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What boy didn’t go through his dad’s “stuff” whenever he got a chance? I certainly was no exception. One day during my parents absence, I found myself in dad’s workshop, wondering what was in the many wooden boxes stacked along the wall, or under his workbench, and under his lathe. I’d best get started before they return.
There was the usual workshop stuff. Boxes with containers of nuts, bolts, screws and nails. One big box of pressure and temperature gauges of all sizes, and fittings. Several boxes of assorted gun parts, and several with small electrical parts. It’s in this mass of electrical parts I found my treasure. First was several very strong magnets. They came from a pinball machine, I learned. My next most valuable find were a number of metal toggle switches of several sizes. Selecting one of the larger ones, I noted that it made a satisfying and very audible “Click” each time the toggle was moved. The switch and one of the magnets were pocketed for later use.
Fast forward to my 5th grade classroom at dear old St. Mary’s. Armed with my toggle switch, I would wait until the nun was writing on the blackboard. Click-click, click-click. Nun turned around, glaring at the class.
“What’s that clicking noise? Who’s doing that”?
Silence. Nun writes more on the blackboard while talking.
Click-click.
“There it is again. Stop that”.
A pal a few rows over knew about the switch. He was looking at me laughing. I tossed him the switch. Click-click.
“Now it’s over there. Stop that, you hear”?
That switch moved about the classroom, stopping only when the nun threatened to keep us all in detention at the end of the day. By then she probably had a migraine. | |
offbeat
|  anything that irritates one of those is ok by me.  |
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Click-click
November 24, 2012 @ 03:14:22 pm
