For the past few days I've had Harry Tucker in my thoughts. I have no idea why and I'd be afraid to explore this in depth cause my relationship with Harry Tucker was not what one would consider to be friendly.
I met Harry Tucker in 1973 when I took a job at Nichols Printing company as a printing press operator. Harry operated one of the big, ancient presses upstairs where we worked. He was a huge, disgusting man, who always had a pipe in his mouth (I came to the assumption that he smoked the pipe cause the owner smoked one). Another of Harry's traits was his inability to keep his pants pulled up due to his overblown belly. The pipe habit was bad enough, but his butt crack staring me in the face all day was totally disgusting.
One day I decided to do something about this butt crack problem.
The printing company was located on Cherry Street in Helena and across the street at that time was a Sterlings store. One day on my morning break I went across the street and purchased a water pistol. Once back at work I went into the bathroom where I filled it up with cold water and for the rest of the afternoon, every time Harry bent over and shined that disgusting pimply butt crack of his, I would take the water gun out of my lap and shoot a stream of water at aforementioned crack.
He would yelp and jump up and look around but the water gun would be safely hidden in my lap again.
Harry never caught on to what was happening, perhaps he thought that old building had some leaky pipes or something, and by the end of the day he had a nice wet stain on his trousers.
After a couple of days of this, Harry began wearing a belt and keeping his pants pulled up and I never had to contend with seeing his butt crack again.