TAKE NO GUFF!

I was raised by a father and mother that took no “guff” from me or my brother while growing up. That unusual word was one of their favorites, although you hardly hear it anymore.

To this day, I’m not totally sure what my parent’s definition of guff was, yet I heard the warning numerous times—generally followed by a swat to the hiney. The Collins Dictionary definition for guff is: nonsense, rubbish, malarkey, or bull.

Their lesson eventually rubbed off on me. As I grew older, I decided not to take guff from anyone, with it backfiring on numerous occasions. I’ll bring to light one memorable event.

The year was 1973 and I was 19. Jeff Thimsen, my new girlfriend, Joleen Freeman, and me were sitting in my 1968 Dodge Charger enjoying a box of Fudgesicles. It was a hot Saturday afternoon in Anchorage, Alaska, a sweltering 75 degrees.

The frozen treats on wood sticks were a welcome delight as this vehicle had no air conditioner. With a half-dozen Fudgesicles in a cardboard container, it was taking us some time to eat them all without getting brain freeze. The chocolate was starting to melt making things even worse.

My F8 green Dodge musclecar was parked in a medical facility parking lot across from the Long’s Drug Store on Northern Lights Boulevard. This professional building was closed on weekends and the lot was empty. Jeff and I had parked there before to eat our corndogs and mustard purchased from Andy’s Caramel Corn, located in the Sear’s Mall.

Having our windows down, a man in a Loomis Security car suddenly appeared, claiming that we had to vacate the premises. Looking around for No Parking signs and seeing none, I politely asked, “Why?”

In questioning his authority, that’s all it took for the guy to go on a rant, saying once again, that the lot was closed, and he had strict orders to make sure no one parked there. I took what he said as pure guff, replying back with guff of my own, “We’ll leave as soon as we’ve finished our Fudgesicles!”

The security employee stood beside my door for a short while, muttering stuff that me and the others couldn’t hear. All of our windows were up at this time. When he finally stormed away, Jeff, Joleen, and I figured that was the end of it.

A couple of minutes went by before four Anchorage Police Department vehicles came roaring up with lights and sirens. Evidently, the Loomis agent called them, saying there were three teenagers in the parking lot doing drugs and refused to leave when asked. When I began giving one older APD officer some guff about there being no posted signs, things quickly escalated for the worse.

We were ordered to step out of the vehicle, frisked, handcuffed, and taken to the city jail where fingerprints were taken. I’m sure my car was searched after we departed, with police most likely looking for drugs or alcohol, although none of us ever used this stuff.

Joleen was led to a separate room while Jeff and I were taken to the main holding cell. There was one other occupant inside it besides us. This man had been arrested for soliciting a female undercover officer posing as a prostitute, and the somber guy actually admitted such to us for whatever reason, perhaps other than guilt.

Jeff and I spent an hour behind those steel bars singing songs and laughing while having a grand old time. We didn’t take things serious at all believing this was just a big joke. Some of the jail personnel got a few grins from us being so jovial in a not so jovial locale.

Bail was set at $50 each, with us guys having no money, thus Joleen picked up the tab, writing them a check. She didn’t see any humor out of the ordeal, and to this day still doesn’t.

To make a long story short, our city appointed public defender laughed at the “loitering” charges brought against us, and the district attorney dropped the case like a hot potato, wondering why police officers went to so much trouble over nothing.

We were told later on by another cop, they were most likely trying to make an example out of us, especially me. Having long hair, owning a fast car, and fitting the stereotype of a stoner aligned perfectly with some police back then. My tossing out a trifle amount of retaliatory guff evidently didn’t help matters.

The following Saturday, we drove by that parking lot, spotting newly installed, red and white No Parking signs on several light poles. The small writing underneath said this policy was intended for Saturdays and Sundays. Had those signs been there to begin with, I wouldn’t be writing this story.

Flash ahead fifty years to a recent Tuesday afternoon. After spending the morning cutting heavy brush on a vacant lot in Kingman, and being totally spent of energy, I stopped at the Kingman In-N-Out and ordered myself a burger and vanilla shake. I’ve done this countless times over the years, always driving and parking outside the entrance to the Chrysler Proving Grounds to eat.

Sitting there peacefully enjoying my food, I decided to snap a few photos of our Jeep Grand Cherokee before leaving, with a Stellantis Proving Grounds sign in the background. The Stellantis group are the ones having purchased Chrysler in 2021. No sooner had I taken three digital pictures, a man dressed in a fluorescent yellow security jacket walked up—demanding to know what I was doing.

“Sir, I Just finished an In-N-Out cheeseburger with extra grilled onions and tomatoes. You should try one fixed this way because they’re delicious!”

Ignoring my pleasantry, he quickly inquired about the camera, with me telling him I’d just taken photos of my Jeep purchased through Anderson Chrysler-Dodge-Jeep in Lake Havasu City. At that point, the fellow ordered me to delete all images, saying that I couldn’t have them. By this time another security agent rolled up in his car echoing the same.

I thought about giving them guff in return, but having a flashback to 1973, and what would undoubtedly happen afterwards if I did so made me bite my tongue. The two guards somewhat apologized before leaving saying that they were only doing their job.

During the drive home from Yucca, I couldn’t help but chuckle and think Déjà Vu had just taken place. The only difference being, that first incident in 1973 involved no signs and this one involved one sign. All I needed to complete the scene was for Jeff and Joleen to be with me, plus a box of Fudgsicles.

Telling my wife what transpired after I returned, she could only shake her head, asking why such bizarre stuff always happens to me. I didn’t have an answer, with her candidly replying that I’d been a trouble magnet for her since day one.

As far as those deleted photos go, it took about two minutes with a simple computer program to retrieve them from trash—so all was good.

Looking back on things, it appears putting the cuffs on guff that day was the wise thing for me to do!