While thinking about a sore foot the other day...

          The federal government of the United States has partially shut down. Elected officials in Washington DC are worried that none of us will notice the difference.

          Hunters have noticed the difference. A news story today mentioned that hunters are not allowed to hunt on federal land during the federal government’s period of limited operations. The story mentioned the suffering of the hunters as the season starts. The story mentions the financial impact on some businesses from not having hunting in their areas.

          Nobody asked the animals how they felt about it.

          The feds should talk to NASCAR driver Ron Hornaday if they want to make a good restart. Wait a minute, that would not work. In a NASCAR restart, everyone comes together.

          Enough of the political cheap shots. On to the boring, prepared material.

Sometimes common language works hand-in-hand with common sense. For example:

Plantar Fasciitis: Sore foot. The plantar fascia is part of your foot. The suffix, itis, means sore. Thus, a sore foot.

          You make a doctor’s appointment for treatment of your sore foot. The doctor diagnoses that you have plantar fasciitis, which means you have a sore foot. A treatment is ordered and, hopefully, your sore foot gets better.

          Frequently, the prescribed treatment is aspirin, which you could have prescribed for yourself, and shoe inserts, which are available in many, many places. You ask yourself why you had to go to the doctor for aspirin and inserts.

          The answer is very much like the story of the broken locomotive. The locomotive would not run and the train was stuck. A locomotive expert was called to the scene. The expert walked around the locomotive once and nodded to himself. He selected a large sledge hammer from his tool kit and whacked the locomotive once.

          The locomotive suddenly worked and the expert charged the railroad company $50,000. He charged $10 for hitting the locomotive with the sledge hammer and $49,990 for knowing where to hit it.

          Your sore foot could have turned out to be something more serious, so you have to check it out with an expert. Hopefully, the expert will not use a sledge hammer on your foot.

          Of course, knowing which expert is best for your needs is a difficult chore. Even those who score well on Angie’s List might not be a good fit for your individual situation.

          Take, for example, the oil well fire that happened in Texas a few decades ago. A smallish oil company had a fire at one of its wells and its profits were literally burning up.

          The owner of the company put in a call to legendary oil well fire fighter Arnold Hammer. Hammer’s chief of operations told the oil company owner that the firefighter was booked solid and could not be on site for at least six months. When suppression engineers arrived, they would charge $1 million a day.

          “Forget it,” the oil company boss said. He pulled out the phone book and checked the yellow pages under oil well fire fighters and discovered a business named Joe’s Cheap Oil Well Fire Fighting Service just a few miles away. A phone call netted a conversation with Joe himself.

          “I can be there in 20 minutes,” said Joe, “and it’ll cost you ten grand.”

          The oil company man was happy to hire Joe’s company and he walked to the gate of the property to allow Joe and his men to drive to the site of the fire. As he neared the gate, the oil man noticed a rooster tail of dust rising on the dirt road leading to the oil rig. It turned out to be a truck belonging to Joe’s Cheap Oil Well Fire Fighting Service, roaring up the road to save the day.

          Ignoring the still closed gate, the flatbed truck belonging to Joe’s Cheap Oil Well Fire Fighting Service blasted through, sending the helpless gate flying through the air. The oil boss noticed two men in the cab of the truck and seven or eight more screaming and yelling as they held on for dear life in the bed of the truck as the vehicle careened down the path toward the fire.

          The truck halted virtually on top of the conflagration and what happened next was the wildest thing ever seen on a Texas oil field. The men of Joe’s Cheap Oil Well Fire Fighting Service flew off the truck and raced into action. They looked like madmen as they shoveled and raked and finally exploded some dynamite to put out the fire. Then they fought to contain the gushing oil. One guy even stripped off his shirt and jammed it into the line of the well until the proper equipment was put in place.

          The fire was out and the well was capped in 18 minutes.

          Exhausted and filthy, the men of Joe’s Cheap Oil Well Fire Fighting Service filed back away from the oil well, their work done for the day.

          Pleased with the result, the oil company owner pulled out his checkbook and paid Joe, the owner of Joe’s Cheap Oil Well Fire Fighting Service.

          “That was fast work, Joe,” the oil man said. “Ten grand for less than twenty minutes of work. What are you going to do with the money?”

          “Well,” said Joe, the owner of Joe’s Cheap Oil Well Fire Fighting Service, “the first thing I’m gonna do is fix the brakes on that truck.”

          For those of you who have read this far, thanks for reading.