The Hunderds

I like the word hundred. I like it even more when I change the end to erd. It just sounds cool. A hunderd bucks. A hunderd pounds. A hunderd miles. 

I remember a day that came up all hunderds. 

About 35 years ago, I was in college and working for a senator that had a little gentleman's farm. A gentleman's farm is almost like a regular farm, except it exists mostly to let rich people tell their friends that they have a farm. I didn't care. It was a good gig. I could show up anytime I didn't have class. I always had something that needed doing, so I could just drive over and go to work. The senator would show up at some point and pay me cash. It worked out great. 

One Thursday evening the senator called me, told me he was in a jam, and asked if I could work on Friday. I told him that I had classes on Friday, but if it was really necessary, I'd meet him in the morning and work, but that I'd have to leave for a few hours to attend class. Afterwards, I could return and work the rest of the day. He told me that was fine and we'd meet the next morning at 5 am. 

I was there the next morning as the sun came up, anxious to see what was so important. It was going to be hot, so I had a gallon milk jug full of cold water and a sandwich. Just as agreed, the senator drove up and motioned for me to follow him. I drove my truck and followed the senator over to a remote spot on the farm. It only took a minute for me to see the problem. There was a big trailer loaded with bags of concrete, half buried in some mud. Even worse, the trailer had a broken axle. There was another trailer sitting nearby, but well away from the soggy ground. The senator told me that he needed all the concrete bags moved over to the empty trailer. I asked him how many bags? 100. I asked him how heavy they were? 100 pounds. I'm no math wiz, but it only took me a minute to respond. "Damn, that's 5 tons!" He said, "I know, but it's got to be moved. I'll have a crew of guys here for a few hours, while you're gone. They should get a bunch of it, then you can finish when you get back after school." 

Oh well, it all pays the same, so I got started. I'd grab a bag, get it positioned, then walk over to the other trailer and drop it off. They were heavy, but it wouldn’t kill me. It was cool and after a few trips, it was just a routine—grab a bag, get it over my shoulder, and start walking. Soon, though, I started doing what I always do when I'm bored—I started counting stuff. I count birds or clouds or trees or most anything I can find. On that day, I counted steps. After another trip, I realized that it was 100 steps roundtrip. I quit counting and started thinking. I thought it was interesting that I was moving 100 bags, weighing 100 pounds, for 100 steps. 

I mulled the odd pattern over for a while and then got back to the back-breaking work. After a bit, I needed a break and a drink of water. I walked over to my truck and opened the door. As I leaned back with my jug of water, I turned on the truck's radio. I was listening to an AM station that played Country music. I didn't like the DJ much, but the station came in good. The DJ talked too much and never played two songs back-to-back without a bunch of talking in between. I caught the last half of Rosanne Cash singing Tennessee Flat Top Box and then the blabbering DJ started in talking. He started talking about a big celebration that was happening in Guntersville Alabama. The entire town had shown up to help a pair of twin sisters to celebrate their one hundredth birthday! 

I chuckled at the news. Of course it was a centennial birthday party. Another hunderd in my day. A hunderd bags weighing a hunderd pounds for a hunderd steps, while a couple of old ladies celebrate their hunderdth birthday. Funny. Weird.

I drank my water and got back to work. At 10:30, I jumped in my truck to head to school. I needed a shower, but didn't have time. I'd have to rely on my 24-hr deodorant to keep me on good terms with the other students. I listened to the professor, took my notes, and a couple of hours later I was back at the farm. 

When I pulled up, I was delighted to see that a crew had worked while I was gone and had made a huge dent in the pile of bags. But the rest of the heavy bags weren’t gonna move themselves, so I dug back in and made a few round trips to the trailer. My back was starting to ache, and I realized that it wasn't nearly as easy as it was in the morning. Besides being tired, it had gotten hot. I was wiping sweat when I heard some noise up the road and the senator rolled up in his fancy golf cart. His wife had made a big glass of cold iced tea for me.  I thought for a moment that I wished she'd had brought it. She was terribly pretty, but moreover, she was sweet to a fault. I always enjoyed talking to her about horses, or home. Before she married the senator, she was from a town not far from where I grew up. I wasn’t surprised that she sent me a cold drink.

The senator handed me the tea and mentioned that it looked like I'd get the trailer finished in an hour or two. He said he'd be back to pay me. Before he rolled off, he told me to make sure I drank plenty of water. He said that he'd just left the barn and the thermometer said it was exactly 100 degrees, the hottest day of the year! 

Again, I chuckled. Of course it was. It just wouldn't be right if it was 99 or 101. I'm all about hunderds! 

A couple of hours later, I dropped the last bag on the trailer. I walked to my truck and sat down. I started the truck and turned the air conditioner on. It was about worn out, but in a minute or so, I felt some cool air on my face. As I sat, soaking in the coolness and thinking over the day's events, the senator's golf cart came around the corner. I pulled my truck forward a little to get it in the shade of a tree and got out. The senator hopped out of his rig and thanked me for helping him get out of a jam. He opened his wallet and handed me four twenty-dollar bills. As I reached for it, I inadvertently let out a chuckle. It was an accident. Yes, of course I was expecting a hundred, but without all the day's phenomena, I certainly wouldn't have chuckled at 80 bucks. 

The senator wrinkled his face and looked at me. "Is that not enough?" 

"No, that's plenty!" 

"Well damn, here then!" 

He put the 4 twenties back in his wallet and handed me a crisp hundred. 

I couldn't help but get a big grin, as I took it from his hand. The senator laughed for a second and then jumped back in his cart. 

"See ya next week," and he drove off. 

I smiled a few more times on my drive home. I thought about all the 100s and the pattern. I thought it most interesting that the pattern was so strong, that when it was almost broken by an eighty, it fixed itself. The pattern made me chuckle at a very improper moment, but it fixed the pattern. I reasoned that something was going on, and it was powerful! 

I wondered now what? How could I harness this new-found phenomenon? Could I get rich on the lottery? Nope. It doesn't even have a hundred numbers. Keno? Nope. Bingo? Nope. Blackjack. Not even close. 

I thought about it hard for the rest of my drive. There has to be some way for me to take advantage of this roll of the number 100. Then it hit me. For the next two days, I'd have my nose buried in a book, studying for a Calculus exam. I wasn't a great student and maybe this was my one chance to get a perfect score. Yes! That's it. I'll use the power on my test score! 

For the next two days, I studied math. Well, I kind of studied. OK, I at least had the book with me while I drank cappuccinos at the A Street Roma. I had the thick text book in my backpack on Saturday night when I met my pal Craig at The Silo for a pitcher of Coors Light. I even opened it and read a couple of test exercises as a drank coffee on my balcony on Sunday. 

On Monday morning I was ready. I sat down, the proctor handed me a test, and I jumped in. I scribbled and erased, scratched my head and wrote down answers. I wore out a couple of sheets of scratch paper, but an hour later, I handed the test back to the proctor with a smile on my face. 

I had to wait until Wednesday to get my grade. But I wasn't worried. I had the power of the hundreds. Nothing could break it. If a rich senator couldn't break it, a bald-headed college professor didn't even have a chance. 

On Wednesday, I got to campus, walked to the L-building, and then climbed a few flights of stairs to the professor's office. The scores were posted on a sheet hanging outside his door. With no trepidation, I ran my finger down the sheet until it got to my student number. I closed my eyes and moved it to the right, toward the last column. With a cocky bravado, I said a loud "Bam!" and opened my eyes. 

68, C-. 

Well shit. I looked around the list and there were a few 100s. But they certainly weren't near my name. I had gotten a worse grade than any of the other exams I had taken. My score had gotten worse! 

The 100 streak was broken. 

Of course it would be a few years before I could realize that coincidences happen. Sometimes they happen several in a row. It's no secret force of the Universe or planets lining up. It's just dumb random luck. It might be fun, but it's just that—fun. Nothing else. It'd be many more years before I could really admit that I was supposed to be studying and not using a statistical anomaly as an excuse to drink beer. I’d need a few decades of life experience before I could fully grasp that studying and commitment are what get perfect scores.

Now I’m an old man and I'm 100% sure of it. 

Oh wait. It's starting again!