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| Murderous Puppies |
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| Ronald Reagan Pants |
14 Ağustos 2012 Salı
Dogs In Shadow
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Pictured here are the dogs that were trying to kill their brother.
I promised you a picture of my Ronald Regan Pants, polyester jeans that are nice to wear. They get a bit hot but they don't flap around my skinny ass like denim and they don't burn my knees because they aren't baggy. They fit tight on the hip and high in the crotch. My belt is on the absolute emergency hole as I've lost 15 pounds since entering hell country. Want to lose weight? Go be homeless in Texas in July. I believe I'm right on the edge of renal failure.
Cool Windows
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Here's a cool old car that will never run again.
I'm tired. Work is no picnic and the chief problem is the series of drunk and irresponsible temp workers before me who have turned the woman trailer park manager into a micro managing hysterical freak. She knows absolutely nothing about home maintenance but doesn't trust a single person to do any job without her nickle's worth of horrible advice like "If we break the main water line then we are really in trouble." REALLY? If you hired me for maintenance and you still need to tell me that then one of us is a total asshole.
Every job has to be turned into a complicated series of useless trips to the shed for things that are in another unit or trips to a unit for tools that are in the shed. I don't know where anything is and neither does she and there are 4 sheds full of tools and materials that are so hopelessly disorganized that I need to..."Oh, Oggy, Go sweep up some glass in 182...""Where the hell is 182?""I'll show you.""Is there a map?"(laughs) "No, come on.""I'll draw a map. I'm good with maps.""No, get on the golf cart and come on."and so begins a journey into obscurity as five different futile projects will arise before we find 182 and then we didn't bring the broom because it's in unit 164 where she picked me up to begin with and I've since handed the keys to another useless maintenance worker who has vanished and I'm still holding the screw in my hand from when I was replacing a lamp.Everything is, "Oggy, let's go. I've got a project for you.""What is it?""I'll show you.""Ok, but all the tools are here. Can you give me a hint?""Just come on, we have to go."
"I'm just saying that I'm a temp. I get paid $10/hour, which is $2 less than a fry cook at a McDonalds in Newfoundland, all because my main credential is my piss test came back negative for opium. I am relying on all your tools which are scattered in four locked barns and I don't have the keys. I have skills in this domain and you are ignorantly hindering my every attempt to streamline this process. I am homeless and I do not get paid enough to properly come in here with truck and tools and materials. In fact, my time is worth more than you will ever be able to pay me and I'm only here to learn new skills and improve some old ones totally exploiting your pathetic trailer park for my own advantage. Your paychecks are an insult but the variety of problems I have to solve is a goldmine that makes my mouth water, especially when I consider your low quality standards.. Still, I have no desire to improve my skill at wasting time driving in circles looking for a hammer. I know I'm getting paid by the hour but it's not in my nature to trade my time for money. I feel like I'm jerking off a m with 5 hands. The guy you have me working with is possibly the worst handyman I've ever seen. He gave me a square of tile and asked me to "Cut a slice off the end so it will fit."
When I asked him "Which end?" because the pattern is specific, and "how big a slice?" he looked like I was asking him the torque ratio on a 1965 Mustang intake manifold bolts.
And furthermore, every single project is yelled at me while I'm on the tractor that has a 100 hp engine and I'm wearing ear plugs."
"Let's go!"
"So I should drive across this three acre property so you can show me a sheet metal storage shed that has been broken into and all my tools are here?"
"Yes."
"And between here and there you are going to point out randomly chores and responsibilities that I am supposed to remember with my incredible brain despite having no keys to properties or to the sheds or any idea where any tools are and there is no map of the property?"
"Yes."
"OK. Let's go."
And off we go. It's exhausting being the smartest one in the room. When someone starts to micromanage me I usually say, "Should I step forward with my left foot first or my right foot? Because you seem to know exactly how this project should be done even though this overhead fan has 7 months worth of dust on it and just now you hired me two days ago and I'm going to actually instal it but you are throwing useless instructions in my ears as though you just couldn't find the 20 minutes to instal it yourself in the past year. But since you know how to do it I'm going to follow every single direction you give me. So, my left foot should move or my right?"
And that's when I get fired and I say, Fuck you I don't want your shit, you can take your overhead fan and shove it up your ass and turn it on high because I'm going to live with the bedbugs at the salvation army because they don't bother me and I don't give a fuck.
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| This one had his brother's neck in a death grip before I hit him with a broom |
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| Upside down in 5 feet of surf in Gulf of Mexico. In the bed is a cooler full of empty beer cans. Tow company charged the insurance company $10,000 for the 5 hour "hazardous" recovery. Miller Lite laughs while we all pay higher premiums. |
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| James said I could ride this GL1200 if I could get the charging system working. I immediately drove to the library to research the problem. They say a woman can ride a Goldwing and I weigh less than most women so it will be a test. |
I'm tired. Work is no picnic and the chief problem is the series of drunk and irresponsible temp workers before me who have turned the woman trailer park manager into a micro managing hysterical freak. She knows absolutely nothing about home maintenance but doesn't trust a single person to do any job without her nickle's worth of horrible advice like "If we break the main water line then we are really in trouble." REALLY? If you hired me for maintenance and you still need to tell me that then one of us is a total asshole.
Every job has to be turned into a complicated series of useless trips to the shed for things that are in another unit or trips to a unit for tools that are in the shed. I don't know where anything is and neither does she and there are 4 sheds full of tools and materials that are so hopelessly disorganized that I need to..."Oh, Oggy, Go sweep up some glass in 182...""Where the hell is 182?""I'll show you.""Is there a map?"(laughs) "No, come on.""I'll draw a map. I'm good with maps.""No, get on the golf cart and come on."and so begins a journey into obscurity as five different futile projects will arise before we find 182 and then we didn't bring the broom because it's in unit 164 where she picked me up to begin with and I've since handed the keys to another useless maintenance worker who has vanished and I'm still holding the screw in my hand from when I was replacing a lamp.Everything is, "Oggy, let's go. I've got a project for you.""What is it?""I'll show you.""Ok, but all the tools are here. Can you give me a hint?""Just come on, we have to go."
"I'm just saying that I'm a temp. I get paid $10/hour, which is $2 less than a fry cook at a McDonalds in Newfoundland, all because my main credential is my piss test came back negative for opium. I am relying on all your tools which are scattered in four locked barns and I don't have the keys. I have skills in this domain and you are ignorantly hindering my every attempt to streamline this process. I am homeless and I do not get paid enough to properly come in here with truck and tools and materials. In fact, my time is worth more than you will ever be able to pay me and I'm only here to learn new skills and improve some old ones totally exploiting your pathetic trailer park for my own advantage. Your paychecks are an insult but the variety of problems I have to solve is a goldmine that makes my mouth water, especially when I consider your low quality standards.. Still, I have no desire to improve my skill at wasting time driving in circles looking for a hammer. I know I'm getting paid by the hour but it's not in my nature to trade my time for money. I feel like I'm jerking off a m with 5 hands. The guy you have me working with is possibly the worst handyman I've ever seen. He gave me a square of tile and asked me to "Cut a slice off the end so it will fit."
When I asked him "Which end?" because the pattern is specific, and "how big a slice?" he looked like I was asking him the torque ratio on a 1965 Mustang intake manifold bolts.
And furthermore, every single project is yelled at me while I'm on the tractor that has a 100 hp engine and I'm wearing ear plugs."
"Let's go!"
"So I should drive across this three acre property so you can show me a sheet metal storage shed that has been broken into and all my tools are here?"
"Yes."
"And between here and there you are going to point out randomly chores and responsibilities that I am supposed to remember with my incredible brain despite having no keys to properties or to the sheds or any idea where any tools are and there is no map of the property?"
"Yes."
"OK. Let's go."
And off we go. It's exhausting being the smartest one in the room. When someone starts to micromanage me I usually say, "Should I step forward with my left foot first or my right foot? Because you seem to know exactly how this project should be done even though this overhead fan has 7 months worth of dust on it and just now you hired me two days ago and I'm going to actually instal it but you are throwing useless instructions in my ears as though you just couldn't find the 20 minutes to instal it yourself in the past year. But since you know how to do it I'm going to follow every single direction you give me. So, my left foot should move or my right?"
And that's when I get fired and I say, Fuck you I don't want your shit, you can take your overhead fan and shove it up your ass and turn it on high because I'm going to live with the bedbugs at the salvation army because they don't bother me and I don't give a fuck.
"That's It. I Quit"
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Although I foresee myself saying those fateful words, I am too desperate at this point to put myself back on the job market. The job as a fleet mechanic assistant paid $10.14 which should make all parents quiver with fear. Absolute poverty wages for the person responsible for the oil in you child's school bus. No, I'm content where I am at, but my coworker Jose, finally had enough on Thursday and quit. What's funny is that I was told he would be fired on Friday but he didn't know that. Why they were keeping him around to totally mess up the tile job in the unit we were working on is testament to how disorganized they are at the park. Let's keep this guy around for one more day to milk him for weed eating and tiling that we won't be satisfied with. Uh, why not fire him yesterday? So, on Monday I was #3 of 3. By Friday I'm #1 of 1 since I further learn that another coworker is basically the housekeeper who has been forced into attempting repairs and actually doesn't know what a socket is. I thought she was just scatterbrained because I'm wondering why I was taking orders from someone who can't use a screwgun. Now I know. Jose wasn't happy at the job and they weren't happy with Jose.
But the beautiful drama was when he walked up, handed me the key to the unit and said, "I'm done. She can't talk to me that way. I won't work like this."
And he started to walk away and I shrugged (knowing they would fire him in one day)
"It's for the best, Jose. Good luck."
And Jose stopped in the brutal 107 degree sun and his shoulders sagged and the boss drove up in her shaded golf cart and too long fake fingernails. Jose's shirt was soaked with sweat and he had worn it three days in a row so it stank like the inside of a donated gym locker at the Salvation Army. He turned around and said softly, as though he were thinking out loud with the help of his better angels...
"No, I can't quit, I'm getting kicked out of my apartment...and my wife is sick..."
He had mentioned repeatedly that his wife had been denied disability and social security and that his landlord had lost his rental house to his own ex-wife in the divorce settlement and she was kicking everyone out (probably not legal without relocation fee). And now Jose realized that now was probably not the best time to be prideful. Believe me, I've bitten my own tongue a few times when the idiot manager insists we proceed with some totally inane time wasting non-strategy of crisis management. It's not her money since she is also a mere employee of the family who owns the land and in fact she lives in a trailer just like the other housekeeper who is pretending to be a maintenance person. Odd. So she must think that if I'm getting paid by the hour then I won't care about wasting my time but believe me I'll go hang out with JJ and listen to his prison stories rather than waste time looking for a toilet flapper that "might be in the number 4 shed" They can give their wasteful money to someone else.
Anyway, I've been tempted to say this but I believe my stubbornness and professional charade will win the day and they will trust me to organize everything and streamline the process of work orders and ultimately I'll have everyone fired. Jose, however, couldn't hold his tongue.
"I'm sorry. I can't quit." said Jose but the manager and the owner's daughter were there and they shook their heads. Jose didn't know that he was already on the auction block but he groveled a bit.
"I can't have this," said the manager.
"It's for the best," said Oggy.
"Go take a break," said the black sheep highly intelligent son of the owner who is periodically institutionalized and sometimes comes back in his flat tire trashed out van with hoarding problems to do odd jobs on the property but the daughter told me, "Ignore him. He's crazy."
"I'm sorry," said Jose as his voice trailed into futility. Jose's shoulders slumped in the pulverizing heat. The wind blew sand in our mouths from the Gulf. His face was wet with sweat. He had just quit a job he desperately needed. He didn't know that he was on his next to last day but I did and I shrugged. I'm sure he was a good Hot Shot truck driver but he was a piss poor handyman and 40 minutes before lunch time he'd say, "We'd better get cleaned up, go eat, I'm hungry," and the last time he said it I didn't look at him and I said, "Don't wait for me." because the last thing you'll do is order me to waste my time.
Maybe it's a defect but once I'm started on a job I'd rather work at it until it is done and I know where to go from there than stop half way through with a bunch of tile adhesive in my hair when I'm not even hungry. I've missed so many meals at this point, probably missed more meals than I've eaten, that I don't really care about lunch. I'm here to learn how to instal that cheap commercial tile that is total trash. I'll quit once I learn so please take your lazy ass and go strap on your feed bag and have a cigarette and waste some of your time with coffee breaks if that's what your time is worth. Pat yourself on the back that you dicked off and made $8 doing nothing. Congratulations. Work ethic has plummeted to nigger levels and I won't be a part of it. I'm not a horse with an alarm clock in my stomach. I'll eat when I'm hungry. This isn't bench electronics and you don't quit at certain hours if it means fucking the whole schedule up.
Who cares? Later on, I got a flux core wire welder out and practiced on a tractor bucket until I actually set the straw on fire with the sparks. I never did get a good bead of weld and the solar activated face shield turned completely black when I lit up the flux wire so I couldn't see anything except a bright beam of light. I lost all sense of perception. Never mind that it's a $200 Chinese crap Harbor Freight flux wire welder that is doomed to break and barely works brand new.
Then the housekeeper invited me to a wedding on the beach that made me feel like a snob. And I passed out in the van from heat exhaustion and fatigue and hunger.
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| Horrible Texas drivers. The "150" is how many miles it will go without a problem. |
But the beautiful drama was when he walked up, handed me the key to the unit and said, "I'm done. She can't talk to me that way. I won't work like this."
And he started to walk away and I shrugged (knowing they would fire him in one day)
"It's for the best, Jose. Good luck."
And Jose stopped in the brutal 107 degree sun and his shoulders sagged and the boss drove up in her shaded golf cart and too long fake fingernails. Jose's shirt was soaked with sweat and he had worn it three days in a row so it stank like the inside of a donated gym locker at the Salvation Army. He turned around and said softly, as though he were thinking out loud with the help of his better angels...
"No, I can't quit, I'm getting kicked out of my apartment...and my wife is sick..."
He had mentioned repeatedly that his wife had been denied disability and social security and that his landlord had lost his rental house to his own ex-wife in the divorce settlement and she was kicking everyone out (probably not legal without relocation fee). And now Jose realized that now was probably not the best time to be prideful. Believe me, I've bitten my own tongue a few times when the idiot manager insists we proceed with some totally inane time wasting non-strategy of crisis management. It's not her money since she is also a mere employee of the family who owns the land and in fact she lives in a trailer just like the other housekeeper who is pretending to be a maintenance person. Odd. So she must think that if I'm getting paid by the hour then I won't care about wasting my time but believe me I'll go hang out with JJ and listen to his prison stories rather than waste time looking for a toilet flapper that "might be in the number 4 shed" They can give their wasteful money to someone else.
Anyway, I've been tempted to say this but I believe my stubbornness and professional charade will win the day and they will trust me to organize everything and streamline the process of work orders and ultimately I'll have everyone fired. Jose, however, couldn't hold his tongue.
"I'm sorry. I can't quit." said Jose but the manager and the owner's daughter were there and they shook their heads. Jose didn't know that he was already on the auction block but he groveled a bit.
"I can't have this," said the manager.
"It's for the best," said Oggy.
"Go take a break," said the black sheep highly intelligent son of the owner who is periodically institutionalized and sometimes comes back in his flat tire trashed out van with hoarding problems to do odd jobs on the property but the daughter told me, "Ignore him. He's crazy."
"I'm sorry," said Jose as his voice trailed into futility. Jose's shoulders slumped in the pulverizing heat. The wind blew sand in our mouths from the Gulf. His face was wet with sweat. He had just quit a job he desperately needed. He didn't know that he was on his next to last day but I did and I shrugged. I'm sure he was a good Hot Shot truck driver but he was a piss poor handyman and 40 minutes before lunch time he'd say, "We'd better get cleaned up, go eat, I'm hungry," and the last time he said it I didn't look at him and I said, "Don't wait for me." because the last thing you'll do is order me to waste my time.
Maybe it's a defect but once I'm started on a job I'd rather work at it until it is done and I know where to go from there than stop half way through with a bunch of tile adhesive in my hair when I'm not even hungry. I've missed so many meals at this point, probably missed more meals than I've eaten, that I don't really care about lunch. I'm here to learn how to instal that cheap commercial tile that is total trash. I'll quit once I learn so please take your lazy ass and go strap on your feed bag and have a cigarette and waste some of your time with coffee breaks if that's what your time is worth. Pat yourself on the back that you dicked off and made $8 doing nothing. Congratulations. Work ethic has plummeted to nigger levels and I won't be a part of it. I'm not a horse with an alarm clock in my stomach. I'll eat when I'm hungry. This isn't bench electronics and you don't quit at certain hours if it means fucking the whole schedule up.
Who cares? Later on, I got a flux core wire welder out and practiced on a tractor bucket until I actually set the straw on fire with the sparks. I never did get a good bead of weld and the solar activated face shield turned completely black when I lit up the flux wire so I couldn't see anything except a bright beam of light. I lost all sense of perception. Never mind that it's a $200 Chinese crap Harbor Freight flux wire welder that is doomed to break and barely works brand new.
Then the housekeeper invited me to a wedding on the beach that made me feel like a snob. And I passed out in the van from heat exhaustion and fatigue and hunger.
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| Like an Urban Savannah. Puppies Everywhere. |
Nobody Knows Me
To contact us Click HERE
To properly sing this song I have to feel completely beaten down. I'm living in a junk yard. It's 110 degrees outside and the pillows feel like they've been in an oven set at 350 degrees for two hours. My prostate aches. Skin flaps on my hands where the lawnmower has torn it off. I'm using too much gas to get to work and have decided to sleep on the street again where the police will definitely harass me. I don't sound like Otis Redding, who slam dunks this song into my soul, but I'm done playing by the rules. With one week of work I've dug myself out of the hole I was in and am closer to the Mexican border. My mission is becoming more clear and I've decided to find a man of the earth. Maybe a family. Someone who sees the earth as holy and who has either not been poisoned by the billboard media monstrosity we've unleashed or else has purified himself. I want to meet that person and learn from him. Since I was banned from the library I've had to find refuge in McDonalds where I can drink a cup of iced tea for $1. A new development is the televisions that run non stop in McDonalds and Burger King. This is why I always like to get out of my comfort zone because liberals will never know how the other side is winning the war. Fat, Sugar, salt, lies. The channel is permanently fixed to Fox News and over my third cup of iced tea I watched "The O'reilly factor." It was an abomination but it was also the perfect circus-like presentation. It's all Good Cop/Bad Cop. This is bad bad bad...good good good. I laughed out loud because the propaganda was so perfectly obvious. It's right out of 1984 with faces speaking to you as you eat and there's no where to hide. The news was completely inciteful...rape...incest...child pornography....
Speaking of child pornography, I've recently learned that as a trailer park maintenance man I'm required by law to smoke crystal meth until I lose my teeth, go by the name of "Mike Number 2" and watch child pornography until I can arrange for the police to break down my door. It's ok not to laugh.
Anyway, so Fox News has basically reached an agreement that allows them to put televisions in all McDonalds and Burger Kings that will play Fox News all day long. I'm telling you that it is not possible for there to be a democracy with that devious strategy in full force. If McDonalds chose to show snuff films 24 hours a day the effect would be no different. The obese customers were literally in a state of confusion and hypnosis as they stuffed their double cheese burger and bacon down their throats and drank tons of soda pop and listened to Bill O'Reilly hammer on about how drug dealers should be sentenced to death....because they sold the drugs that caused death..."and now a word from our sponsor, Miller Lite and Marlboro, who are totally innocent."
But it is a circus and not intended to inform, it is intended to hypnotise and keep people in a state of hysteria. That's the role of Fox News and for it to be planted in these commercial restaurants is absolutely the worst sign that I can think of. Truly a defeat for logic and reason and democracy. Americans are cowards, they have allowed advertising to dictate their lives, they wake up with billboards everywhere and shrug because they are fat and unable to think clearly.
So, I'm counting down the days to Mexico. I've met a man who lives in the high desert and he said if I want to pick chili peppers for shipment to Walmart then I can work there for $2 a day. He said the end of America came and went long ago without a squeal from the piglets who shuffle their beans back and forth.
"I can't believe the Government would do that [destroy the World Trade Centers] to their own people."
The handyman who replaced Jose is much better. He owns a Honda Passport and says that all electricity will end in December of 2012. He's moving to a sailboat to survive on poisoned fish. Meanwhile, we mow the place I've finally realized is a slum on stilts. I'm a maintenance man at a slum. They texture sprayed the walls but never covered the windows. The boards are rotting. The foundation is slanted. Nobody Knows Me.
To properly sing this song I have to feel completely beaten down. I'm living in a junk yard. It's 110 degrees outside and the pillows feel like they've been in an oven set at 350 degrees for two hours. My prostate aches. Skin flaps on my hands where the lawnmower has torn it off. I'm using too much gas to get to work and have decided to sleep on the street again where the police will definitely harass me. I don't sound like Otis Redding, who slam dunks this song into my soul, but I'm done playing by the rules. With one week of work I've dug myself out of the hole I was in and am closer to the Mexican border. My mission is becoming more clear and I've decided to find a man of the earth. Maybe a family. Someone who sees the earth as holy and who has either not been poisoned by the billboard media monstrosity we've unleashed or else has purified himself. I want to meet that person and learn from him. Since I was banned from the library I've had to find refuge in McDonalds where I can drink a cup of iced tea for $1. A new development is the televisions that run non stop in McDonalds and Burger King. This is why I always like to get out of my comfort zone because liberals will never know how the other side is winning the war. Fat, Sugar, salt, lies. The channel is permanently fixed to Fox News and over my third cup of iced tea I watched "The O'reilly factor." It was an abomination but it was also the perfect circus-like presentation. It's all Good Cop/Bad Cop. This is bad bad bad...good good good. I laughed out loud because the propaganda was so perfectly obvious. It's right out of 1984 with faces speaking to you as you eat and there's no where to hide. The news was completely inciteful...rape...incest...child pornography....
Speaking of child pornography, I've recently learned that as a trailer park maintenance man I'm required by law to smoke crystal meth until I lose my teeth, go by the name of "Mike Number 2" and watch child pornography until I can arrange for the police to break down my door. It's ok not to laugh.
Anyway, so Fox News has basically reached an agreement that allows them to put televisions in all McDonalds and Burger Kings that will play Fox News all day long. I'm telling you that it is not possible for there to be a democracy with that devious strategy in full force. If McDonalds chose to show snuff films 24 hours a day the effect would be no different. The obese customers were literally in a state of confusion and hypnosis as they stuffed their double cheese burger and bacon down their throats and drank tons of soda pop and listened to Bill O'Reilly hammer on about how drug dealers should be sentenced to death....because they sold the drugs that caused death..."and now a word from our sponsor, Miller Lite and Marlboro, who are totally innocent."
But it is a circus and not intended to inform, it is intended to hypnotise and keep people in a state of hysteria. That's the role of Fox News and for it to be planted in these commercial restaurants is absolutely the worst sign that I can think of. Truly a defeat for logic and reason and democracy. Americans are cowards, they have allowed advertising to dictate their lives, they wake up with billboards everywhere and shrug because they are fat and unable to think clearly.
So, I'm counting down the days to Mexico. I've met a man who lives in the high desert and he said if I want to pick chili peppers for shipment to Walmart then I can work there for $2 a day. He said the end of America came and went long ago without a squeal from the piglets who shuffle their beans back and forth.
"I can't believe the Government would do that [destroy the World Trade Centers] to their own people."
The handyman who replaced Jose is much better. He owns a Honda Passport and says that all electricity will end in December of 2012. He's moving to a sailboat to survive on poisoned fish. Meanwhile, we mow the place I've finally realized is a slum on stilts. I'm a maintenance man at a slum. They texture sprayed the walls but never covered the windows. The boards are rotting. The foundation is slanted. Nobody Knows Me.
Fat and Happy
To contact us Click HERE
It's been busy because I'm "working". The job is a slum lord maintenance man at a trailer park full of rental trailers in a beach island community. For instance, my first job today was fixing a toilet that was wobbling. A 450 lb man uses it to relieve his clogged bowels. I examined the closet bolts and found that one was just stuck in the wax doing nothing and I pulled it out with my fingers. The other was loose. That started a hunt for new closet bolts. But the key/lock to the unit was flawed so it only opened after ten minutes of fumbling. You get good at fixing things in a trailer park because in order to fix anything you have to fix else something first. Eventually you will get to the actual work order. At least technically. So I take the toilet out and install the new closet bolts and washers. But the water inlet hose has no handle and is rusted so that also has to be fixed...There's a bedroom door that has a handle that sticks so you can't turn it. I take it apart, clean it. It sort of works better. Then back to the lock that is messed up. I determine that it's the key and not the lock and someone needs to find the original key and have a copy made or take the lock to a locksmith to rearrange the tumblers. Nothing will be done without a work order
Next: Someone has lost the handle to their well water faucet. I arrive with a new faucet but determine the pvc is so yellowed and fragile that if I disturb it to replace the faucet head I'll do more damage so I just replace the handle. Now I'm thinking like a beach trailer park handyman. Avoid problems but don't try to make a masterpiece. Everything here will be wiped off the map when a hurricane named Oggy arrives with fury. Then it's off to meet my arch enemy, the Harbor Breeze line of ceiling fans and lights. Lowes or Home Depot sell these cheap pot metal Chinese abominations and they are the bane of every maintenance man's existence. I can't go into detail of how badly these were designed but nothing is easy on them once something breaks. And the chain switch always breaks. Fortunately they are replaceable, but at the cost of blood and tears to reassemble the whole thing on a ladder in the dark with a bad shoulder. After that is done and I find the cat that escaped while the door was open, I go hang a bunch of vinyl window blinds in a unit that I wouldn't take for free but is going to be rented for $750/month. Someone has ordered them all 3 inches too short because they measured the inside of the window frame but didn't realize that the windows all have interior windows to keep the heat out so you can't mount anything on the inside of the window. The drywall has all deteriorated from moisture and crack smoke so you will be laughed at if you attempt to put new brackets up on the drywall. If hanging cheap blinds up in a single wide mobile home with Death Metal playing in the neighbor's radio doesn't make you feel like ant shit on sand dune then I don't know what will. I do this for 9 windows.
Then I get a call to cut locks at the storage units because some folks didn't pay the ferryman. I like cutting metal. The sparks fly and hit me in the face. I feel like a man. I go with an angle grinder and cut the locks off. Yes, they go on the auction block eventually and if you want to pay money for a half a bag of disposable diapers and some old Life magazines then be my guest. There are no treasures in these storage units. Maybe a dead body, but no treasures. Example: someone recently broke into one of them by tearing off the metal wall and didn't steal anything.
Eventually I have lunch of a $2 microwave dinner from Family Dollar. It makes me constipated but the calories are mostly fat and I'm trying to stay alive. I've added a hole to my belt and probably have a 32 inch waist now, all bony pelvic bones. Me and the other handyman talk about scooters and munch junk food.
The rest of the day is an assortment of minor problems. The lady who drives me around because they don't yet trust me with keys bites her nails and frantically smokes cigarettes, freaking out at the most insignificant repair. Me? I laugh because work is the easiest 8 hours of my day. In Austin I got paid $7.50 to work in steaming attics lugging 6 inch steel pipe fittings around. I might clear $20 in an 8 hour day and would not be able to tie my shoes the next morning. At the trailer park I make nearly $100 a day doing stuff I don't even consider work. This is the kind of thing any Christian would do for free while the tea was getting cold in the ice. But they pay me and are amazed that I can do almost all of it with my Victorinox multi tool. I don't like using my own tools but the sheds are a total mess and the haphazard way the work orders are assigned make preparing for each job impossible. Changing that one light switch took several trips around the park in a time wasting circus as I'm basically chauffeured around by a woman smoking cigarettes as she gripes about her job. I smile because I know I'm on the kind of job my Labor Ready grunts used to dream about...
"Get a golf cart to drive around it. Breeze in your face. Water bottles in the rec room refrigerator. Fix a light. Pick up some trash. Mow a lawn. Easy money. The ladies in the office tell you to take a break and you sit down and act like it's a million degrees outside. Maybe get two hours of work done in 8 hours. Easy money. $350-$400 a week guaranteed. None of this bullshit of waking up at 5 am to get your shovels and bust your ass digging trenches all damn day for $30. No. On the handyman gig you drive around your cart and chew your gum and get fat and happy."
Well, I got the fat ticket and I'm not complaining. As a man said this morning when I asked him how he was doing," I'm doing good, but I'll get over it."
We really used to talk about these types of jobs like they were myths homeless people tell each other during the rainy season, big rock candy mountain, whiskey bubbling up from the hillside, apple pies on every window sill. I'm embarrassed to take money but I tell myself to suck it up, bank some change and get my bass guitar. It's chaos and it's money. I'm trying to make my money to get my teeth cleaned and go to Mexico to teach accordion to orphans.
I'm losing power now and I'm going to sign off. I am torn between writing nothing at all or writing what I can write and trusting my instincts to get me in the ballpark. The key to writing as a journalist/blogger is to write fast enough that it's not a huge time commitment. But if your instincts aren't good then it won't be satisfying. I'm aiming for a new language/style and occasionally I see it on the poetic edges of my mad ranting. The rants help me find that voice but the rants themselves are not that voice, but they are the voice of the hurt homeless man who has no voice and who must speak through me. Listen to him because he is old and hurt and soon will be dead.
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| Excellent Brisket Taco at Taqueria Almeida #1 |
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| Brisket Tacos come with pickles and onion. I liked it! |
It's been busy because I'm "working". The job is a slum lord maintenance man at a trailer park full of rental trailers in a beach island community. For instance, my first job today was fixing a toilet that was wobbling. A 450 lb man uses it to relieve his clogged bowels. I examined the closet bolts and found that one was just stuck in the wax doing nothing and I pulled it out with my fingers. The other was loose. That started a hunt for new closet bolts. But the key/lock to the unit was flawed so it only opened after ten minutes of fumbling. You get good at fixing things in a trailer park because in order to fix anything you have to fix else something first. Eventually you will get to the actual work order. At least technically. So I take the toilet out and install the new closet bolts and washers. But the water inlet hose has no handle and is rusted so that also has to be fixed...There's a bedroom door that has a handle that sticks so you can't turn it. I take it apart, clean it. It sort of works better. Then back to the lock that is messed up. I determine that it's the key and not the lock and someone needs to find the original key and have a copy made or take the lock to a locksmith to rearrange the tumblers. Nothing will be done without a work order
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| Laundry Day. Oggy Water Conservation Measure #5: Use 3/4 gallon to wash sheets |
Then I get a call to cut locks at the storage units because some folks didn't pay the ferryman. I like cutting metal. The sparks fly and hit me in the face. I feel like a man. I go with an angle grinder and cut the locks off. Yes, they go on the auction block eventually and if you want to pay money for a half a bag of disposable diapers and some old Life magazines then be my guest. There are no treasures in these storage units. Maybe a dead body, but no treasures. Example: someone recently broke into one of them by tearing off the metal wall and didn't steal anything.
Eventually I have lunch of a $2 microwave dinner from Family Dollar. It makes me constipated but the calories are mostly fat and I'm trying to stay alive. I've added a hole to my belt and probably have a 32 inch waist now, all bony pelvic bones. Me and the other handyman talk about scooters and munch junk food.
 |
| Hondamatic. I'm just not that into a clutchless motorcycle |
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| Dropped this potato and it looked like this five seconds later. Tiny fire ants are my worst enemy. |
The rest of the day is an assortment of minor problems. The lady who drives me around because they don't yet trust me with keys bites her nails and frantically smokes cigarettes, freaking out at the most insignificant repair. Me? I laugh because work is the easiest 8 hours of my day. In Austin I got paid $7.50 to work in steaming attics lugging 6 inch steel pipe fittings around. I might clear $20 in an 8 hour day and would not be able to tie my shoes the next morning. At the trailer park I make nearly $100 a day doing stuff I don't even consider work. This is the kind of thing any Christian would do for free while the tea was getting cold in the ice. But they pay me and are amazed that I can do almost all of it with my Victorinox multi tool. I don't like using my own tools but the sheds are a total mess and the haphazard way the work orders are assigned make preparing for each job impossible. Changing that one light switch took several trips around the park in a time wasting circus as I'm basically chauffeured around by a woman smoking cigarettes as she gripes about her job. I smile because I know I'm on the kind of job my Labor Ready grunts used to dream about...
"Get a golf cart to drive around it. Breeze in your face. Water bottles in the rec room refrigerator. Fix a light. Pick up some trash. Mow a lawn. Easy money. The ladies in the office tell you to take a break and you sit down and act like it's a million degrees outside. Maybe get two hours of work done in 8 hours. Easy money. $350-$400 a week guaranteed. None of this bullshit of waking up at 5 am to get your shovels and bust your ass digging trenches all damn day for $30. No. On the handyman gig you drive around your cart and chew your gum and get fat and happy."
Well, I got the fat ticket and I'm not complaining. As a man said this morning when I asked him how he was doing," I'm doing good, but I'll get over it."
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| I think Al had a El Camino like this in Redwood City |
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| I destroyed this RV with a sawzall and got a sunburn |
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| Will WD40 fix this motor? |
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| A bird other than a Grackle. A kind of Desert Swallow and mate on the power line |
I'm losing power now and I'm going to sign off. I am torn between writing nothing at all or writing what I can write and trusting my instincts to get me in the ballpark. The key to writing as a journalist/blogger is to write fast enough that it's not a huge time commitment. But if your instincts aren't good then it won't be satisfying. I'm aiming for a new language/style and occasionally I see it on the poetic edges of my mad ranting. The rants help me find that voice but the rants themselves are not that voice, but they are the voice of the hurt homeless man who has no voice and who must speak through me. Listen to him because he is old and hurt and soon will be dead.
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