Listening in Downeast
Geezers say the darnedest things!
I overheard the following conversation in the checkout line at the Ellsworth, Maine Home Depot this morning:
Mike: “Jesus Christ, Harold, how you been doin’?”
Harold: “Well hello there, Mike. Didn’t see you creep up on me. You know, I can’t complain. What’ve you been up to?”
Mike: “Oh not much really, just fuckin’ the dog, you know.”
Now I’m sure that the expression “fucking the dog” (meaning doing nothing for those of you who didn’t grow up in a trailer park or a women’s prison) is not new, and neither is it peculiar to Maine, but I can tell you that this is the only place on Earth I have ever heard it uttered. God only knows where it came from, and I for one would rather not dwell on the possibilities.
I have, in fact, also heard various layabout good-for-nothing dimwits referred to as “FTD specialists.” Again, only north of the New Hampshire border. As a rule, FTD specialists are universally acknowledged to be as dim as they are slothful. As in,
My husband’s a real FTD specialist. He don’t do a goddamned thing, and he’s number than a pounded thumb to boot. He don’t know nothin’. Shit, he don’t even suspect nothin’.
I may never go back to New York.