My boss quit on Monday. It was a shock only because some thought he was going to get fired. We are now on day four of the rebuilding process and oddly, things are looking up for now.
I used to be a roofer back in college. We had a team of about 8 guys. I was the only kid. As with most construction jobs, the kid got picked on. It was almost a loving kind of abuse, probably because the guys knew I'd go back to school and be out of their lives once summer was over. But there was also one other guy on the team that got abuse... one of their own so to speak. Everyone hated that guy. He was either lazy or stinky or dumb or his wife cheated on him... all merely allegations, but these things were said behind his back, but just loud enough for him to hear. Either this guy would quit after a week or try and stick it out and become my buddy. I think they would seek refuge in the other guy who got picked on.
No man can take that much abuse and they would snap and start a fight or walk off the job. Either way they were gone.
For a few days, all the guys would sit around at lunch and talk about what an asshole the quitter was and how they were happy he was gone. Everyone was happy. But then after those few days were up, you would see everyone looking around for the new guy to start picking on. Sometimes it was easy when a new guy was hired to replace the last. Sometimes no one was immediately hired and the cannibalism set in. One of their own was chosen. The circle is complete.
I guess what I'm thinking is that we've got about a week to blame all the company's issues on the old boss. If things aren't fixed, where will all that hatred and blame go? I don't see us hiring anyone in the near future.
Well, to keep this from ending on a downer, let me tell you this: I went on a smaller job with two other seasoned roofers (Old Goat and Charles.) While we were working, I managed to put "Kick Me" signs fashioned from asphalt can stickers on both their backs. I went to one and pointed out the other's sign. I went to the other and did the same. What followed was a round or two of comical kicking, followed up by some aggressive kicking and then the inevitable old guys shoving back and forth on top a 25' roof. By the time I pointed out the signs on their backs, it was too late. They were pissed at each other and did not see the humor in my little joke.
The truck ride home was pretty quiet. My small talk did not create a truce. I was sure that one or both of the guys were going to quit once we got back to the shop.
The next morning at the shop, while changing into my work clothes, I found out the hard way that both my boots had a dollop roofing asphalt in them. I didn't notice the first one until after I had the second one on. Just enough to make me uncomfortable as hell, but not enough to keep me from working. Both guys said nothing. But I'd like to think they collaborated. Punk kid.
Hitchhiking
My friend Amy and I went to
This tale is about hitchhiking.
First off, hitchhiking in
Amy and I had hitchhiked on several occasions. We were camped at Ward's Pond about five miles west of
Woman - "So, your car broke down?"
Us - "Um, no."
"Oh, did you run out of gas?"
"No."
"Then what is wrong with your car?"
"We don't have a car. That's why we are hitchhiking."
"I saw you standing by your car by the side of the road!"
"We don't have a car!"
-silence-
“So, are you tourists or you here for the salmon?”
One night, Amy and I went out drinking in town. It was easy to find a bar in
About ¼ mile outside of town, a suburban pulled over. We got in. I think Amy sat in the middle. The guy was a little drunk. We told him which wilderness area of Ward’s Pond we were camped in and he said he knew it well. The hard part of hitchhiking was over with.
Drunk driver guy then started telling us that he held a world record. He hauled the most tonnage of timber with a helicopter in one day. We were really impressed. He then started ranting about how hitchhikers sometimes try to attack the driver. We were really silent. He then patted the seat suggesting something underneath and said, "But I’ve got protection so no one’s going to mess with me and get away with it." We were really scared shitless. Luckily, we were close to the area where we were camped. In a moment of sheer brilliance or panic, I told him to drop us off in an area where our campsite wasn’t. As he stopped he said, “This isn’t the place you told me about. You better not try anything." Now I remember. I was in the middle. I was in the middle because I about scrambled over Amy as this guy was reaching under his seat. We both scurried off into the bushes behind the truck and hid behind a tree. (Side note: these pines were big and two adults could hide behind them.) He yelled something audible but incoherent out of his truck. We waited until he drove off. I would have peed my pants but I was able to unzip and release. Wow.
We walked about 100 yards to our campsite and climbed in the tent. We laid there and waited for him to come back. About 15 minutes later a truck drove by our campsite real slow. Luckily there were other campers around so we could be singled out. He drove on and circled one more time. We dared not look out the tent. Somehow nylon and a zipper seemed the best protection. He drove off for good.
I’m sure I could look up who the record holder for the most tonnage of lumber to be carried in one day by helicopter was in 1992…
I did not go to Skully's last night.
I did not go to Skully's last night. I told Miss Sally that I wasn't going to go to Skully's. I told my co-workers that I wasn't going. I told my friends I wasn't going.
So, I ran into Freckled Jen at Skully's last night. (She also told me she wasn't going to Skully's.) She was with her friend Tracy. Tracy is upset with me because during an argument a few days ago, I got tired of her talking so I made a fist and made my hand talk by moving my thumb up and down. My hand said something like this, "All I hear you say is blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah." I kind of moved my puppet closer and closer to her face with each "blah."
She didn't like that.
So when I saw her last night, I immediately apologized because I have low self esteem and can't stand to have people dislike me. She said she would think about accepting my apology.
So now it’s noon. I've been at work for 1/2 hour. Shorty is going to Sam's Club to buy some 1/4 pound kosher hot dogs.
Things are looking up.
So, I ran into Freckled Jen at Skully's last night. (She also told me she wasn't going to Skully's.) She was with her friend Tracy. Tracy is upset with me because during an argument a few days ago, I got tired of her talking so I made a fist and made my hand talk by moving my thumb up and down. My hand said something like this, "All I hear you say is blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah." I kind of moved my puppet closer and closer to her face with each "blah."
She didn't like that.
So when I saw her last night, I immediately apologized because I have low self esteem and can't stand to have people dislike me. She said she would think about accepting my apology.
So now it’s noon. I've been at work for 1/2 hour. Shorty is going to Sam's Club to buy some 1/4 pound kosher hot dogs.
Things are looking up.
50 Dollars Change
It is a well known fact amongst my circle of guy friends that I frequent (though not frequently) establishments that cater towards men that have an expendable collection of one dollar bills and a penchant for boobies. My M.O. is a bit like this:
1. Go out drinking
2. Leave early
3. On the drive home, find your car is taking the long way, which happens to drive past establishments which have such words as Pink, Gold, or Kahootz in their neon marquee.
4. Call Acton.
5. Leave a short, but precise message about where I will be and that I hope he can join me.
6. Stop at the ATM
7. Enter nudie bar.
8. Spend money
9. Go home smelling like vanilla, cotton candy and sin.
10. Retrieve message from Acton 12 hours later asking if there was any trouble.
For me, there’s never any trouble at the nudie bar. I’ve heard testimonials about a friend’s friend who got laid in the back or a buddy who swears they took a stripper home with them. For me, I never even get close to that. Oh wait… I’ll have to piece together the story about the layover in Canada… that’s for later.
On this particular night, I had made it all the way to #6 on the list. I stopped at the drive through ATM and got out $50 fast cash. $50 fast cash turned out to be a single $50 bill. I was dismayed.. A $50 bill now calls me out as a big spender. I like to be the lowly guy in the club who doesn’t attract attention. You walk in with $50 dollar bills and that makes you a mark. Not really, but I thought that at the time.
I was tempted to swing around through the ATM again, but I was very interested in getting to step #8.
I parked and entered the club. This particular club is called Sirens. It resides in what used to be an Asian restaurant. The girl at the front counter was bantering with the coat check guy. As I walked in, he vaporized. We traded our hellos and the girl said, “There’s an $8 dollar cover charge.” I handed over my $50. She stuck it in the drawer and counted back my change.
“Two makes ten. Ten makes twenty. Twenty makes forty, sixty, eighty and one hundred. Did you want some of that in ones?”
Pause for one second.
“Nope. I’m fine.” Walk into the club.
I immediately went into the bathroom. I’m not sure what level of protection a bathroom offers. It seems to have kept the ISI from finding the attendant. I fake peed and gave the guy a buck. This gave me the opportunity to see that I had $91 in my wallet when there only should have been $41. Gracias.
Walking out of the bathroom I expected to be confronted by Goon in Bar #1 and Goon in Bar #2. At some point the girl up front would figure out her mistake have said Goons track me down. I believe I have coke or meth to thank for the scatter brainedness of the counter girl. I went to the bar and bought a drink.
Skip ahead to step #9. (I could talk about the dollar bill folding technique or the avoiding the strung out stripper method, but I think that’s for another time.) I left the club and walked to my car. I had several drinks and gave away a large number of neatly folded bills and I still had $30. I had about two hours of girly fun and drinks for about $20. Not bad at all.
I mentioned this story to John then next day when I returned his message to my message. He couldn’t believe it. A few years before this, John and I went to a nudie bar and on the way in, he found $80 lying right outside his car. He was kind enough to share that money with me and we spent it very quickly. When that money ran out, he reached into his pocket to get the $100 that was in there and all he had was a $20.
He suggested to me that I try the $50 trick again. So I did.
One week later. Step #6. Get money. I drove through the ATM again. Hit $50 fast cash. To my surprise, I was dispensed two 20s and a 10. This bank had a dual ATM system and the one side gave out 50s while the other, as I just found out, did not. I looped around and went to the original ATM. Bing, a $50 bill.
Park. Door. And guess what… the same strung out girl.
“Two makes ten. Ten makes twenty. Twenty makes forty, sixty, eighty and one hundred. Did you want some of that in ones?”
Pause for one tenth a second.
“Nope. I’m fine.” Walk into the club.
Unbelievable.
This time around, I spent all of it. I had many drinks. I even had the private dance or two. Good stuff.
On my way out, I had $5 left in my wallet. All that fun for $45.
$45? Think again. I forgot about the original $50 I took out that came in the 20s and 10 variety. I actually spent $95 of my own money. Crap. Oh well, it was worth the story.
1. Go out drinking
2. Leave early
3. On the drive home, find your car is taking the long way, which happens to drive past establishments which have such words as Pink, Gold, or Kahootz in their neon marquee.
4. Call Acton.
5. Leave a short, but precise message about where I will be and that I hope he can join me.
6. Stop at the ATM
7. Enter nudie bar.
8. Spend money
9. Go home smelling like vanilla, cotton candy and sin.
10. Retrieve message from Acton 12 hours later asking if there was any trouble.
For me, there’s never any trouble at the nudie bar. I’ve heard testimonials about a friend’s friend who got laid in the back or a buddy who swears they took a stripper home with them. For me, I never even get close to that. Oh wait… I’ll have to piece together the story about the layover in Canada… that’s for later.
On this particular night, I had made it all the way to #6 on the list. I stopped at the drive through ATM and got out $50 fast cash. $50 fast cash turned out to be a single $50 bill. I was dismayed.. A $50 bill now calls me out as a big spender. I like to be the lowly guy in the club who doesn’t attract attention. You walk in with $50 dollar bills and that makes you a mark. Not really, but I thought that at the time.
I was tempted to swing around through the ATM again, but I was very interested in getting to step #8.
I parked and entered the club. This particular club is called Sirens. It resides in what used to be an Asian restaurant. The girl at the front counter was bantering with the coat check guy. As I walked in, he vaporized. We traded our hellos and the girl said, “There’s an $8 dollar cover charge.” I handed over my $50. She stuck it in the drawer and counted back my change.
“Two makes ten. Ten makes twenty. Twenty makes forty, sixty, eighty and one hundred. Did you want some of that in ones?”
Pause for one second.
“Nope. I’m fine.” Walk into the club.
I immediately went into the bathroom. I’m not sure what level of protection a bathroom offers. It seems to have kept the ISI from finding the attendant. I fake peed and gave the guy a buck. This gave me the opportunity to see that I had $91 in my wallet when there only should have been $41. Gracias.
Walking out of the bathroom I expected to be confronted by Goon in Bar #1 and Goon in Bar #2. At some point the girl up front would figure out her mistake have said Goons track me down. I believe I have coke or meth to thank for the scatter brainedness of the counter girl. I went to the bar and bought a drink.
Skip ahead to step #9. (I could talk about the dollar bill folding technique or the avoiding the strung out stripper method, but I think that’s for another time.) I left the club and walked to my car. I had several drinks and gave away a large number of neatly folded bills and I still had $30. I had about two hours of girly fun and drinks for about $20. Not bad at all.
I mentioned this story to John then next day when I returned his message to my message. He couldn’t believe it. A few years before this, John and I went to a nudie bar and on the way in, he found $80 lying right outside his car. He was kind enough to share that money with me and we spent it very quickly. When that money ran out, he reached into his pocket to get the $100 that was in there and all he had was a $20.
He suggested to me that I try the $50 trick again. So I did.
One week later. Step #6. Get money. I drove through the ATM again. Hit $50 fast cash. To my surprise, I was dispensed two 20s and a 10. This bank had a dual ATM system and the one side gave out 50s while the other, as I just found out, did not. I looped around and went to the original ATM. Bing, a $50 bill.
Park. Door. And guess what… the same strung out girl.
“Two makes ten. Ten makes twenty. Twenty makes forty, sixty, eighty and one hundred. Did you want some of that in ones?”
Pause for one tenth a second.
“Nope. I’m fine.” Walk into the club.
Unbelievable.
This time around, I spent all of it. I had many drinks. I even had the private dance or two. Good stuff.
On my way out, I had $5 left in my wallet. All that fun for $45.
$45? Think again. I forgot about the original $50 I took out that came in the 20s and 10 variety. I actually spent $95 of my own money. Crap. Oh well, it was worth the story.
Naked Man
I went streaking. It was a number of years ago, but I feel that streaking is on the “Do At Least Once In Life” list. (Standing boldly between smoking pot and skinny dipping.)
Ohio University. A night when it was short sleeves warm when you walked into the bar and stumbling out you’d be cold if you weren’t shielded by the false warm aura of drunkenness. Acton and I had been in the C.I. for most the evening. There seemed to be some kind of commotion in front of the bar as we exited. In the street, a girl stood in the back of a parked pickup truck, her shirt disheveled. A boy had jumped into the back with her and grabbed her from behind. A protective hug. From the cheers of “do it again” and “nice tits,” I reasoned... (no wait, I was drunk) I guessed she had just flashed the people exiting the bar. Acton and I looked at each other. He was in despair that we had missed the flashing girl. (Flashing is on the list if you are a girl. It’s down near parachuting and eating sushi.) I had another idea.
“I’m going to streak.”
Acton, the smartest guy I know reasoned with me. “No way………… OK, where do you want to take off your clothes?”
We quickly shuffled down Court Street towards the corner. Athens has all sorts of hidey holes and twisting alleys. You can still find crushed beer cans with pull tabs in the bricked up, ground level windows back in those dark spaces. I needed a place to get naked.
The commotion of the guys yelling tits collected the attention of the cops. Their cop car stopped on Court Street a few feet in front of the sans tits truck. I think they wanted to do a show up and scare the kids away. It worked. The crowd dispersed. Little did they know that they had also halted my plans of disrobing.
Acton said, “Hey, let’s jump up and down on the hood of the cop car! We’ll split up and they’ll never catch us. Hell, they won’t even get out of the car.” That sounded like an even better idea. Those fat fuckers could never catch up with us. I can still envision it. American Graffiti color scheme. The shot is from the back seat of the darkened cop car. Motionless silhouettes of the cops as Acton and I gleefully jump up and down on the hood. All you see is my Converse and Acton’s beat up leather shoes bounding up and down. Pure joy.
But that didn’t happen. On the sidewalk, I gave up. “Let’s go home.”
We turned and walked back up Court Street away from the bars.
I’m not sure if it was the last beer finally wandering up and down my brain stem or perhaps I heard a couple of guys who saw the truck girl tits reminiscing. Either way, three blocks from home I changed my mind.
“Fuck it, I’m going to do it.”
And Acton immediately pointed, “There’s a stairwell… no wait, that alley.”
John followed me back. I stripped down and handed him my clothes. John handed me back my Converse. “You better wear these.” I put the shoes on.
Now, at this point, I want all streaking purists to just keep their shirts on… or off. Streaking is the act of running with your ass and frontal naked bits exposed. Don’t get all technical on me. Streaking, you can wear shoes. Especially Converse.
John said to give him a minute to run up the street so that he could watch. He bounded off with my clothes under his arm. That was an interesting minute. I stood there naked, arms crossed and jogging in place. I was almost waiting for someone taking a shortcut to turn the corner to see a naked guy in black Converse.
48… 49…. 50.. long enough.
I sprinted out of the alley, almost running into a couple.
“Hey! Holy shit!”
I ran across the brick street in a wide arc and down the side walk. At this point in the night, everyone is walking in the same direction, away from the bars. Groups of two, four and seven filled the side walk. I ran forward, slowing only to slip and dodge in between couples. As I broke through the crowds I’d shout, “Naked man coming through!” Shouts of, “Hey what are you… oh my God!” and laughter followed me down the street. It was pure joy.
I ducked down the alley by Acton’s apartment. I reached the back and climbed up the fire escape. Silent cops followed me, I was sure. In through the kitchen window and in a heap on the floor. I walked down the hallway and waited for Acton to come up. His laughing preceding.
Several friends sat in the front room and I did a quick lap through the room. Acton gave me back my clothes and I got dressed.
Everyone should go streaking at least once.
Ohio University. A night when it was short sleeves warm when you walked into the bar and stumbling out you’d be cold if you weren’t shielded by the false warm aura of drunkenness. Acton and I had been in the C.I. for most the evening. There seemed to be some kind of commotion in front of the bar as we exited. In the street, a girl stood in the back of a parked pickup truck, her shirt disheveled. A boy had jumped into the back with her and grabbed her from behind. A protective hug. From the cheers of “do it again” and “nice tits,” I reasoned... (no wait, I was drunk) I guessed she had just flashed the people exiting the bar. Acton and I looked at each other. He was in despair that we had missed the flashing girl. (Flashing is on the list if you are a girl. It’s down near parachuting and eating sushi.) I had another idea.
“I’m going to streak.”
Acton, the smartest guy I know reasoned with me. “No way………… OK, where do you want to take off your clothes?”
We quickly shuffled down Court Street towards the corner. Athens has all sorts of hidey holes and twisting alleys. You can still find crushed beer cans with pull tabs in the bricked up, ground level windows back in those dark spaces. I needed a place to get naked.
The commotion of the guys yelling tits collected the attention of the cops. Their cop car stopped on Court Street a few feet in front of the sans tits truck. I think they wanted to do a show up and scare the kids away. It worked. The crowd dispersed. Little did they know that they had also halted my plans of disrobing.
Acton said, “Hey, let’s jump up and down on the hood of the cop car! We’ll split up and they’ll never catch us. Hell, they won’t even get out of the car.” That sounded like an even better idea. Those fat fuckers could never catch up with us. I can still envision it. American Graffiti color scheme. The shot is from the back seat of the darkened cop car. Motionless silhouettes of the cops as Acton and I gleefully jump up and down on the hood. All you see is my Converse and Acton’s beat up leather shoes bounding up and down. Pure joy.
But that didn’t happen. On the sidewalk, I gave up. “Let’s go home.”
We turned and walked back up Court Street away from the bars.
I’m not sure if it was the last beer finally wandering up and down my brain stem or perhaps I heard a couple of guys who saw the truck girl tits reminiscing. Either way, three blocks from home I changed my mind.
“Fuck it, I’m going to do it.”
And Acton immediately pointed, “There’s a stairwell… no wait, that alley.”
John followed me back. I stripped down and handed him my clothes. John handed me back my Converse. “You better wear these.” I put the shoes on.
Now, at this point, I want all streaking purists to just keep their shirts on… or off. Streaking is the act of running with your ass and frontal naked bits exposed. Don’t get all technical on me. Streaking, you can wear shoes. Especially Converse.
John said to give him a minute to run up the street so that he could watch. He bounded off with my clothes under his arm. That was an interesting minute. I stood there naked, arms crossed and jogging in place. I was almost waiting for someone taking a shortcut to turn the corner to see a naked guy in black Converse.
48… 49…. 50.. long enough.
I sprinted out of the alley, almost running into a couple.
“Hey! Holy shit!”
I ran across the brick street in a wide arc and down the side walk. At this point in the night, everyone is walking in the same direction, away from the bars. Groups of two, four and seven filled the side walk. I ran forward, slowing only to slip and dodge in between couples. As I broke through the crowds I’d shout, “Naked man coming through!” Shouts of, “Hey what are you… oh my God!” and laughter followed me down the street. It was pure joy.
I ducked down the alley by Acton’s apartment. I reached the back and climbed up the fire escape. Silent cops followed me, I was sure. In through the kitchen window and in a heap on the floor. I walked down the hallway and waited for Acton to come up. His laughing preceding.
Several friends sat in the front room and I did a quick lap through the room. Acton gave me back my clothes and I got dressed.
Everyone should go streaking at least once.
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