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PROUD
MEMBER OF
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crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be clever, I have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an Ugly American living on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to serve, baby. |
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| The
View From Down Here A journal of sorts, updated every once in a while. Notice the wainscoting, word to the mutha June 4, 2007  --
I have a job interview today, so this needs to be super-quick.
I’ll have to allow time to wriggle into a pair of fancy-pants,
de-Andy hair my suit jacket, and cry softly for fifteen minutes or so.
It’s becoming a ritual.The interview is to take place in the Poconos, about forty miles from here. I don’t know if anyone else does this, but I drove there yesterday just so there wouldn’t be any surprises today. I hate going places I’ve never been, with a hard-coded deadline. I always envision myself riding up and down unfamiliar roads with three or four minutes to go, running my hands through my hair, and not having any idea where I am. So, when possible, I do a test run. We found it with no problem, and afterwards stopped at a dairy bar kinda place that looked like it hadn’t changed in fifty years. We all had milkshakes except Toney, who ordered a malt. Very good indeed. The temperature seemed to be about fifteen degrees cooler there, so we sat at one of their picnic tables and enjoyed our refreshing dairy desserts. And everybody around us sounded like freakin’ Vinnie Barbarino. Even the women. Hell, especially the women. How is it possible to drive just forty miles, and the accents completely change? It blows my beleaguered mind. And just so you know… The job, if I get it, won’t be in the Poconos. It’ll be about thirty miles from our house, which is a commute. But whatever. I’ve lived in Atlanta and Los Angeles , so I’m used to it. What was your longest commute to work? Did you mind it? I never did, as long as traffic kept moving. I liked to turn up the music, and found it to be relaxing. Until I got jammed-up in traffic, anyway... Then I’d lose my shit. -- I put four out of five of our ridiculous Soviet humbox air conditioners in the windows on Saturday. I still haven’t tackled The Big One that goes in the living room, but got the family room and bedrooms taken care of. The worst part of the exercise is dragging those bastards up from the basement. They’re not that heavy, but there’s three flights of stairs I have to negotiate, and four air conditioners. By the end I was huffing and puffing like Devo’s fat boy in lead shoes. Never again will I own a house without central air. I don’t give a shit if it’s in Nome, Alaska, there’s gonna be a big ol’ compressor outside that jumps into action whenever I move a toggle a half-inch. That’ll be the extent of my efforts: moving a toggle. The way God intended. -- One of the slats in the youngest Secret’s bed has been broken for a couple of months now. I think he was using it as a trampoline, and the slat nearest the footboard said fuckit.Whenever somebody would sit on the bed they’d sink all the way to the floor, and the mattress and box spring would teeter upwards. Yeah, it was always good for a laugh, but I figured I should probably do something about it. So I took one of the still-functioning slats with me to Home Depot, and walked around looking for a piece of wood roughly the same dimensions. You know on TV commercials how they show a helpful and smiling store employee helping nearly every customer at Home Depot? Well, that’s fictional. I was completely on my own in that sprawling house of confusion and funnels. Eventually I found a length of lumber that seemed perfect, and some dude in an orange vest and Santa beard just happened to be sauntering by, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. I hollered “Excuse me!” and within seconds he was manning the power saw and making me two new bed slats. The price of the wood was $2.88, and I didn’t think I had that much cash. I almost never have actual money anymore, I’m an ATM card kinda guy. However, I feel stupid paying that way for purchases less than five bucks. But what are you going to do? When I got to the cash register I was prepared to do battle about the one piece of wood that was now two pieces of wood. I just knew they’d try to charge me double, but it turned out to be much worse than that. The woman scanned the bar code, got out a tape measure and did some calculations, then said, “$21.47.” What the?? That thing was $3.48 I protested. Yes, she said, $2.88 per foot. The floor of my ass almost fell out. And so, the youngest Secret now has the highest grade bed slats in town. According to the receipt they’re made of red oak. I didn’t think my Dad would ever stop laughing when I told him. Oh, the humanity. --
What did you guys think of The
Sopranos on Sunday? Sweet
sainted mother of Molly Ringworm! I
had dreams about it all night, and so did Toney.
That shit is coming to a head. |
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 Contents copyright © 2000-2007 by Jeffrey S. Kay. All rights reserved. And here's more legal crap. Snail mail: TheWVSR.com PO Box 4 Olyphant, PA 18447 Electronic mail: info@thewvsr.com |
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