Off Duty Shipping

Since the grand opening 55 years ago, the priceless artifacts housed in The Museum of Fine Lint have been kept safe by Old Gregg. Of course, he wasn’t known as Old Gregg back then, but as Young Gregg. He was named after his father, and father’s father, who had all began life as Young Gregg and then transitioned to Old in their turn.

Now, working as a security guard for The Museum has been the only job Old Gregg has ever had, and he takes it very, very seriously. About every five years a new Trustee will join the museum’s board of directors to improve things, which usually results in a long meeting no one cares about that tries to cite Old Gregg as an extra expense. 

“The artifacts at The Museum don’t have much value in the current art market,” the upstart might  say. “So keeping a full time security guard is an unnecessary expense.”

Then Margaret will pipe in. “What about the World’s Largest Lint Textile, comprised completely of recycled dryer lint? A group of school kids created that during WWII. You can’t just pop around the corner and replace art like that, you know.” After delivering such an indisputable fact to the upstart, she will lean back in her chair, fold her arms across her chest and wait for any rebuttal.

“Irreplaceable doesn’t mean it has value,” the young upstart often tries to point out. “And precisely why we don’t need to keep a full time security guard on staff. The Museum has never once been robbed, or even had an attempted robbery.”

“Don’t you think that might be because we have always had a full time security guard on staff?” Margaret usually replies. “Don’t fix what ain’t broke.”

The rest of the Trustees always nod and agree. The young upstart becomes flustered and tries to make sense, which is then interrupted by Jim Wainscott farting himself awake. Then it’s all just general laughter, the entire thing gets recorded in the meeting notes and everything continues as before. Sometimes the new Trustee quits then, but usually they hang on for a few months.

Every morning, five days a week, Old Gregg will be ensconced by the front door, coffee steaming in his cobalt blue mug proudly letting us all know he is On Duty in that bright yellow script. The mug was a gift from his mother, Margaret, and has also been with The Museum since day one. The mug was as much a staple of The Museum as Gregg himself.

There was one time, a group of third graders had been set upon the town to interview the “essential city personnel” and Old Gregg (at the time not quite transitioned from Young yet), was privileged to be the subject of their interviews. 

“What is the secret of your success?” asked one shrewd little girl, pencil behind her ear to show she meant business as she chewed upon another.

Old Gregg took an ample amount of time to think about this, mulling it over as he sipped his coffee. When his group of admirers started shuffling impatiently, he held aloft his now empty mug as if it were the most important artifact in the entire museum.

“This, this here mug,” he expounded. “It’s been with me from the get-go and we’ve never been robbed. It’s one thing for me to sit here guarding, but I am only a man. What if I doze off? But if a robber comes up they have only to glance at this mug to know The Museum is indeed being watched. I might look like I’m dozing, but the message on the mug clearly states that there is always a guard On Duty here.”

The group of budding reporters were suitably impressed, and one young photographer took quite a good photograph of Old Gregg holding out his mug. Always ‘On Duty,’ The Museum Stays Safe, said the headline. Gregg was, understandably, quite proud.

People in town could always pretty much set their watch by Old Gregg. Rain or shine, at precisely 6:45 a.m. Old Gregg unlocks the door with the only key, steps in and carefully locks it behind him. We never needed another key because Gregg was always as dependable as taxes. 

At 7 a.m. Gregg reappears to prop the front museum open with his old stool, let Lindy the counter girl in and then he reaches behind the counter to retrieve his coffee. By 7:01 a.m., both Old Gregg and his On Duty mug are in place and Lindy is sitting with a romance already open and ready to take the cash.

There Old Gregg sits while our usual patrons filter by, paying their moderate entry fee to admire all the things an industrious minded person can make with such an overlooked resource. Then, at 12-noon on the dot, Old Gregg stands up, sets his mug on the stool and stretches before retrieving his lunch. At 12:30 lunch is disposed of and Gregg is back at his post with a fresh mug by 12:31. Closing is 4 p.m. prompt.

And all this most likely would have continued along at the same, even pace of unpredictable goodness for many years to come, were it not for that group of rowdy Boy Scouts trying to weasel free lint out of the museum. 

The conflict began peacefully enough with the boys approaching Gregg to ask how they might obtain extra lint for use as fire starter material. Old Gregg, who I remind you has been guarding lint at The Museum since he was old enough to work, was understandably put off. He told the enterprising young men to go enterprise elsewhere. 

While normally good boys, all of them, they took mild offense at this and pointed out there was no lint to enterprise elsewhere as all of their mothers regularly donate lint to the museum. This is true. We do have a rather ardent support base. Regardless, the boys felt they were owed some lint for the noble purpose of earning their Firestarter Badges. Understandably unmoved, Old Gregg told the enterprising young men to go enterprise elsewhere again. 

Now, perhaps at this juncture Gregg could have been more open to the boys’ request, but they had approached him at the inopportune time of 12:30 and caught Gregg mid-stretch. He had already set his mug on the seat of his stool and was looking forward to his well earned lunch break. He told them all, albeit rudely, to get lost.

The boys, understandably, were not content to merely get lost, as instructed, but instead began to crowd around Gregg rather threateningly, as he puts it. One of them points out the bag of dryer lint that hangs on the wall behind the museum counter, pointing out that his mama contributes a good portion and he was only asking for a small return. Honestly, it was a good point.

Another of these boys pulls out a stump of candle and an empty toilet paper roll to show Gregg how the wax would be melted in the cardboard, along with a portion of dryer lint, to create what he called a fire starter. Gregg was becoming agitated by now, but he would have most likely retained his composure if the matches had not been pulled at that time. 

“How dare you bring matches into My Museum? You all better get going now!” he allegedly yelled at them. Old Gregg was understandably furious, matches being what they are. 

Had the boys left at that moment, disaster could have been averted, but, unfortunately for all involved, they continued to badger Old Gregg. Beating a dead horse by that point, they insisted they were not intending to use the matches in the museum, but only demonstrate they had all the components of the fire starters except the most important, that being the lint.

I admit perhaps Gregg could have monitored himself better at this point, but after 55 years of exemplary service even the most stellar employee might have an occasional lapse in judgment. Old Gregg’s came on this day when he furiously grabbed two of the pestering Boy Scouts, one by each shoulder, and attempted to steer them straight out of the door and expel them from The Museum, as is his right.

All would have been fine had not one of the boys stuck his foot out, most likely with no ill intent, and sent the wooden stool, with Old Gregg’s On Duty mug, to the ground. No harm came to the stool or to the boy, but the mug lay shattered across the pavement. 

I didn’t see this myself, of course, but I’m told everyone was stunned to utter silence. The boys immediately ceased their demand for lint and decided to finally get lost as they had already been asked. Old Gregg looked down at the glittering mess of cobalt shards, picked the stool back up, locked the door and went Off Duty and he refuses to come back. He says he can’t work without proper equipment. Now, I remind you, never in the entire illustrious history of this establishment has The Museum ever been closed during opening hours. 

So, now you can see why it’s so very important that we pay extra for expedited shipping to get a replacement of his On Duty mug. We’re lucky they even still sell it after 55 years. We can’t have The Museum closed any longer during business hours and poor Lindy’s family says we need to pay her while she’s still stuck in there. Do the math, and I think you will agree the extra $10 is well worth it.