September 26, 2004

• George the Wood Guy
  It rained and snowed last night.  When I got up today there was
  still slush on the ground.  Despite there being a lot of snow
  today, in between rain showers and falling mixed with the rain
  sometimes, the slush is all gone now.  At the moment, there is a
  heavy wet snowfall happening, and it’s starting to stick on the cars,
  the oil tank, and other cold surfaces, but not on the ground.

  George
  came today with my second load of wood.  There wasn’t much
  conversation.  When I saw him coming I ran out in the rain and
  pulled the tarp off the pile.  Then I had to wheeze back in and
  use my nebulizer a few times while he started unloading his
  truck.  Consequently there wasn’t a lot of time for talk, but he
  made the most of what time there was.

  I’m not going to make the NPD diagnosis –not yet anyway.  I’ve
  not known him long enough to really observe him in a variety of
  situations.  I’ve not given him any narcissistic injury yet, and
  don’t think I’d do it in an experimental fashion just to see if he’d
  fly into a rage, or if he’s more inclined toward the ingratiation
  reaction.  That is, IF he’s a narcissist.  I’m not
  diagnosing, but I would wager on it.

  There are some clues pointing in that direction.  During our first
  phone conversation I learned more about him than I ever learned during
  the course of several years about my last three firewood suppliers
  combined.   He also lied to me about the condition of the
  wood he was selling me, which is something a narcissist (and many other
  people, I will acknowledge) wouldn’t hesitate to do.  He said the
  wood was “dry”,  seasoned, aged.  The wood on the top of the
  first load was dry.   He
  proudly pointed them out to me before he started unloading.   I
  picked up a few pieces of it and tossed them onto the woodpile. 
  George told me I didn’t “have to” do that, that he’d unload.

  The dry stuff on top must have been just for show.   Later when
  Doug split the first round for our stove, it was far from dry, was what
  we call “green”.  We’re in for more creosote accumulation from
  that.  I’m used to it.  It’s what I expect.  Seasoned
  wood is rare and precious.  I just don’t like being bullshitted.

  Inappropriate personal disclosure is another clue.   When he
  delivered the first load, I learned that he draws some kind of
  disability compensation, that he has a brother “down south” who is a
  dog breeder, that his (George’s) dog Hunter tends to viciously attack
  other male dogs, and a lot of uninteresting details about how he
  conducts his wood business, who his customers are, etc.  He talks
  virtually nonstop, even while I’m walking away from him.  
  When he called me today to make sure I’d be here to pay him for the
  delivery, he said they’d gotten three inches of snow at Trapper
  Creek.  By the time he got here four hours later, it was up to two
  feet deep.  Exaggeration is another NPD trait.

  This trip, he appeared to derive some narcissistic supply from my
  asking if I could take his picture.  Picturesque, isn’t he? 
  He wanted to know why I wanted the pic, and I said, “for my website, my
  blog.”  When I asked if he knew what a blog is, he evaded the
  question.  That’s another clue to NPD.  In the narcissist’s
  reality, he knows everything.  Any hints to the contrary are
  ignored.

  He said repeatedly that he’s “an old bushrat, just an old bushrat born
  and raised.”  After the fifth repetition, I asked him how long
  he’s been in Alaska.  He came in 1987.  He’s a
  cheechako.   I’ve been here twice as long.  Maybe I
  should grant him the “bushrat” part, but I’m not sure he’s even as old
  as I am.  Doug has been in the country longer than George has,
  “born and raised.”

  In the personal disclosure department today, he revealed that his
  “disability” is SSI for being “crazy”.  He told me the exact
  amount of his monthly checks, and how much he gets in food
  stamps.  From behind the seat of his truck, he pulled a used
  chainsaw with a new bar and chain, and told me that’s how he spent the
  money I gave him for the first load of wood.  He explained who he
  bought it from, told me what brand the chainsaw was that this one
  replaces because it “blew up,” and how much he still owes John for
  it.  If Greyfox is a reliable source, then George probably thinks
  he’s just being open and friendly.

  I learned how much land he owns, precisely how much is on one side of
  Petersville Road and how much is on the opposite side, and that it’s
  situated right where the original settlers came through when the first
  homesteads were established in the Trapper Creek
  area.    I asked him about that, and he displayed a
  superficial knowledge of local history.  He named four or five of
  the homesteaders, got some of their first names wrong, and told about
  their trussing up eight cows and hauling them across the Susitna River
  from Talkeetna to Trapper Creek in a 20-foot canoe.  I’m guessing
  they made more than one crossing for that.  George didn’t say.

  The men built a corral for the cattle, which they broke down and
  escaped.  After the homesteaders searched unsuccessfully, Cliff
  Hudson went up and flew around and found their cows.  George says
  that Cliff was “about [his] age” when he did that.  Cliff is about
  eighty now.   He doesn’t fly any more, has Alzheimers. 
  He just seems to wait for his keeper to look the other way so he can
  get out and wander around Talkeetna in his bedroom
  slippers.   For several years before Cliff retired, nobody
  who knew him very well would go up in a plane with him. 

  Homesteading in the Petersville Road area started in 1948, which would
  have put Cliff in his mid-twenties at the time.    If that
  grizzled “old bushrat” George is that young now, he’s had a really
  harsh life, and he was only about 8 years old when he came to
  Alaska.  Oh, and he said “they” want to pay him for his
  story.  Hmmmm.  By the time he’s delivered my winter’s
  firewood supply, I’ll have gotten the whole story for free, I suppose.

  • 10:49 pm
  • 9 Comments