In February of 1965 I accompanied three fellow employees to a factory near Washington, D.C. to observe a test of what was then called an Optical Page Reader (hereafter called OPR) that we had purchased. The machine that supposedly would read and produce a copy of an entire page at a time was about six feet tall by ten feet long and probably weighed about a ton. Believe it or not, this monster was the ancestor of your little Optical Scanners!
The OPR was programmed to go into action by feeding it a long strip of paper about two inches wide, six or eight feet long, and filled with holes. About eight out of ten times when the salesman fed the OPR the paper program something would go haywire and the gung ho salesman would invariably say with much enthusiasm, �Once more with feeling!�
We must have heard that enthusiastic shout at least a thousand times during the fourteen hours we were there and the poor salesman never knew how close he came to being clobbered! We were standing there in a cold dank room and we were definitely not happy campers. By ten in the evening we had successfully produced less than twenty copies!
We (not including the salesman who by that time we thoroughly despised) had decided to go to downtown D.C. to have dinner. But as luck would have it Mark, the salesman, overheard our plans and insisted on being our guide. After much protesting by us and insisting by Mark that HE take US to dinner, we finally relented and allowed him to show us the way. Just for the record, we already knew how to get there!
Mark was driving a rusty battered Volkswagen but there was nothing wrong with the engine. We were soon going about eighty miles an hour trying to keep up with him. Had we known what was going to happen we would have made a u-turn and beat a hasty retreat back to Philadelphia. About five minutes into our south bound trip Mark suddenly stopped and that was almost the end of him right there. Fortunately our driver was alert and managed to stop before running over him. Mark hopped out of his car and ran back to us. He said, �Gentlemen, I have just remembered. I don�t have any money!� Our valiant leader said, �That�s OK Mark we will take care of it.�
So off we went again. I reckon his Volkswagen wouldn�t go any faster because we never went over eighty miles an hour. I was real glad I was sitting in the back seat with a couple of rather large guys. I figured that when the crash came I might be well enough insulated to come out of it alive. About five minutes later Mark came to another screeching halt. This time he came back to our car to tell us where we were going to eat! (And we thought we already we knew that.)
The race to D.C. continued for another 5 minutes and we began to see some rather nice looking buildings. Another screeching halt by Mark and we were informed that we were on �Embassy Row.� Finally we arrived at the Occidental Caf�. At that time it was a rather grungy looking place near the White House, but has since then moved and now looks much nicer. The food was excellent and they even had three fiddle players who decided to come over to our table and irritate us. At that point what we really needed was peace, quiet and FOOD! We finally took up a collection, Mark excluded, and paid the fiddle players to go serenade someone else. Preferable a long way off!
When we finished eating we were all thankful we were about to see the last of ole enthusiastic Mark, but little did we know. He not only insisted that he show us some of the sights, but he was going to ride with us! By this time it was past midnight, there was snow and ice all over. Thanks to dear ole Mark we stopped at the Lincoln Memorial and I climbed up the steps and said hello to Abe. Then we went around the Jefferson memorial. Mark decided that we should go around the Jefferson Memorial again but in the opposite direction. As we started around it the second time Mark exclaimed, �Oh, I forgot! This is a one-way street and we are now going in the wrong direction!�
Fortunately we escaped without getting arrested because we were the only fools out and around. We then took Mark back to the Occidental Caf�, let him out, and burned rubber trying to get away from him. About fifteen minutes later however, Mark went sailing by us like we were standing still and then THREW ON HIS BRAKES AGAIN! This time he informed us that we should turn right at the next intersection to get back to Philadelphia. Incidentally, there was a sign right up in front of us about ten feet tall and forty feet long that had already told us that.
We burned some more rubber and after our right turn the driver put the pedal to the metal until we could no longer see Mark. And we never saw him again.