MOOSE Issue 17.tg1 (Do It Yourself!)
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| MOOSE Issue 17.tg1 (Do It Yourself!) |
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Compiled By: Trevor Gudsell ||
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KIDS! BE THE FIRST IN YOUR NEIGHBOURHOOD || DOOHRUOBHGIEN RUOY NI TSRIF EHT E
TO OWN YOUR VERY OWN MOOSE-ON-A-STICK! || !KCITS-A-NO-ESOOM NWO OT
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Tonight on Australia's exciting diet of American TV: ugly people finding
deliverance on stage with plastic bags over their heads. Alas, they remove
the bagsd before the cure is complete (they're still breathing).
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Here's one that I uploaded to ABBBS recently - before I actually downloaded a
MOOSE and discovered what I was trying to contribute to. I think OBSO (Our
Beloved SysOp :-'> ) deserves to be gazumped for past sins.
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I Go Shopping
by Trevor Gudsell
### wanston Street, as many readers will know, is Melbourne's main drag.
# # The traveller debouching -- or debauching? -- through the main
# entrance of Flinders Street Station will be confronted with the stony
# lump that houses Young & Jackson's Hotel -- Number One, Swanston
### Street -- home of the nubile nude `Chloe' and first pit stop for gene-
# rations of sailors fresh into port. Facing Y&J across Swanston is St
# Paul's Cathedral -- `Vice before and virtue behind', as the Chinese
# # once said of a procession comprising their Emperor, his mistress, and
### K'ung Fu-Tzu. I could ramble at length about the wonders to be seen
as the traveller paces up Swanston Street, but the wonder that
inspired this article calls me on.
A feature of Swanston Street that has always fascinated me is the couple
of hole-in-the-wall establishments which, from time to time, hock cheap
Asian goods such as radios, tape decks, binoculars, and dolls -- for a
pittance. A miniature TV set, no matter how shoddy and even though the
image is only black & white, is a definite bargain when knocked down for
$1.00. What attracted me however, was not the TV set.
In a financial crisis earlier this year (1992) I sold off my stereo and
some other chattels to pay the rent. This represented a significant decline
in the comforts of home and was made tolerable only because I still
possessed my little Sony Walkman (worth $200 in the days when $200 was a
piffling sum to me; not worth enough to sell now that even a fraction of that
sum is rather more than piffling) and a set of ghetto blaster-sized
amplifying speakers. The catch to this system is that the several AC
adaptors I have acquired over the years offer voltages from 3 Volts up but my
Walkman takes only 1.5 Volts. Although it gets up to 8 hours of tape play
from the single alkaline battery that the 1.5 Volts represents, batteries
form an overly expensive way to get music into my life.
My interest was caught when the man behind the counter waved a stereo tape
deck around. A deck that size would surely take juice from one or another of
my AC adaptors; it would allow me to get my musical joy from house current,
not batteries! Music all the time, not just whenever the craving for an
auditory fix got the better of my financial better judgement.
I drifted in with the crowd, waving my hand eagerly in the breeze whenever
the man offered a tape deck as part of the goodies.
My first booty was a free deck of playing cards. The man was passing out
freebies and super-bargains like he wanted to get quit of the day's load and
go home. The cards were nice but they weren't a tape deck, so I hung around
and played it cool in case by being greedy for lesser things I might lose out
on the cherished goodie.
The man behind the counter was an artist -- just how much of an artist he
was I did not appreciate until much later. He started by asking twenty cents
for this, a dollar for that, then acting ashamed at his own greed and giving
the thing away free or for fractions of the agreed price. He invited the
crowd closer. His patter was slick and witty, punctuated by outbursts of
spontaneous generosity. He started showing the crowd the goodies that he
would be giving away to them later on. The day's temperature, some 29ø on
the street, lagged behind the fever that was spreading through the crowd. I
smiled, enjoying the show, admiring the salesman's performance. This was
cheap amusement.
He picked up a plain brown box. A mystery box. Any gamblers in the
crowd? Five dollars for whatever it contained. You, sir? Five dollars is
too much for an empty box; you can have it for one. Can I open it for you?
Look at that -- a bottle of `Poison' perfume, retails for $40 in the shops,
you get it for twenty cents. Thank you. More boxes, more bargains.
The prices began to rise, slowly and with frequent showers of freebies.
Now he would demand $5 for this, $10 for that, then rebate all but a dollar
or two of the asking price after the deal was struck.
He offered something for $20 but got no takers. Without a pause he
showered us with more freebies -- I received a blank cassette -- then offered
several goodies to the first person to offer -- (every hand went up) -- five
hundred dollars! Was that a genuine offer, sir? It was? Do you think it's
fair? Well, I don't and you can have the lot for one dollar. Thank you.
Fifty dollars for this doll and -- a walkman. Was that a genuine offer? It
was? Well, you can have it for five dollars.
He started stacking things on the counter. A clock radio, a walkman, a
TV, this & that, _a ghetto blaster_. He explained that he would sell the lot
to the first hand raised after he stated the price, which was $5 --
Every hand was in the air.
Well, he was sorry but he couldn't give it to everyone and he hadn't seen
who was first -- had blinked or something; I missed hearing the reason.
Instead he said he would knock it down to the first hand raised after he
rapped his auctioneer's mallet three times. Knock, knock --
Every hand was in the air.
Hadn't he told us to wait for the hammer? He was going to do it again,
and this time he told his partner to watch the crowd and tell him who got
their hand up first. Knock, knock, knock --
Every hand was in the air.
His partner said he hadn't been able to see who got in first, so the
salesman asked everyone who wanted the stack of goodies to put their hand up,
and counted the resulting forest. Fifteen hands, he reported. He was what
he was going to do. He had some nice opal key rings. He would give one to
every genuine customer -- a genuine customer being anyone who would pay $2
for their ring. Thank you, ten dollars here, five dollars from this lovely
lady, thank you, and here was $8 change and here was $3 change, thank you. I
crowded up and handed him my $2. He counted the result. Seventeen people
had paid, he reported. A second partner handed him seventeen key rings and
he handed several each to several people, asking them to give one to everyone
who had paid.
The key rings were distributed -- and my hands were empty. Hey, I asked,
who's got a key ring they haven't paid for? The salesman was distraught --
his clever plan for fair distribution of the goodies was imperilled. Hastily
he asked who had paid for but had not received a key ring. Four hands --
well, he wanted to be fair to the genuine customers, and he recognised that
all four of us had paid our money -- here were four more key rings, making 21
even though only 17 people had paid. There were four crooks in the crowd and
he asked them to put their hands up.
Not a hand was in the air.
Well, the salesman explained, he wasn't about to risk giving these goodies
to a crook instead of one of the honest genuine customers. He would put the
pile aside for now and think up some other way to give it to the right
person. In the meantime, our keyrings were our proof that we were genuine
customers and we should keep them in our hands and show them whenever we bid
for something.
Instead of the big stack he offered jewellery and briefcases. He would
give each genuine customer the item of their choice, he explained. You, sir,
what did you want most? And you? And you? (I chose a briefcase -- there
were no tape decks in this offer.) As each choice was made he stacked it on
the counter. Eventually everyone had been given a choice -- he asked if
anyone had been missed out, and nobody spoke up. Well, he had fifteen things
on the counter and seventeen genuine customers and four crooks. Unfortu-
nately his partner had vanished. He called the man back on deck and asked
him where he had been. Having a smoke. Why was he having a smoke when it
was his job to be out in front keeping track of who asked for what? Had to
smoke sometime. Well, get back to work and give each genuine customer their
free goodie. Give who what? He hadn't been there to see the division.
Well, there was no way to sort out who should get what in most cases, and
rather than be unfair to some the salesman declared that he would not give
out any of these. But when we saw what was coming next --
This plain box, ten cents. What the hell, I was getting bored waiting for
the tape decks to come back on sale. Ten cents? Why not. I scored a shoddy
plaster figurine and a set of wooden stirrers.
Back to the big stack. Was anyone willing to offer fifty dollars for it?
Two hands. You, sir, you had your hand up first. Was that a genuine offer?
Do you think it's fair? Done; give me the money. Thank you. He brought
out a ring. Genuine solid gold, genuine Australian opal. Fifty dollars for
the right to bid on this. One hundred for that. Were these genuine offers?
Thank you, thank you. (This money was collected. It did not come back.)
The counter was strewn with jewellery, a silver tea-set, silver-plated
cutlery set, watches. He would give their choice of any one of these to
anyone willing to offer two hundred dollars. Thank you, thank you. Two
hundred dollars, was that a genuine offer?
The hammer was aimed straight between my eyes. I checked my wallet and
hesitated. Any method of payment -- credit card, cash --
Hey, what the hell, he kept giving the money back, didn't he? I got leave
to dash to the nearest bank. My account wasn't rich, but I was between rent
payments and had the residuum left over from my last dole payment that was
earmarked as this fortnight's share of the next rent. I could spare two
hundred dollars for a few minutes --
Got two hundred? Genuine offer? Fair enough? What's your name, friend
-- Trevor. Which item do you want, my friend Trevor? -- here, have the ring.
Stay right there. And for you, madam, the tea service. You, this watch.
And you. Not much left now.
Freebies showered. I scored the silver-plated cutlery set, a ring and
earrings, a necklace (are you married? No? You soon will be with this --).
The partner came round and handed out garbage bags to those conspicuously
laden with plunder. I hung on; my two hundred dollars was still in play and
I wanted it.
The end. No more to give away. The crowd began to disperse --
I still didn't have my two hundred dollars, and in the cooling breeze that
the absence of bodies now allowed into the shop I realised that the money was
gone. Spent, freely offered by me and accepted by them.
Conned, by damn, and me so smug and aloof amidst the greedy crowd an hour
earlier! The hour's entertainment had cost me two hundred and two dollars
and ten cents, for which I had received goods with a shop value of about that
-- mostly in the opal-set 9CT gold ring and the silver-plated cutlery set,
with a little help from the gold-plated necklace, and the gold-plated paste
ring and earings. Conned? But I did have goods which could be `worth' what
I had paid; I had no beef coming. I had offered the money freely, had
declared I thought it a fair bargain --
But I had expected to get the money back. I had been `had' . . . hadn't
I? Without that money I was going to have an awful lot of trouble paying the
next rent; it wasn't really a disposable asset since it had all been
earmarked for rent. All that about genuine offers and fair value had just
been persiflage; they knew it and I knew it. I would go and talk to them,
demand . . .
I grinned to myself and said nothing after all; just gathered my booty and
departed. I'd been had all right -- I _had_ handed over $200 in the calm
expectation that it would come back. It _had_n't come back, but after all,
that was the bargain I struck; $200 for my pick of the counter. The salesman
_had_ made quite certain afterwards that I got my money's worth, even though
the goods I received didn't look much like tape decks and certainly weren't
things I'd have chosen in preference to paying the rent. I _had_n't a single
leg to stand on, and the final irony -- handing out garbage bags to the lucky
customers to carry their purchases home in -- was not lost on me.
After all, I'd had an hour's `free' entertainment and a candid glimpse of
the rapacious greed that dwells within `honest' citizens (unfortunately
including myself). If we'd really been honest, would we have been their like
jackals around carrion? The truly honest citizen would never have been
involved in that frenzied attempt to take advantage of a naive salesman.
I got a marvellous education in folly. I got the germ of an article. I
would pay the rent somehow -- late, maybe, but somehow. And after all, I did
get a free garbage bag along with the rest of the garbage. What could be
more practical?
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HOW TO JOIN THIS BBS
1. You may browse any area of this BBS; however you will not be permitted to
read any text files, leave any messages, or participate in Chat until you
have registered.
2. You may not download until you have registered.
3. To register you must complete and return (by snail mail) the form
contained in the file REGISTER.ARJ in the *T*EXT area.
If you follow these simple guidelines we look forward to welcoming you soon
as a fully registered user of our wonderful BBS!
-- SysOp.
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FATAL RUNTIME ERROR: WINDOWS LAUNCHED
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THE TEN MOST ABUSED PHRASES IN SOFTWARE:
User-friendly All you'll ever need Lifetime guarantee
Hundreds of dollars worth of free shareware included! The best
The most popular Microsoft - making it easier Money-back guarantee
Best prices in town! Upgradable to ... Better than ...
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As a cost-cutting measure, Metropolitan Railway Stations will no longer be
staffed. Tickets may be purchased from the office of the Minister of
Transport, Parliament House. (License to sell application pending). We
appreciate your cooperation with our efforts to improve service and make our
Public Transport system both profitable and efficient. Don't forget to vote
for us at the next election!
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Our Father, who art in Heaven --
NO CARRIER
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Message #195/197 in Sysop_Conversation (Local)
Info : <- #193 #197 -> (PRIVATE)
From : (POST 12-Jan-1994 00:44)
To : Trevor Gudsell (RCVD 12-Jan-1994 22:50)
Subject: It's OK, I figured out ansi emulation...
Saluatations...
TG>finally did. Have a nice DOS.
OS2 you too... :*)
Catch ya around the galaxy...
-) Previous Reply, +) Next Reply
A)gain, L)ast, N)ext, W)rite, R)eply, D)elete, S)top: Reply
Message #197/197 in Sysop_Conversation (Local)
Info : <- #195 (PRIVATE)
From : Trevor Gudsell (POST 12-Jan-1994 22:54)
To :
Subject: It's OK, I figured out ansi emulation...
Unix my pun, Xenix a case of C you P/a/s/c/a/l/ C/o/b/o/l/ Buddy
-) Previous Reply
A)gain, L)ast, N)ext, W)rite, R)eply, D)elete, S)top: Stop
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How to freak out the newchums: wait till you find one downloading, then send
them the message:
Leech!!
...and quickly logoff before they can figure out how to send a message back.
`Peter Tonoli', your days are numbered. Start counting. The Secret Names Of
Bulletin Boards Society (SNOBBS) never forgets. We Will Hunt You Down. Do
not look over your shoulder -- We Are Behind You. Do n0t answer your phone
-- It Is Wired. Cover all your mirrors with paint -- We Are Watching.
WE ARE THE SNOBBS AND WE NEITHER FORGIVE NOR FORGET.
Anyone providing shelter to the aforementioned **PETER TONOLI** will share
his awful fate. Your hard disk will crash, noisily. Your floppy backups
will droop. Innocent-seeming text files will harbour trojan-horse virii.
Worst of all,
YOUR FORE- AND MIDDLE- FINGERTIPS WILL DEVELOP PAINFUL ULCERS.
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
WE ARE THE SNOBBS AND WE NEITHER FORGIVE NOR FORGET.
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`Snodgrass! Snodgrass! No, I could not endure that. I could not get
used to it. No, I should call him by his first name. What is his first
name?'
`His -- er -- his initials are S. M.'
`His initials? I don't care anything about his initials. I can't call
him by his initials. What do they _stand_ for?'
`Well, you see, his father was a physician, and he -- he -- well, he was
an idolator of his profession, and he -- well, he was a very eccentric man,
and --'
`What do they _stand_ for? What are you shuffling about?'
`They -- well, they stand for Spinal Meningitis ...'
-- Samuel Clemens,
THE AMERICAN CLAIMANT
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HOW TO HANDLE DOGS
Most people like dogs but very few completely understand them. If we can
achieve a better understanding of dogs and their behaviour we may be able to
reduce the number of dog attacks on Letter Delivery Officers.
Letter Delivery Officers are not the only persons to be singled out.
Meter Readers, Milkmen, Bakers and Garbologists are also targets for dogs.
Domestic dogs are descended from wild dogs and, despite their hundreds of
years of domesticity, they still retain their natural instincts.
Their first reaction to the approach to strangers is one of aggression.
How the stranger reacts to him will be largely responsible for their future
relationship.
The dog gains an education though experience only, and having experienced
certain situations it remembers them.
These experiences are usually recalled by certain stimuli provided by
people, noise, bikes or territory.
One of the most powerful influences in a dog's life is the human voice.
Correct usage of voice in dealing with a dog is of the utmost importance.
Not the words -- they mean nothing. It is the tone that conveys the meaning.
Dogs learn that certain sounds require a certain response. A dog trained
to "down" will respond in the same way to words such as "frown" or "brown" if
the voice inflection is the same.
Another point to remember is that dogs smell fear. The person under
stress usually perspires heavily. The perspiration contains the unique smell
of adrenaline and when dogs smell it they immediately experience a sense of
superiority and act aggressively.
A person attempting to flee in panic from a dog also triggers a reflex
born of instinct -- to chase and attack.
So when approaching a strange dog adopt an easygoing, friendly attitude.
Speak soothingly and kindly to the dog. If the dog approaches you, extend
your arm, with your hand dangling, and allow the dog to sniff the back of
your hand.
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO PLACE THE PALM OF YOUR HAND ON TOP OF THE DOG'S HEAD.
After he has sniffed you hand pat his shoulders and sound pleased to meet
him. He will remember this on future occasions. When you meet him again
greet him in the same, friendly manner. Thereafter the sound of your bike or
whistle, or the closing of the mailbox, or any other sound associated with
your arrival, will trigger his memory recall -- that meeting you had been a
pleasurable experience, and that a kind word and a pat awaits him from you.
Of course, there are the exceptions. The nasty dogs, the neurotics who
have been badly trained, or kept in a confined space and frustrated. Such
dogs are mentally unbalanced and should be treated with care.
Either ignore them or stop and say a few soft words. Still, this type of
dog might chase after you when you are leaving and try to grab your leg.
Turn and face the dog, speak gently to it, and show surprise that it should
act in such a way. When it realises that you mean no harm it will be your
friend.
If a dog attacks you despite all precautions protect your face, stomach
and abdomen with your hands and arms. It is not pleasant being bitten on the
hands and arms but it is preferable to being disfigured or seriously injured.
Do not attempt to fight back. Most dogs who grab will release and stand
back if they meet no resistance.
If you are in a situation where you want to retreat look the dog in the
eyes and back away calmly and unhurriedly.
-- From a fair dinkum booklet
distributed to Posties.
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BONUS! Turn file over for second complete copy of MOOSE! o o
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E-Mail Fredric L. Rice / The Skeptic Tank