--I know this might come as a surprise to many of you, but I'm
not really accustomed to prolonged physical labor.For most of my adult life I've been (as Lynyrd Skynyrd would
probably put it) a pencil-pusher.I've
been sitting behind desks, participating in conference calls, and
emailing my friends pictures of squirrels with enormous testicles.
So when my current employer informed me I'd be working on a special
project, a warehouse "reset," I was a little concerned.I had visions of me bent over like that Pope who always looked
like an upside-down fishhook, moaning and groaning, and begging
strangers to rush me to a hospital.
And to make matters worse, this so-called special project was to
happen on my traditional days off, thus bridging two work weeks and
causing my life to eat it from the ass-in.
But it's come and gone, and I survived.Yeah, my lower back is aching a little, but it wasn't anything
like I’d feared.I mean, one
recent spring I mowed the grass for the first time of the season, and
could barely put on a pair of underwear for a week.This was nothing like that.
So, while it was no fun whatsoever, I'd be forced to admit it wasn't
all that
bad.
I even learned a few things about my co-workers.So many hours held captive together loosens the tongues of
otherwise private people, it seems…It’s
like prison-talk, I think.
One guy, for instance, has a cache – a freakin' cache – of what
must be illegal guns.He has
photographs of them, on his cell phone, all laid-out and displayed on
a bed.
Included was an AK-47 with (as he described it) a 75-round drum.He told me it's fully automatic, and the barrel can get so hot
after emptying the "drum," the wooden hand grip could
feasibly burst into flames.
Hell, I thought this dude was into cooking or something.He seems like the type who knows his way around brandy
snifters, silk smoking jackets, and brie.Who knew he poses and photographs firearms on his days off?
Another guy, who says very little to anyone, told me he's getting
married in a few months.A big,
elaborate church wedding, with all the money-sucking trimmings…
Because his bride-to-be is Catholic, and he is not, he had to be
interviewed by a priest.He
said the questions were standard at first, but then they started
getting weird.Like, "Have
you ever been abducted by aliens?"
Can this possibly be true?I
mean, seriously.That’s gotta
be boolshit, right?
I
worked my ass down to a smoldering nub, and it was suffocating in that
warehouse (apparently the air conditioners are turned off on weekends,
and nobody could figure out the override).But we finished seven hours into Saturday, instead of the
twelve they’d estimated.And
I went home around two o'clock in the afternoon.Stumbling like the un-dead.
And that was the worst part of it:the
almost Biblical exhaustion that crashed down on me Saturday evening.It was a result of the heat, the hard work, and having to
report to work at 7 am (with an hour commute).I free-fell into a chair when I got home, and immediately dozed
off.
But I don’t like to sleep in the daytime, like Nostrils.So I tapped some hidden inner-strength, forced myself to take
another shower, and went for a haircut.
Afterwards I spent a considerable amount of time searching for an
acceptable case of Samuel Adams Pale Ale.I love pale ales, and IPAs and the like, and saw that Sam Adams
is now making one.I felt like
rewarding myself with 24 bottles, in celebration of me making it
through the weekend alive, and made a beeline to my favorite beer
store.
But they didn’t have any in their cooler, they only had hot cases
sitting on the floor.That
wouldn’t do, I wanted to start drinking them straigh’
away, so I went to another store nearby.Same
story…All their stock was
hot, and would require at least a day to render ‘em drinkable.
Grrr…I thought about buying
a case of Dogfish Head instead, but it’s all so expensive.I didn’t want to be settling for a second-choice with that
kind of money.
So I drove to a local pizza restaurant, where they sell (gasp!)
six-packs of microbrews.Because
of the incomprehensible laws in the state of Pennsylvania, beer stores can only sell
cases.Grocery and convenience
stores can’t sell jack (with few exceptions).However, restaurants are allowed to offer take-out sixers…The whole thing is bizarre.
They had the new Pale Ale there, and I bought six (for $10).And guess what?It
didn’t blow me away.Oh, it
was good, but not great.Sierra
Nevada, in my opinion, is much better.So… I’m kinda glad I couldn’t find any cold cases.
Toney and I polished off the six pack, while watching something (or
other) on TV.Finally, I went
to bed around 11 pm, and didn’t wake up until 10
the next morning.I don’t
think I moved the entire night, I just laid there like an opening
scene of Law &
Order.It’s a wonder Scrote didn’t come in and start making
wisecracks.
The next morning I looked at my long, hideous John Kerry face in the
mirror, and saw that I’d apparently gotten a haircut somewhere along
the way.I’m not joking, I
barely remember it happening.I
had to stop and think where I went, and how much I’d paid.
Saturday afternoon is nothing but a big fuzzy blur to me, with
slightly disappointing beer.But,
at least I’m not walking around like that fishhook Pope…
--My friend Tim mentioned Tony
Orlando and Dawn in an email this morning (it’s a long story), and
it reminded me of a joke I thought was hilarious when I was in grade
school:
Q: Why is Tony Orlando always smiling?
A: Because he wakes up at the crack of Dawn.
And I’ll make that the Question of the Day…Do you remember any jokes from elementary school, that you
thought were just funny as all hell at the time?I’m especially interested in the ones that are hilariously
dated, like the one above.
Use the comments link below, and I’ll have more of this, um, quality
material tomorrow.
