Can’t Touch That! – Sexual Harassment (Part 2)

Last time I explored female-on-male sexual harassment and why that is very rarely reported.  This post involves the dynamics of male-on-female harassment in the workplace.  I have to reiterate, legitimate sexual harassment is a serious issue that requires a strong response by businesses.

Four Stories:

#1 - Simply Just Resistible

Cindy was a new marketing assistant in her mid-20’s working for a product group in a mid-sized company.  Her boss Mike had made several complimentary comments about her facial features (lips, eyes, etc).  This made Cindy uncomfortable, so she reported him to HR for sexual harassment.

I know this because Mike came to me after being reprimanded to explain the situation and get my insight.  Mike really had no idea why he was being written up.  The reality was that he was not sexually harassing Cindy.  His comments were more observations than compliments.  He wasn’t a harasser, he was just clueless.  And if you want to write up men who are clueless in romantic matters, you are going to need a whole new department for that.  I did explain to Mike (it took several attempts) why he could not say what he did.

Cindy could have told Mike the comments were inappropriate, but she never did.  Mike has a blot on his work record and of course after torching her boss, Cindy soon leaves the company.   The other strange twist is that Cindy was not really “harassable”.  She was just a “5” (notice the comments were about her face).  She wishes she was attractive enough to be harassed. Instead of wondering if her boss was coming on to her, she should have just looked in the mirror.  A guy like Mike is not going to risk his career and marriage on a “5”.  You may disagree, but it’s written right there in the “Guy Rule Book”. 

#2 - Mind Your Own Junk

Terri was getting some coffee in the break area just across the aisle from the department receptionist desk.  Joe was getting coffee also.  Terri told Joe that she had just started a diet and in the subsequent conversation, Joe made a comment about Terri’s butt.  It was not a sexual comment.  It was the type of comment that is somewhat complimentary if your butt is nice and maybe not so complimentary if your butt is large.  Terri was bootylicious, so she was not offended at all by the innocuous comment.

However the administrative assistant, who overheard the conversation, apparently was very offended by it.  She marched down to HR to file a sexual harassment complaint against Joe the same day.  Poor Joe couldn’t even remember the offending comment (because it wasn’t offensive!).  And you can’t defend something if you don’t even remember what you said.

Maybe the assistant didn’t like Terri or Joe.  Maybe she was jealous of Terri’s butt.  Maybe she has a problem with her own butt.  If that case, don’t eat the extra piece of pie.  Go work out more at the gym.  If that doesn’t work, go see Dr. Lipo.  But don’t go to HR with a frivolous claim.  Again, Joe gets a “permanent” citation and the claim filer leaves the company within a year.

#3 Lounge Lizard at Work

Jerry was a sales guy who wore gold chains on his neck, gold chains on his wrist and would snap his fingers as he sashayed around the office. He thought he was God’s gift to women and he did drive the office women mad – mad with anger.  It was his constant leering, it was his suggestive comments and then there was his “signature” move.  He would sit with his legs crossed wide open, look at a woman, and then scratch his inner thigh with his middle finger. Jerry was a real character, once the “office babe” has just walked away from our department after discussing an accounting issue, he exclaimed, “Man, I would really love to suck her toes!”   Even guys are uncomfortable with that type of statement in the office.

Jerry was never written up once for his sexual harassment activity in the office.  He was cited (by a female) for making suggestive comments to a waitress when he and several co-workers stopped for lunch after making a group sales call.  Fortunately, Jerry didn’t last long at the company because he thought rules applied to everybody but him.

#4 - Can’t Touch That

Big Jake was standing in the middle of the aisle waiting to make a copy.  The office babe (yes the same one with the cute toes) was in the middle of her copy job, when the machine jammed.  So she had to open the copier doors, push and pull all the right levers, bend over and clear the jam and then reverse the process to resume copying.  All this motion by the babe (who I have to note was not dressed provocatively) was a bit too “stimulating” for Jake.  He began to, he began to -- this is difficult to describe and still maintain what little dignity this blog has left.  Let’s just say he was definitely not scratching himself.  This “activity” was witnessed by at least two women.  

Word spread among the females in the office, who were outraged by this incident.

I found out about this from the “work wife” (who was now totally sober).  When she told me what happened and how upset the women were, I asked:

“Of course someone reported it to HR?”

“No”, she replied.

“Why Not?” I asked.

“You can’t report something like that!” she exclaimed.

Yes You Can! Yes You Can! Yes You Can!

Thus explains the complicated nature of sexual harassment in the workplace. I need to pint out that the companies involved handled the complaints very promply and correctly.  However, the frivolous charges damage the credibility of the legitimate ones and sometimes the worst cases are never reported, leaving the corporate lounge lizards to strike again.

It’s Sexual, But It’s Not Always Harassment

Sexual harassment is back in the news, so it is an appropriate time to address this important subject.  I was going to do this awhile back when discussing bad polo shirts, but other more pertinent subjects took precedent.

The shirt connection is as follows: A few years ago I was passing a female coworker in a remote stairwell, when she looked at me and said “I just want to rip that shirt right off your body”.

I was taken aback since I really didn’t know how to respond.  If she liked my shirt, “Nice shirt” would have been sufficient.  I wasn’t sure if she was interested in me or my shirt and the thought of me standing there bare-chested while she made love to my shirt (my shirt’s too sexy for my bod, too sexy for my bod…) was not very appealing to me.

So I just said “thank you” and quickly moved down the stairs.  She was a chunky, spunky, little monkey, and I was really unsure what was going to happen next.

This was technically “sexual harassment”.  To determine this you just switch the scenario.  If I tell the buxom secretary that “I just want to rip that sweater right off your body”, I’m soon going to be meeting with the HR department.

But in reality it is very difficult to actually harass the average male.  I say average, because the “pretty boy”, studly, types can be harassed.  I would expect that being continuous propositioned by ugly hags would be unnerving and maybe having your butt repeatedly grabbed would eventually get old, but I know nothing about that.  Of course any type of supervisor-subordinate harassment, no matter the sexual dynamics, is very legitimate and serious.

But even as an average-looking guy, I have been subject to around 20 incidents that could be regarded as sexual harassment in the workplace.  These include three cases involving physical contact and four instances involving raised skirts.  Of course I did not report any of these acts because I never felt threatened and it was never persistent.  Almost always I considered the incidents (like the shirt story), very humorous.

The funniest incident was when an attractive female co-worker wearing a very short skirt, walked into my office, walked around behind me, and sat on my desk right beside me with her legs slightly spread.   That’s right, my face was just inches from her hooha and combined with the short skirt, she was definitely in violation of the “stripper laws” in Utah.

And then she actually expected me to engage in a business discussion sitting there with her skirt just barely covering her “naughty bits”. This was impossible however because a man’s brain totally shuts down in this situation.  She’s like:  “I think we should use this program to track the project blah, blah, blah …” The brain  just hears “Hooha, Hooha, Hooha” (imagine a loud donkey bray).

It was one of the most physically uncomfortable positions I have ever experienced in my career.  I couldn’t move backwards because that would give me an unobstructed view of the hooha.  I couldn’t move sideways because in was a three-sided desk.  It hurt my neck to look up at her from that angle and if I looked down there were just legs and hooha.  So I keep my head level which then resulted in me looking straight into her more than ample chest.

Another very humorous incident happened at an off-site company Christmas party.  I was standing in the buffet line behind my best (platonic) female friend in the office (my “work wife”). Suddenly she unexpectedly starts rubbing her booty against my crotch.  This would be outrageous enough on its own, but what made this really special is that our spouses were standing in the same line!

Once again, I was trapped.  I couldn’t suddenly jump out of the line.  I couldn’t yell for her to stop without attracting attention.  Eventually while still making physical contact with me, she turns her head around and gives me a glazed, slutty, smile.  Yes, there had been one too many before dinner drinks.  Fortunately, the buffet line began to move and I was sure to maintain an assured clear distance from then on.

But women do realize that then can get away with more in the office than the guys when it comes to sexual harassment behavior.  In one office where I worked, the women held a “best buns” contest.  They made up ballots and voted for the guy with the best buns in the office.  You know that if the guys had a similar contest for the ladies and got caught, there would be hell to pay.

Still the ladies kept their contest, very hush-hush.  I was actually one of the first guys to learn about it very soon after the results were tabulated.  That’s because I received an award in the contest.  I was voted “Most Personable Buns”.  As this news filtered out, I took much ridicule from my male co-workers for winning what amounted to the “Miss Congeniality” award.  However this didn’t bother me in the least.  If I received this recognition, it meant my buns were on the ballot; my buns were in the game.  For two weeks the ladies in the office were spending work time evaluating my butt.  I was therefore proud of winning “Most Personable Buns” and walked around the office for the next few weeks with my head and my buttocks held high. 

(Next Time: Part two of the series!)

It’s Hard To Sit On This Fence

My next door neighbor Jose has two very large oak trees in his front yard.  In autumn, he waits for all the oak leaves to fall from the trees and then he hires a lawn service to clean his yard.

While this works great for Jose, it works badly for me.  My yard is downwind from his which means most of the oak leaves end up blowing into my yard.  You would think that the leaves would continue to travel through my yard into the street, but life isn’t fair and the leaves seem to stick like Velcro to my grass.  Unfortunately I don’t use a lawn service for my leaves.  I don’t use a blower, I don’t use a mower.  I use a contraption that consists of a long wooden handle with long metal prongs at the end.  It is commonly referred to as a “rake”.

But this year I had a great idea. A quick trip to the local hardware store and for less than $20 I had a short, white, garden fence.  I quickly installed the fence at the edge of my property and waited for the leaves to begin falling.

I watched in glee as those leaves smacked hard against my fence and then fell stunned back into Jose’s yard.  A few “high fliers” made it over, but my yard was basically leaf-free while his yard was feeling the “full brunt of autumn”.

I thought the fence was working very well until one day when I was confronted by an angry Jose.

“What is the idea with this fence?” he asked. “There are too many leaves in my yard and there is no place for them to go.”

“But those are your leaves”, I pleaded. “They are your problem and you should deal with them, not me.”

“The leaves should have the right to go wherever they want and they like your yard.  They are very happy there.  That is why they stay and do not come back”, he stated.

“When your leaves settle in my yard, I have added work and expense to tend to them.  That should not be my responsibility, it should be yours.” I protested.

“This is not right, said Jose. “You are a bigot because you do not like oak trees and do not want their leaves in your yard.”

“Not true” I said. I do not want maple leaves.  I do not want birch leaves.  I do not want any leaves that do not belong in my yard!

Jose shouted, “You are not being a good neighbor” and stormed back into his house.

I thought the issue was settled until Halloween evening when I heard a voice booming from a loud speaker from Jose’s yard.  I ran outside and I saw a very strange scene.  There was Jose’s son standing on his porch, dressed in a suit wearing a Ronald Reagan mask and speaking into a microphone.  Furthermore, there were chairs set up in the yard and all the neighbors had apparently been invited to attend this presentation. 

I thought this just some Halloween fun.  The kid was really doing a good job imitating Reagan; he was doing the head bob and everything.   He was reciting an actual Reagan speech and was really getting into it.  I had just realized this was Reagan’s  Brandenburg Gate speech delivered near the Berlin Wall in 1987, when suddenly he turned and looked right at me, and proclaimed:

“Mr. Ake, Tear down this wall!”

“It’s not a wall, it’s a fence”, I yelled.

But it was too late, all hell broke loose.  All the neighbors started arguing with each other.  Some thought it was wrong to put up the fence and contain the leaves.  Others said the fence was a great idea.  One guy thought I didn’t need the fence and that I should just buy a blower and blow all the leaves back into Jose’s yard.  I ran back into my house and peeked out my window until the commotion calmed down.

Who would have thought that a simple solution involving a fence could cause so much controversy?  

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Phoney Messages

The first one I noticed was in the yard of my next door neighbor.  It was a strange symbol, a code perhaps.  Definitely some sort of sign, but to whom?  I wondered if it was a message to alien beings.  This alarmed me because my neighbor’s house was up for sale.  Now I don’t have any reservations about living next door to a “person” of color, unless that color happens to be green.  And you can be darn sure that I paid close attention to potential buyers who viewed the house and if they flew a spaceship to get there.

I watched the skies for several weeks and thought all was fine, but then these weird symbols started popping up everywhere.  They were in front of more houses, they were in the stores.  And then I saw one in my newspaper.  That was too much.  But now I had captured one, so I sought to break the code.

I held it up to the mirror. I studied it under a magnifying glass.  I tried to connect the strange lines on it.  I even dug out my secret Dick Tracy decoding ring, but even it failed to break the code.  What was this strange thing and why were they multiplying so quickly?

I went on something called the Internet and using this neat website I found called google.com, I was able to determine that these strange black and white squares are called QR codes.  These codes contain secret messages that can only be read by people with “smart” phones.  Yes, they are called QR codes because if you don’t have a smart phone, q r screwed!

This just grates my innards.  It’s like we are back in junior high when all the cool kids whispered secret messages and wrote each other private notes that the uncool kids couldn’t have.  With all the talk of national unity we have now divided the country into smart phone people and dumb phone people.  Come on America, we’re better than that!

I of course, do not have a smart phone.  I don’t like having a phone that is smarter than I am.  A few years ago I did have what was considered a smart phone at the time.  It was more like a “smart-ass” phone.  The phone had a mind of its own.  It would do things like go into “sleep mode” when I was expecting an important call.  I think it was demon possessed.  I have never, ever, hated an object more in my life.  And now you are telling me I have to get smart phone to be able to read all these neeto QR messages.

However, I am now considering upgrading to a smart phone next year.  This very much concerns my daughter Cassandra since she would be responsible for teaching me how to use it.  I understand that smart phones can do wonderful things by using something called “apps”.  But for me to effectively use a smart phone I’m going to need an app that can know what I need to do before I even know what I want to do.  A super app that allows me to magically master my smart phone.  No, there’s no app for that.  And Steve Jobs is dead.

Until I am able to get a smarter phone and learn how to use it, I will not be able to read the great stuff that QR codes provide.  Although it wouldn’t surprise me at all that when you scan the “secret” code, you get a message that says, “Isn’t it so cool that you can read this special message, but those losers with dumb phones can’t?”

Well I am not going take this without a fight.  As Jackie Chiles from Seinfeld used to say: “This is an outrageous, egregious, preposterous!”  This is phone intelligence discrimination of the worst kind.  People should not be able to read the messages just because they have a smarter phone. Because this is a discrimination case, I am bringing a big gun to the fight.  That’s right, I’ve put in a call to the. Rev. Al Sharpton.  He didn’t answer so I left a message on his phone.  I just hope it wasn’t on his smart phone.  He hasn’t called back.

Jackie Chiles Clip

Gentlemen Prefer Brains?

A few years ago Zogby International did a survey of 2,900 adult males and asked them what body part was most important on “the perfect woman”.  The respondents selected “heart” as their favorite body part with “brain” coming in a very close second. That’s right; men look for kindness and intelligence in their perfect woman ahead of those other superficial characteristics!  Legs finished sixth, behind teeth.  Buttocks were tied with eyes for seventh and breasts were way back in tenth, just below hair. (I am not making this up!)

This survey may not be valid in determining what men really look for in a perfect woman, but it was very effective in demonstrating something women already know.  Men lie.  And on this survey, the men were lying big time.  Brains?  Men like big brains? ZZ Top never sang “She’s Got Brains” and Sir Mix-A-Lot never rapped “I like big brains and I can not lie”.

Saying men prefer brains is not only a lie, it is the very opposite of the truth. Brainy women are not desirable to many men.  I know this should not be the case, but that’s just how it is.  Now you may think men are intimidated by smart women or it is a male ego thing that a man doesn’t want his woman to be smarter than he is, but I think it is more practical than that.

It all goes back to the fact that men lie.  And if men lie, then don’t want a woman that is so smart that they will always catch them in the lies.  The smarter the wife, the better your lies have to be and the more likely you will get caught lying.  If men can’t effectively lie to their wives, they will always be getting yelled at and they won’t be able to have any fun.  And these things are not good for a long-term relationship.

But while men lie about what they want in a woman, I believe women really don’t know what they want in a man.  They know it when they find it, but I don’t think they can express it.  It is more of a reaction that may even be based on such factors as body odor as several scientific studies have indicated.  (And Old Spice wants you to totally mask it!)

Several surveys have shown that most women say they want a man with “a sense of humor”.  And as a guy with a “very large” sense of humor, a humor stud as it were, I can tell you that is pure bull.  This answer sounds better than “I don’t know” but it is also false. 

And just like the men’s “brain” answer, women really don’t want a man with an enhanced sense of humor. 

Why?

-          At a family gathering the guy might say something that he thinks is funny, but it is very insulting to the woman’s grandmother who then doesn’t smile again the rest of the day.  Women don’t want that.

-          After a hot sexual interlude, the guy cracks a joke about the experience that totally “ruins the mood”.  Women don’t want that.

-          The man makes what he thinks is a witty comment about his wife in public that other people think is hilariously funny.  After they get home, the man finds out that the comment was not very funny at all.  Women don’t want that.

-          The man jokes at dinner with the hot, young, waitress.  She finds him very funny so he keeps cracking jokes.  She laughs so hard that her, that her, that her “brains” start bouncing up and down.  Women really don’t want that.

(One can only wonder how a man can be so witty, yet be so insensitive.  What a cad this guy is!)

So men lie about what they want in a relationship and women don’t really know.  This may explain why lasting relationships are so difficult to find.  My advice would be this:  If you are man and find a woman who is crazy about you, you might want to disregard some of her physical “deficiencies” and perhaps shower less.

If you are a woman and you find a guy who appreciates your intelligence and is not intimidated by your brain, latch on to him and don’t let him go.  Also, let him get away with a lie once and a while.     

This Retirement Plan Really Does Blow Smoke

When I saw that no one was going to smoke dope at my high school reunion party (the subject of my last post), I realized something very profound.  My classmates are in the life stage between “smoking recreational marijuana and smoking medical marijuana”.

And there will be mass quantities of medical marijuana in our future.  Because “medical” marijuana exists, the baby boomer generation will want to smoke it.  And baby boomers are very accustomed to getting what we want because we are so big, you cannot stop us.  We are like the Godzilla of generations.  

Now everyone knows that “medical” marijuana is a joke.  It has no medicinal value at all.  But when people smoke it, they get so high that they forget that they are sick at all.  You really have to hand it to the hippies in California though.  They found a way to smoke dope legally and get the government to pay for it.  The government even rolls the joints for them.  This proves that dope-smoking hippies are smarter than our government, but you probably knew that already.

But when enough aging baby boomers retire and start getting more ailments, they are going to demand medical marijuana.  And I say we give it to them.  Medical marijuana is already legal in 15 states and the baby boomers will demand it made legal in all 50.

I don’t think that medical marijuana for old people is a new concept.  How many times have you seen photos of men in the Arab world smoking hashish from a hookah?  These guys are always old (they have gained respect and access to the hookah), have very long beards (if you take time to shave in the morning, someone might beat you to the hookah) and are sitting on the floor (you don’t want to fall out of a chair when you pass out from the hashish).

So I think a whole new medical plan should be developed for old people who want to smoke medical marijuana.  I would call it Medicare Part Do-B.  This sure beats the hell out of Obamacare. Actually it is the opposite of that plan since it was the developers of Obamacare who were the ones smoking dope.

Of course enrollment in the new Part Do-B would be entirely voluntary.  But I think it would be very popular.  If your doctor says he could prescribe the newest prescription drug which might help your condition but it has side effects of explosive diarrhea, enflamed hemorrhoids, swollen testicles, and an insatiable desire to listen to Neil Diamond songs or you could just smoke weed, many people are going to choose the weed.

I know that I am advocating legalized pot for old people, but the arguments against total legalization don’t apply here.  Senior citizens are not going to move on to harder drugs.  They are not going to become criminals to support their habit.  They are not going to ruin their lives, nor will they become dealers.  All participants in Medicare Part Do-B will have to surrender their driver’s licenses to get their dope.

And old people take plenty of expensive drugs now.  In the last years of her life, my mother took a long list of prescription drugs for a variety of conditions.  Her doctors and nurses actually expected me know every medicine she was taking and what is was for.  The list was so long that when I was asked if my mother was taking a specific drug, I would answer “probably” which always really ticked them off.

So you could replace all these drugs with weed.  Sure some people would die sooner, but they would sure as hell die happy.  And if you have spent any time visiting someone in a nursing home, you know that dying happy is probably underrated.  You would have to invent a hookah device with extensive safety features or nursing homes across the country would go up in flames. 

On the positive side, the cost savings could save Medicare.  Medical marijuana would become a big cash crop that would create thousands of jobs which would help the unemployment problem.  Finally, you could heavily tax it and plow the money into the social security fund and help resolve that problem as well.

The biggest issue left is the stigma associated with the term “medical marijuana”.  So we need a new, medically oriented, name.  I would use Weedburnzadox.  You know a prescription medicine is good if it has a “Z” or an “X “in the name and this one has both. 

Of course there will be commercials extolling the great benefits of this “new” drug that features a unique incendiary delivery system that enables it to enter your blood stream quickly through the lungs to provide fast relief.  Common side effects include anxiety attacks, cotton mouth and the munchies.

Ask your doctor (or your friend Cheech) if Weedburnzadox is right for you.

No, No, No, No, We Don’t Smoke It No More

Recently I organized a 35-year reunion party for my high school class.  We were meeting at the outdoor pavilion of a local restaurant and I was very nervous before the event.  Not because it was a class reunion and we had not gotten together in 15 years.  No, I was nervous because our class had a bunch of wild party animals that were known for their outrageous behavior.  Our unofficial class slogan was “Party Hard! – Then Party Some More”.  The teachers and principals all had big smiles as they waved goodbye to us at graduation.  They were not happy for us for attaining a diploma.  They were smiling because the school was still standing and that they all still had jobs.  They were thinking: Get the hell out of here!

I was very concerned that during the festivities a group of guys would gather at the edge of the grounds and light up some joints.  I thought about how I would handle that situation and what I might tell the officer who came to arrest us all.  I imagined what my mug shot would look like in the morning paper with the caption: “Organizer of the biggest pot party in Akron in years”.

But my fears were totally unfounded.  The class had changed much in the last 15 years.  We were mellow.  Naturally mellow.  No need for any pot smoking to mellow out now.  I think if anyone would have lit a doobie, they would have been ready for a nap.

But nobody toked, few people even smoked.  No one even came close to even drinking too much.  In a strange way it was disappointing.  Time had done what the “authorities” had tried so hard to do, but failed.  It had turned us into, gulp, responsible citizens.

I did find out that my friend Mark was currently using some heavy drugs.  Yes, he had recently had a heart attack and he was taking daily hits of Lipitor and Plavix.   How ironic. Mark used to buy his stash behind the Walgreens, now he just casually strolls through the front door and places his order at the counter.

The discussions among classmates were different also.  Instead of comparing our sexual exploits, we compared our colonoscopy experiences (it was a probing conversation).  Instead of boasting about how many beers we could drink, bragging rights went to the people with the most grandkids.  My classmate Rob was bummed out about this one.  “Did you know that Karen has eight grandkids?  I don’t have any!”  He was really upset about this so I told him that for guys this was probably overrated.  Do you really want to be changing that many diapers again? I asked him.  No, so go have a beer.

I thought the evening might liven up when the deejay starting playing tunes and some hot chicks (from a 10-year reunion that was taking place inside the restaurant) that were dressed to kill, strutted to the outside dance floor.  You see the other activity that our class was known for was mooning.   If there had been moon rankings back then, our class would have been nationally ranked in 1976.  We had some of the best mooners in the land.  Remember, this was before camera phones and You Tube so you could shoot the moon without any evidence.   The hot, young, women presented a tempting target.

So I waited awhile but there was no moon.  I went over to Alex who was the top mooner in the class and pointed out the opportunity that presented itself.  “I don’t know Don”, he said.  “I’ve been having some serious gastric-intestinal issues lately.  I don’t really think that dropping my pants and squatting out here would be a wise thing to do.”  I told him that I agreed and quickly moved on to talk to somebody else.

But the music and young chicks did get things hopping.  When those ladies started gyrating I quickly sought out Mark and asked him for a hit of his Plavix because I felt a possible heart attack coming on.  Just then my friend Tony decided to try to dance up one of the 10-year reunion babes on the dance floor.  He tried to move like Travolta (I told him he should have moved like Jagger).  This scared the chick so bad that she bolted for the door.  I have never seen a non-hooker run that fast in 5-inch heels!

The highpoint of the evening came when we slipped the deejay a twenty to start playing 70’s tunes. (Stick it class of 2001, we got more money than you!  We got 401-Ks!  And they even had money in them until a few years ago).  So the class of ‘76 started discoing down with abandon.  I realized then that we should have had a chiropractor on site.  

Things were going well until he played “Shake Your Booty” by K.C. and the Sunshine Band.  The ladies started to shake their respective booties like it was 1976 again.  News Flash:  It isn’t 1976 no more and some booties should never be shaken.   While that scene would have given the guys a “rise in the Levi’s” during high school days, I swear it caused a slight rise in the seismograph reading that night.  I was glad we were outside so that there was no structural damage to the building.  And at this point all the younger chicks left the dance floor in a hurry, which was a good thing.  One inadvertent hip shot could have caused them serious injury.

So we did survive this reunion.  Final tally:  No hits, No moons, No earthquakes.  Not a bad night. 

A lady that I know just came from Columbia,
She smiled because I did not understand.
Then she held out some marijuana, ha ha!
She said it was the best in all the land.

And I said,
"No, no, no, no, I don't smoke it no more,
I'm tired of waking up on the floor.
No, thank you, please, it only makes me sneeze,
And then it makes it hard to find the door."