch of stew and sent some out in a wide-mouth thermos.  She had also baked some cornbread and had included a couple of big slices of that, too. He ate every bite and when he got in that morning, gave her a kiss on the cheek and told her it was great.

The next night he opened up his lunch box and found another thermos full of the stew. (like I said, she had made a big batch of it) He complained about it, but still ate it.  The next night he opened up his lunch, muttering that there had better not be any more stew, but when he opened up the thermos...yep, more stew.

In a fit, he poured out the thermos into the lunch box, crumbled up the cornbread and stirred it all up with a spoon, then closed the lid, lit a cigarette and got a cup of coffee.   He was in a bad mood the rest of the shift and we tried our best to stay away from him.

I knew there would be fireworks when he got home and confronted his wife and I knew I really shouldn't, but I followed him inside before getting in my own vehicle and going home.  She greeted me and tried to kiss Delmer, but he shrugged her off and plopped the lunch box down on the table.  She asked what was wrong and he said he was hungry and angry that she had put "the same damn thing" in his lunch again.  She opened up the lunch box and even though her eyes narrowed in anger, she didn't say anything about the mess inside the box but asked "Well, what DO you want in your lunch?"

"I don't care." Delmer said. "Just sumpthin' different."

That night when we all sat down to eat, Delmer was telling the rest of the guys, also bachelors like me, how he had "handled his old lady" and that we should take lessons.  "You'd better believe there's sumpthin' different in here tonight!" he bragged.

There was.  It was a coconut and a hammer.