Road Apples by Tim Sanders
Jan. 28, 2013
|
Rub-a-dub-dub You can never predict what will capture a reader's attention. I've written about issues of monumental social importance–issues like the Mexican brain worm epidemic, the growing popularity of giant cockroach-eating contests in South Florida, and federally funded studies to determine how to fit American bison with Pampers–all with no response. But last week when I just casually mentioned Vicks Vapo Rub, I was bombarded with a veritable flurry of emails (assuming you consider three a veritable flurry). People are very passionate about their Vapo Rub. One lady told how her parents, who were farmers on Sand Mountain, “used Vapo Rub for everything.” She said they used the product as a mosquito repellant in the summertime, and added that her mother used it to housebreak their dogs, “and it worked better than Mentholatum.” She didn't say exactly how or where her mother applied the Vapo Rub in the housebreaking ritual, but apparently it was effective. “Once, when we had some bitterly cold winter weather and our dairy cow's udder was badly chapped, Daddy couldn't get to the Co-op to buy anymore Bag Balm, so he used Vapo Rub instead. Within a couple of days her udder cleared up slick as a whistle, and as long as you didn't mind the slight menthol taste to the milk, everybody was happy.” She added that her mother thought Vapo Rub cured all ills, and dosed all of the children with a half cup of Vapo Rub and turpentine every spring, and said that if they didn't take her tonic, she'd force them to eat one of her special peanut butter and jelly sandwiches spiked with a layer of the mentholated gel. “She thought we didn't know, but a Vapo Rub sandwich is pretty hard to disguise.” Another reader told how his father loosened rusty nuts and bolts with Vapo Rub, and used it to strip all the yellow paint from the porch swing. “He had an old 1960 Ford Fairlane. It had no air conditioning and only those little vent windows to keep it aired out. Mother didn't like the car because she said it smelled like dirty sweat socks, and none of those little skunk air fresheners could moderate it. So Daddy got tired of hearing her complain and took it over to a friend who had a hoist. They took a grease gun, filled it up with Vapo Rub, and squirted it into every grease fitting they could find. Then, just for good measure, they put a thick layer of Vapo Rub on the manifold and around the top of the radiator. I was there when they did it, and Daddy said that now the old woman should be happy. Well, she wasn't, because now the family car didn't just smell like dirty sweat socks, but like dirty sweat socks soaked in Vapo Rub. She made Daddy sell it and buy a Nash Rambler.” My favorite Vapo Rub story came from a gentleman in Chattanooga, who swore it was absolutely true. Here is most of the email: “When I was a boy we had a tomcat named Mr. Pomfritt, after the teacher on the Dobie Gillis show. We had no idea how old he was, but he came to our back door looking for a handout in the late '50s, and lived with us until the early '70s. He was never what you'd call an active cat. He didn't catch mice or chase birds, and mostly preferred to lie in the sun on the back porch. Mr. Pomfritt eventually became even more lethargic and refused to move from his bed. I was fairly young at the time, but I remember that for two days he wouldn't eat, never opened his eyes, and only coughed occasionally. Momma thought we needed to put Mr. Pomfritt to sleep, but Daddy was fond of the old thing and decided desperate times called for desperate measures. He heated up some Vapo Rub and put the stuff into a syringe. Then he told us all to stand back, and proceeded to squirt a syringe full of hot, liquified Vapo Rub into one of Mr. Pomfritt's nostrils. The cat didn't seem to object, so Daddy gave the other nostril a good, healthy dose. We all waited for awhile, but there was no reaction, so Daddy filled up another syringe and lifted Mr. Pomfritt's tail, looking for another target. He was confident the treatment would work if he could only find the right port of entry. But suddenly–and I remember this as though it was yesterday–Mr. Pomfritt's eyes popped wide open and before Daddy could give him that third dose, he had a sneezing fit, and leaped four or five feet into the air. Not Daddy, but Mr. Pomfritt. He ran around the porch, sneezing and emitting very loud banshee howls, dismantled an entire Venetian blind, and finally climbed up a curtain and perched precariously on the curtain rod, enthusiastically celebrating his newfound energy. Mr. Pomfritt's ears were laid back and his tail switched violently, and I remember thinking that in all the years I'd known that cat, I'd never seen him quite so lively. Vapo Rub made a new cat out of him, and the cure wasn't just temporary. He survived for five more years, and lived a very active life. But the Vapo Rub had somehow changed his personality. No longer placid and lethargic, Mr. Pomfritt chased everything. He chased mice, birds, squirrels, rabbits, cats, dogs, horses, mailmen, and automobiles. He seemed to feel he had a score to settle with somebody, but wasn't exactly sure who or what. He probably would have lived longer if not for that UPS truck, which he'd become fond of chasing, and which he finally caught. Actually, it caught him. That Vapo Rub is powerful stuff!” All of my respondents felt that I had taken the Vapo Rub issue too lightly in that last column. After reading their accounts, I'll have to agree. |