When I was working on the Alaskan Pipeline back in the '70's, I was staying at a fleabag hotel with a bar downstairs, and since I worked the graveyard shift, I would often come in just as the bar was opening. Given that the Indian reserve wasn't far away, it wasn't uncommon to have a lot of Native Americans in the bar. Right after I got in one morning and started getting Heiderized (sour toe mash is an acquired taste, but I preferred Everclear), one of the locals shuffled in and stopped in the middle of the room, peering at something on the floor. Then he looked up and hollered, "Hey, bartender! There'sh a bug on the floor!"

The bartender didn't skip a beat of his opening preparations and hollered back, "Squash it!" The old guy looked down again and shook his head and hollered back again, "No! It really ish a bug!"