As I mentioned in my previous MAAS’s, I need to take time to pay homage to a truly great, late comic genius…Al Morris. I met Al my first day working at Signetics [a wholly subsidiary of NV Philips which has since been re-named to Philips Signetics division] in California. You see Al was in charge of communications and on my first day, that meant that he had to install my telephone service. Of course the telephones required their own training session as well as handbooks…ah those were the days. You see back then, Al was a one-man division and I really think he liked it that way. This week will be a short MAAS as I will confine this story to how Al received the “Boris” nickname. Back in those days, 1984, Sylvia and I both liked to party and Signetics was, if nothing else, the most partying company I had ever worked for [and to this day, it retains the partying king title]. Before I became a manager and held my “Staff Meetings” at the Moria Inn on Friday afternoons, we had Friday gatherings always centered around happy hours at rotating bars in the area. The only qualifications were that the joint had to have a dance floor; free food; cheap drinks and could not be the same watering hole we had visited the previous Friday.
Our first occasion to attend one of these functions [Sylvia would always go with me] was in the Double Tree lounge located at the hotel of the same name in San Jose. I was sitting with Al waiting for a slow song to play because I knew no matter what was playing; Sylvia would never leave the dance floor. She had a habit, in those days, of wearing out dancing partners and the guys I worked with were no exception. After about six straight fast songs, the idiot who was playing the music played another blistering, allegro composition and Al asked why I didn’t go out on the floor and dance with my wife. I replied because I was too fond of living and she was a woman who only knew one phrase when it came to dancing and sex…”Do ‘gain daddy?” He laughed and asked if I would sanction his gyrating with my spouse. I shrugged and told him to be my guest but don’t come crying to me when she wears you out. If they play a slow one [I made a mental notation to myself at this point, “Self…never attend a Happy Hour at the Double Tree again”] I will have to cut in on you. He eagerly agreed and quickly bounced out to the dance floor and offered to cut a rug with Dancezilla, much to the relief of all the other potential partners who were sheepishly attempting to escape the gaze of this Dancing Queen.
After a couple of long dances I could see the sweat flowing freely from AL’s furrowed brow as he shot a pleading glance towards me. I laughingly replied “no way Jose” by merely shaking my head. After the next frenzied dance had begun, a shapely, buxom beauty sat down at my table and asked if I would care for a drink. Thinking it must be California’s version of Sadie Hawkins day, I didn’t pay much attention to her and [due to the loud strains of the next piece of music] I just pointed to my nearly full bottle of beer and shook my head no. Turning my attention back to the dance floor believing the issue had been resolved, I felt something lightly caress my arm and turned to see her mouth almost touching me utter “Hi I’m Amber, would you like to F**k?” as she leaned over the table spilling her ample, non-confined breasts all over its slick, shiny surface. Thinking fast I conjured up my best Russian accent and said, “Sadly I not can because Natasha, spouse to me…” and at this juncture I paused, pointed to my wedding ring and then continued “operative number two is upon floor dance now with Boris, operative number one. If even she suspect talking with me, your life I would be afraid for.” This Bimbo was not too discerning as after she recoiled back from my warning and removed her clutching claws, she stared at the dance floor and asked, “Which one is Boris?” Thank my lucky stars the next record was a slow song as I hopped up and muttered “You excuse please, I must now go to dance”, and as the shepherd was known for saying, “I got the flock out of there”.
Al was already returning to the table when he spotted the wench and as I began dancing with my wife I answered his quizzical, head-cocked non-verbal question with, “Her name is Amber; Sylvia is Natasha and you are Boris. And if she should ask my name tell her I’m Ican Snatchyourtitisoff. We are all Soviet operatives so speak accordingly in accent.” Al broke out in a big, shit-eating grin, sauntered over to the table and whispered something into her ear. She leaned back shaking her head “no” and then, leaning forward again, whispered something into his ear. I thought he was going to dump our table over; glasses, ashtrays, bottles and all when he flew to his feet. The two locked arms and as they were exiting the bar he looked back at me and winked. The rest of the night went uneventful for an hour or so when Al returned in a huff, plopped down and admonishingly stated, “You set me up with a hooker!” I replied that I was pretty sure she was, didn’t he see it? Ignoring my question he continued, “She wanted to charge me $50.00 after I paid for the damn room too!” Laughing, I asked if he paid the $50.00 and he answered, “Boris could do nothing else!” We both laughed and then he added, “My only complaint is now I can’t afford lunch for the next week!” Slipping into character I told him, “Is not for you to worry my friend, Natasha make extra big pot borscht for you for to eat with us …” Naturally, my next FAAS was about this incident and Al “Boris” Morris and the name stuck.
Next week's 11-01-2010 (#164) title: TBD
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