Now, I alone know.

Bob ran a pinstriping shop by the canal. He was kind enough to rent space to a couple of us wayward silk screeners. I rolled up on him on day while he was busy building a wooden toolbox for the back of his El Camino. “My Grampappy gave me this power drill,” he said proudly.

A minute later the drill just quit working. Bob looked it over carefully and realized it was beyond repair.

He wound the cord around it and casually walked toward the canal. With a huge arc of his arm, Bob sent that old piece of metal sailing far over the water. It hit with a SPLOOSH!

Without even looking at me, he added, “Now, I’ll always know where it is.”

We all miss you Bob.

Paying homage to the King

For a couple of years, I worked the graveyard shift, cleaning kitchens and toilets at the world's most famous amusement park. Eventually, I hung it up and handed in my uniforms. On my final night, I tagged the park's finest restaurant and told a trusted coworker, "Find it and add your name to the wall someday."

“I doubt they’ll kick up any fuss. Not for an old crook like me.”

— Brooks Hatlen from The Shawshank Redemption (1994).

--<>--

Another night, a couple of my buddies and I were assigned the mother of all restroom details. Our shift included cleaning over 80 toilets, as well as all the restroom sinks, mirrors, and tile floors! I couldn’t blame my coworkers for getting pissed when we found only the smallest size rubber gloves. It didn't matter.  I’d have wrapped my hands in plastic trash bags to finish our assignment and get out. Pulling on a snug pair of miniature gloves, I announced, "I like my gloves like my rubbers, SMALL!"  

Dead quiet. One fellow turned and gave me a sideways horse-eye. The other fellow's shoulders started convulsing with laughter.  “Yup!" I added, "I get me the Mini-Magnums!”

Hey, whatever it takes to get through the night. 

--<>--

The most boring tasks can enlighten. In the meditative silence of night, my mind would unravel, and long-forgotten thoughts would emerge.  It's 3 am. I'd been spraying foam, scrubbing down, and hosing down the greasiest kitchen in the park.

A single moment of recollection bubbled up. I'm six years old and my entire family is gathered in the glow of our TV. We're watching The Wonderful World of Color. This episode shows what goes on in the park after closing. A custodian is wielding a leaf-blower on Main Street, blowing confetti out of the trees. My 6-year-old self made a wish, “When I grow up, I want to do THAT!!”

It was a moment of pure Zen, making sense of why I ever took this job. For the record, I have used a leaf-blower in the park, and it's one more thing off my bucket list.  

SHOWTIME!!

It's another wedding reception at the VFW banquet hall with all the usual hundred cousins, second cousins, grand-parents, uncles, aunts, nieces and nephews. I'm sitting at a table with immediate family enjoying a big dinner. At the table directly across from me is my second cousin, a man at least as wide as he is tall, and he is packing the food down HARD! I mean this guy's a two-fisted eater!! Rude as it may be, I CAN NOT TAKE MY EYES OFF HIM!

Then the inevitable happens. He gags, coughs, and shudders. The big man reaches for his throat, and I can see his bulging eyes get even bigger. He's choking! He rises and staggers back, bumping into a fifty gallon trash can. Oh SHIT! WHAT TO DO?!! No one's arms are long enough to reach around and perform the Heimlich maneuver, and these folding chairs would collapse if we tried to lean him over one. Then, with both his hands on the trash can,  he leans forward and begins alternately puking and coughing for a good five minutes. FINALLY, he takes a full breath of air. THANK GOD!!! He's going to be alright! We all breathe a sigh of relief.

The man goes back to his seat after regaining his composure and begins where he left off, shoveling mounds of food into his face.

...or is it just me?

I'm running late to work one morning when I see this guy standing on the street corner in his tidy-whities, holding his bag lunch, and waiting for the light to change.

Looks like an average day and he's just on his way to work. But, obviously he forgot something.

Does anyone else besides me see this poor guy? Oh yeah! They're grabbing their phones, snapping photos, and coming to his aid as I blow through the intersection. I wonder if he even knows that he's lost it?

Wait. It isn't Saturday, is it?

Avoiding a Beat-Down

I like to wear raggedy clothes when I go surf fishing. You know those shirts and pants so torn up and stained that even Goodwill throws out? Those clothes are perfect because I smear greasy fish scent on my fishing lures and end up getting it all over my clothes.  I don't think the smell ever washes out. I'm probably mistaken for a homeless guy out there, but then people leave me alone, and I like it that way.

A couple of weeks ago I made a stop at a burger joint on my way home following a morning fishing session. Soaked and sandy, I went to the men's room to try and wash the fish stink off my hands. Even I don't like to smell it while eating. But when I got inside the restroom there was this big, burly guy, with an orange vest and a construction helmet. He was wearing Dicky shorts and brand new Nike's too, although I hadn't noticed them at the time. I figured him for a road worker, or maybe even a guy working off his speeding ticket.  I waited for Mr. Nikes to finish up at the sink, then I began thoroughly washing my hands.

Suddenly he turned around and shouted in my face, "WHAT THE FUCK MAN!!!! YOU JUST GOT WATER ALL ON MY LEGS!!! His intensity alone scared me. I'd have started to edge toward the door if this guy weren't blocking it.

I looked at my hands, and then at the back of his calves. Yep, water was everywhere.  I wondered, "HOW THE HELL DID THIS JUST HAPPEN? The severity of the situation became clear to me. I'd just violated this brute's new sneakers and had committed an act worthy of a beat-down, at least in his mind.

I don't know why, maybe it was because I was scared, REALLY SCARED!!!! But right then and there I became THAT WRETCHED GUY!

Without looking him in the eyes, I slowly mouthed the words, "Ahhh. . mmm . a . a . a . . s . . s . o . . r. . r . .y . . .".  I just kept my hands out in front of me, staring at my palms with my mouth still open, while using my peripheral vision to see what he was going to do next.  Just to make my character complete I moved one hand up to my nose and proceeded to wipe off snot along the full length of my palm. Shaking a little bit helped to add the finishing touch.

He shouted at me, "YOU JUST BETTER FUCKING WATCH YOURSELF!!!"
I could still feel him glaring at me. The big guy pulled out some paper towels from the dispenser and proceeded to dry off his calves and sneakers.

Then he did the strangest thing.  He held the door open for me.

"OH YEAH!!!!"  I thought to myself, "THERE'LL BE NO ASS-WHOOPIN' TODAY!!"

But now I had to stay in this character, so I shuffle-walked, shifting my weight side-to-side with my head leaning slightly forward. It worked. The big guy had already ordered his food, so he sat down at one of the tables to wait for the cook to call his number.

I could have walked out and left well enough alone. Screw it, I was hungry.

I shuffled over to the counter and said in the same defeated monotone, "Can, can . .  I have aaa . . number four,  and make it  . . no onions on it?" I mumble-counted slowly as I handed over the money. Then I shuffled to the coke dispenser and filled up my soda, spilling a little in the trough for effect. Finally, I took a seat at a table in the back. Just in case he saw me, I sat hunched over and stared closely at my outspread fingers.  Then, when my order was ready, I ate slowly until my new best pal got up to leave.  After a little while, I got up too, went to my car and drove home.

Not a bad day after all.

Granny Yaks

I was exiting the freeway and stopped in the right turn lane. In the left turn lane was a sedan who's back window was even with me. Their window rolls down, and this white-haired and very pale elderly woman sticks her head out as if to ask for directions. Except, she has this panicked look on her face. I don't know, maybe he's lost or something. Just as I lean forward and reach for my window, she lets go with a KFC bucket of white gravy!  WREEETCH!!  One, two, three good ones! And we're both frozen eye-to-eye, just a few inches apart and too terrified to do anything else, but stare.

Then, just as quickly, the light changes. I turn right, and she goes left. Fortunately, her projectile vomit fell short, so I didn't sustain a full frontal blast. 

To this day I can't even think of ordering biscuits and gravy.