At the early AM grunt job this morning, we were one person shorthanded. May not seem like a biggie, but that was a third of the staff. So the Manager Girl was trying really hard to do the work of two people for a couple hours. "How un-gentlemanly!" you say to yourself. Well, I have assigned duties I'm not supposed to deviate from. Plus, they've intentionally left me untrained for any of those other things just so they won't be tempted to steal me away from those assigned duties when problems like this arise. Later in the morning, more crew begin to arrive on time and things get closer to normal.
Another Manager Girl arrives. (Yes, ya pretty much gotta have boobs to get a promotion at this place.) We'll call her "Cindy" for the sake of protecting the guilty. She's about 5-foot-nothing and about 100 lbs with her coat on. That famous short guy Napoleon didn't have a Napoleon Complex, he had a Cindy Complex. Cindy is blonde and green eyed and quite cute. And frequently meaner than a hung-over honey badger that just got off the phone with a bill collector. We get along quite well. Did I mention she's preggers? Imagine a hung-over honey badger with hormonal issues and occasional abdominal pains. The joy, it is overwhelming...
She is an accomplished Complainer, and has a complete mastery of every variation of every four-letter word. This morning, whilst standing inertly and doing nothing, she goes on a tirade about how everybody is standing around doing nothing and complaining about being shorthanded. "Instead of [bleep]ing b*tching and bringing everybody down, why don't we just [bleep]ing get to [bleep]ing work and stop with the [bleep]ing complaining!"
This event crossed the Maximum Irony threshold and I could no longer stifle my laughter. Laughing at her when she's PO'd (in other words "laughing, ever") is like snapping Darth Vader with a damp gym towel. Not recommended. I think I still have the job...
The "Check Engine" light in my car came on yesterday. Now the debate is whether to spend $69 bucks on a code reader to cancel the light, or to do the ol' "disconnect the battery 'til the car forgets that it is stupid" trick. Which would mean re-learning how to set the clock and the radio presets. Leaning towards getting the code reader.
We've done the "funniest" and "most embarrassing" things here, so what about "most disgusting?" Yay, that'll be fun! First, a little background...
In my old hometown, Memorial Day weekend is the big deal. Parade, carnival, hydroplane races, stuff like that. They call it "Boatnik" and it attracts every gap-toothed tweeker, weed-addled hippie and shirtless beer-sopped redneck in the area. And I'm not just talking about the carnies. The people-watching is almost as fun as the boat races. It was Memorial Day 1990, back when I was Young-n-StupidTM (Give-or-take a year. Gimme a break, I'm getting old) and a bunch of my homies and I took the weekend off from college to make the trip back home. We had a bunch of pickups parked in a shape like a star, tailgate-to-tailgate and were beerbonging. If you park your pickups in a ring and beerbong before the hydroplane races, you might... be a redneck. There are two classes of boats...
|Fast and agile hydroplanes|
with outboard motors that
race against each other.
|And larger two-man boats with gnarly inboard V8s|
that race against the clock.
It was suggested that maybe we should climb down the rocks to the water's edge and get a good view, as shown in the pic above.
|It's called Hellsgate Canyon for a *reason*, you moron!|
Cue dramatic music and brace for the disgusting...
Yeah, Lester lost it. Whole gutload of cheap beer launched right into the middle of our little tailgate star. A girl named Wendy said "Oh my gosh! That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen!" Then this bunghole** of a guy, named John (not me!) said "No it isn't. *THIS* is!" and he reached into Lester's yack... retrieved a remarkably intact piece of macaroni... and ate it. This caused a couple other people to buick right there on the grass between the trucks, too. It was like the pie-eating scene in Stand By Me.
**I say that of him because he was an ornery drunk that always wanted to fight. "Think so? Huh? Wanna go? Right now! Yeah, I knew you're a chicken**** 'cuz you know I could take my AR and blow your head off at 600 yards."
I'm not sure why we ever put up with that dork.
And yes, we did climb down the rocks. It was mossy and slick and incredibly stupid but we all lived to tell the tale.