Hands and Feet Inside the Car

It's possible that I like writing stories as my escape and "letting things out." If I focused entirely on my daily life all you would get from me is endless details of hundreds of hours of moving furniture.

HIDDEN CHARGES

1. This week we took our "Cowboy hat" neighbors to the health clinic again. We really don't mind taking a little time to take them places, since they can't drive. It's one thing to talk to them on the street (in the freshest air available), but it's another thing to be enclosed in a car with them. It takes a minute inside the car for the smell of stale cat crap and gasoline to overwhelm you and by then it's too late to come up with a reason to roll down the window. Then the smell lingers in the car for a couple of days.

2. I don't mind manual labor, even with the cuts and bruises. I still prefer it to desk work. I can handle bosses that throw temper tantrums and call you "dumbass." I deal with working with morons who are likely to squish you to death with heavy machinery (you just have to stay on your car with no limbs exposed). But the other day after the ritualistic sexual harassment of female customers within earshot (There's tons of hot p***** down there! etc.) I mentioned, "A lot of the girls these guys talk about aren't even very good looking, but they talk about them like they are all Victoria Secret models."

A guy who introduced himself to me as "Load Dog" replied, "I don't think Victoria has any secrets left. Ha ha ha. Have you seen Jeff Foxworthy?" At which point a lively conversation broke out about the joyful anticipation about the release of "Larry the Cable Guy's" upcoming movie.

I never wanted to walk out on a job so badly. These people have nothing to offer me. After my experiences with work and school, I absolutely understand why people turn to drugs and alcohol (I don't encourage the use of these things, but I UNDERSTAND. Remember what Beck said, "The drugs won't kill your day job").

Everyone at work is fond of saying, "I don't give a f***!" If that's true then why aren't you moving any of the heavy stuff? I think they DO care, they're just lazy and they think that saying those words makes them sound tough. But then, after a night of everyone not giving a f***, the place is a mess to the point that no one can even move and then they realize they have to clean up after themselves and do things that make it easier for EVERYONE to work.

Speaking of projecting toughness: I think my coworkers all use music as a gauge of toughness. Ask them what bands they like and you will only get answers like "Slipknot" or "Mudvayne." There is a guy named Scottie who looks and walks exactly like Gordon (the blogger I link to), except he's not funny nor smart. Scottie has kind of a "captain of the football team" look to him and his face is all filled out from lots of beer drinking (those things aren't true of Gordon). I think I made Scottie really mad on my very first day when I asked him what music he listened to and he said, "Slayer" and I started laughing and I asked, "Aren't those guys like 50 years old and dead by now?"

Maybe I will freak everyone out by taking a radio to work and blasting my wife's Olivia Newton John "Xanadu" CD through the warehouse. Forget about the Blues Tonight! Got some dancin' ta do!