Thinking about driving a truck for a living? Think again. Please. Seriously.08:25 Dec 31 2005
Times Read: 891
As, my room mate and I, both drive trucks we made a little list to help people thinking about driving as a living. This list is also a check list for those who already drive. Please excuse spelling and grammar as it was hard enough to keep up with the ideas, let alone type them out.
This is also a bit of what drivers have to deal with.
1) when your ego drives the truck you lose
2) GOAL is a way of life. learn it, use it, love it
3) Big hoods and chrome don't help you back into anything, so why make a big deal about it?
4) "No lizards" stickers will not help you keep them at bay
5) Lease programs are almost entirely crooked.
6) Want to be an O/O? think again. unless you have 5 years exp, then take my word that you don't have what it takes.
7) Time management is the key to your success
8 ) if getting home for a big party is a priority for you, this isn't your cup of tea
9) Recruiters lie (mostly). to think otherwise is willfull ignorance
10) If your trainer isn't teaching you anything, get a new one. youre there to learn
11) If you cant get a load there on time then say so when you are dispatched. you might have to answer a few questions as to why, but it makes your job easier. trust me.
12) log books arent a joke, so don't treat them like on
13) A cluttered dash board will get you inspected x5 as many times
14) Attitude at a consignee will get you nowhere, i don't care how they come off, or what you feel like, smile and be nice
15) if you spend more then 150 bucks a week on the road regularly, you have a problem.
16) you are NEVER as good as you think you are
17) the reference points they teach you in TDS don't do anything for you so learn to drive the trailer, because there not gonna put out cones for you to reference at a consignee
18 ) some times you just cant get home. it happens. This is real life, and the world does not revolve around you
19) if you are wearing fingerless gloves i will personally make fun of you at every given opportunity, preferably in front of large crowds
20) if you think the movie "Black Dog" is a good movie, don't ever get caught driving a truck
21) PTI's will help you out. don't magic pencil them, actually do them. i know its cold out side, or maybe its 117 degrees in the shade, all the more reason to get out and take a look at your rig, it might just save your life some day.
22) If playing music across the CB seems like a good idea to you, i will personally introduce you to a new world of pain, and i will find you
23) If you cant live for long periods of time on your own completely devoid of human contact, this isn't for you
24) If you think that your rig is a phone booth, i hate you
25) Snow happens. So does ice. its good to be afraid of it. its better to respect it.
26) Repeat after me "i will not break the speed limit in California, or they will sacrifice my first born male child to the DOT god"
27) Driven it like you stole it is the same as driven it like you have a death wish
28 ) If you think that "outlaw" will be a good handle.....well....you possess an ability to deceive yourself better then any con man
29) When in doubt stop and ask directions (i prefer to call ahead, regardless of whether or not we have directions on file), it only takes one wrong turn at night shave 3 feet of the height of your truck on a low bridge you didn't notice
30) If you are a CB Rambo you deserve to be beaten with a large stick until you come to your senses
31) it is always a good idea to assume there are x3 as many cops as you can see on the open road
32) Trying to get a young woman to flash you only makes us all look bad, so don't do it.
33) Having a lot of stickers or suction cupped signs on your truck is a good way to get a ticket
34) Take a frigging bath. you might not think you stink after 3 or 4 days, but you do. trust me.
35) repeat after me again "I am not an 80,000 lb cruise missile"
36) If you're tired, then go to sleep for a bit.
37) Do not use words like "big" or "couple" when writing directions for your company database. Those words are a personal judgment call. A "big" warehouse to me is 100+ docks. not 20. and "a couple" lights tends to be anywhere from 3 to 10, so be specific. also note that you will receive directions like that, so get used to it.
38 ) The worst known set of directions i have ever heard of where for NYC and where, i quote exactly, "Take the exit (no # or street/exit name given) , go down a couple lights, and turn left at what used to be Frish's Big Boy." see what i mean?
39) You will NOT find a parking spot in a TS after 8pm, so don't even try. i don't care how many times you circle the parking lot, its just not gonna happen
40) If its not a parking spot, don't park there, DON'T BE THAT GUY!
41) stopping a distance back form the light and then creeping forward does absolutely nothing. again...DON'T BE THAT GUY!
42) Jake Braking on flat ground is unforgivable unless you are hauling a smooth bore tanker.....DON'T BE THAT GUY!
43) Parking on a fuel island for a period of time in excess of 10 minutes is a good way to get thrown a beating. Going to sleep on a fuel island is a good way to never wake up. *baleful stare*
44) Respect the Old timers. They know more about driving then you do about anything, and can park a 53 foot trailer in a blind side uphill dock thats only 40 feet long has another trailer parked on the outside of the dock, and requires you to back from street with live traffic without breaking a sweat. in short, they rock, we suck. admit it and move on.
45) You alone can not make or break your company. so if you feel the need to issue ultimatums to your dispatcher, i hope you feel the need to check out the wanted ads as well. If you are an old timer, ignore this. you rock, we suck. I admit it.
46) You should buy the lunch of the driver next to you if you notice him/her wearing anything that lists miles in the 7 digit range as a safety award. he/she just might toss you a backing tip in return that will make you wonder why you never thought of that.
47) If at anytime you are driving down the road and you see the right side of a JB hunt, schnieder or Knight truck, something is wrong.
48 ) Repeat after me again, "West Coast turn a rounds are not to be eaten like skittles, if at all" I myself have never used them, but my aforementioned room mate has, and had to go to the hospital once because he crashed hard when he got home and slept so long he was dehydrated when he finally woke up.
49) If you want to stay awake at the wheel, then do the following. A) take a $100 bill out of your wallet. B) fold it length wise.C) hold said bill between your index and middle finger on your left hand in the center of the bill, right up against the pit between your fingers.D) stick hand out window while going 65 miles an hour. You will not blink for at least 15 minutes, and you will be more alert then ever before. trust me.
50) While Mountain Dew will keep you awake, Jolt Cola will make you wired for sound.
TINY
My friends are fucked up.
08:02 Dec 31 2005
Times Read: 895
That night started as many of the Friday nights of my young adulthood. My closest group of friends were all drinking and just hanging out at The Apartment.
The Apartment requires a bit of description. It was a 2 bedroom, 1 bath. The bedrooms were both upstairs, along with the bathroom. Downstairs consisted of a living room, the kitchen, and a little utility type room that the back door was in. The little utility room had a sloped ceiling as it was under the stairs. We had turned the utility room into a “bedroom” due to the fact that there were at that time 5 of us living there. 3 single guys and one couple. All we really did there was drugs and drink. All of our friends came over nearly everyday. There could be anywhere from 5-15 people there at anytime day or night.
It was that golden time in my life. The out of high school, before anything else time. (I got out of high school the year I turned 17. I couldn’t really get a “good” job due to my age, and I had not considered higher education at that point. So I became a well to do “Social Pharmacist.”
The roommates: TheLeader - Oldest roommate. Had a “real” job.
TheLackey - Basically the roommate everyone keeps around to abuse.
TheBurnout - Boyfriend to TheBitch.
TheBitch - The bitch that whined about stuff in the fridge, dishes, bathroom cleanliness etc.
That particular Friday night, was cold and nasty February night. Indiana can have some real bitch winters. The usual bunch of people were there, all drinking a bit and partaking of my “wares.” Some titties had been flashed, some people had sex in TheLackey’s room, (Truth be told more people had sex in his room than he’ll have in his entire life. I myself lost my virginity in that room.) and we’d all settled onto the available couches and bean bags to watch some movies. We all piled on top of each other. I was always “the foundation,” in that particular game.
We watched some old favorites, Apocalypse Now, Taxi Driver, and The Godfather. We began talking, mostly drunken story telling, when the subject came up. The Subject was THIS THREAD. People were telling how they’d been awful to this person and that person. Having nothing to say really, rare occasion that, I just listened and laughed my ass off. When TheBitch tells a story about how she told a guy that her friends thought he was ugly so she had to break up with him, I got really pissed off. I sat there and brooded for a bit about it, when TheLeader noticed I was mad.
“What’s the problem man?” Asked TheLeader.
“That’s just fucked up. I mean how can anyone be that shallow?” I replied.
He knew I was touchy about my appearance. (I had not yet adopted my “DEAD SEXY” attitude yet.) He saw this as a golden opportunity to get me to tear TheBitch apart.
“Bitch,” TheLeader asked her, “would you really break up with someone cause your friends said he was ugly, even if you were really into them?”
“Well yeah, why else would I have told him that?” She answered with a touch of contempt.
TheLeader smelling the potential for blood started firing questions at her like a quad .50cal. A few of the gems were:
“So if they told you to dump, TheBurnout, you would?”
“Would you feel bad for leaving him?”
“Do you have any personality of your own?”
As she answered them as fast as she could stammer out more incessant stupidity. I got to my breaking point rather quickly. I looked at TheBurnout, who was looking at her like she already had her stuff packed, and he nodded at me. That was the signal to storm TheBitch.
“You Narcissistic, Fuck Rag, Sycophant! How in the Hell can you sit there and say that shit sitting right next to TheBurnout?” I raged.
“Well I’m sure he prefers me to be honest than to lie.”
Expecting him to stand up and slap TheBitch. I just looked at him and waited. He totally blew my mind when he said. “Yeah, at least she’s not backing down from you, Tiny.” I felt betrayed. I was sitting there reeling from the blow to my ego. I had stepped up in defense of a friend and been railroaded. I was so mad I quit drinking. I know me and booze don’t mix well when I’m pissed before I’m drunk. I didn’t say anything, while everyone filtered off and left. It was about 2 hours later when, TheBurnout went to bed, taking TheBitch with him. The Leader and I were the only ones left in the house awake.
He whispered, “I didn’t mean for you to take a hit like that.” I ignored him. He got quiet again, and continued watching some late night while I stretched out on my couch.
It wasn’t much after they’d went to bed, that we heard unmistakable sounds of fucking coming from the couple’s “room.” Up went the volume on the TV and I started drinking again. After about 20 minutes, TheBitch comes out of the bedroom wearing a robe and begins making a sandwich for TheBurnout, as was her custom. TheBurnout comes into the living room in a pair of shorts and lights a smoke the bastard had the nerve to bum off of me. I’m busy considering what to do with his body so intently I don’t notice him offering me the sandwich, for a few seconds. I look at him and he’s smirking. It was almost his last mistake. I reached to slap the sandwich to the floor, so as to try and save it for later on after I killed this fool, when he starts talking to TheBitch.
“Hey why don’t you go ahead and get your shit packed. I wanna get some sleep.”
She looks at him for a minute with her head cocked to the side like a dog. “Huh?”
“Yeah, go get your fuckin’ shit, place it in bags or whatever, and move it to the porch so you can get at it after I lock the door behind you.” Tears start to slowly form in her eyes. I reach and take the sandwich and begin eating it while trying to give her the, “I knew my boy had my back,” look.
She stammers a few buts and whys, while looking in turn at TheBurnout smoking his cig, TheLeader grinning like R. Kelly does at 6th grade cheerleaders, and me calmly eating the sandwich she’d just made for her “beloved.”
“Look,” my best friend in the world, TheBurnout said. “ I am tired of you. I want you out. Get your shit packed now, call someone to come and get you, or we will.” TheLeader and I nod in unison. She starts bawling and runs to the room. We can hear her crying and packing. We hear parts of a conversation to someone she called on her cell. She starts carrying stuff past us to the porch, and on what was apparently her last trip, she looked at TheBurnout all swollen eyed and sniffling.
“Can we at least talk about this?”
“Listen you stupid fuckin’ whore!” He screamed. “After that shit you said earlier, I just wanted to fuck you hard in the ass, and blow nut butter all over your back one last time, before I threw you the hell out. Now go sit on the porch and wait for whoever you called to come get you.” He looked at her for a moment and then added, “Thanks for making Tiny a sandwich too, I’m sure he appreciated it.”
Not missing what might be my last chance, I added, “It was delicious, thanks.” She re-erupts back into hysterical sobs and flings herself out the door amid her piles of stuff. We burst into laughter. I completely forgive TheBurnout and thank him for letting me be apart of his life. He informs me that he’d never had any intention of letter her say that shit and stay with him, but when she made the “honesty” comment he knew he had to get her good.
A bit later headlights reflect off the windows announcing the arrival of her ride. Her ride turned out to be her dad, armed with a baseball bat and a over active “avenging his daughter” attitude. He starts by busting out the headlights to my wagon. I can hear TheLeader calling the police as I clear the porch, the piles of TheBitche’s stuff, and some how managing to knock her into the shrubs in the same ill fated attack on her father. Her shrieking scream alerted him to my approach. Her early warning saved him a trip across the hood of his Lincoln on my shoulder, and cost me 4 broken ribs on the left side. When I fell to the ground his bat was still under my arm against my rib cage, so it came with me. As did he when he didn’t let go of the bat.
I rolled over on top of him and commenced to try and hurt him. I wasn’t all that effective. I was holding my ribs with my left and swinging the right hurt too. The cops showed up about the time I wrestled the bat away from him completely and began hitting him with the wrong end of it. The tackled me off of him with and efficiency born more from my already injured side than from their skills as linemen. I was cuffed and stuffed in good time while my roommates tried to explain what happened. I was taken downtown by one unit while another few stayed at the apartment with the paramedics treating her father.
I spend about 3 hours downtown when my lawyer, TheRoach, shows up with the roommates. He talks with me and finds out about my ribs. He makes a big deal about it, they end up taking me to the hospital for X-rays. When he hears that I have 4 broke ribs he goes to town. He starts saying he’s pressing charges against the police for brutality and a hole host of other things. (Turns out the police have to get you checked out if your hurt. And promptly too. I’d sat there for 3 hours or better.) The police seeing ugly press in the future hurriedly release me. They charge TheBitch’s dad with P.I. and destruction of property and a few others. He blew a BAC of .12 and as they didn’t breathalyze me until after the X-rays, I was safe. The police dept. payed for my medical bills and sent me a letter of apology. TheRoach wanted to sue for some pain and suffering, but wasn’t sure we could win so let it drop.
Bitch’s dad was fined and released with the condition that he repair the damage to my car, and 40 hours of restitution. TheBitch continued trying to reconcile with Burnout for about 2 years.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I actually like people who just practice their profession.
TINY
My 21st Birthday07:59 Dec 31 2005
Times Read: 897
It was late December, 1998. I was nearing my 21st birthday. A couple friends of mine were working for a topless bar and told me they had a job for me. I had worked in a few bars, as a cook, at this point, and had occasionally helped people leave "involuntarily." So I figured I could handle being and actual "bouncer." Well turns out the first night they wanted me to work was the night of my 21st. They knew that it was my actual birthday, and had agreed to throw me a party at a later date if I worked through the holiday for them.
Monday, December 28th, 1998, was my first night as a bouncer. I would work every night that week, and have my party on January 2nd. Considering what they were paying me I was fine with this. Not to mention a party with an open bar for all my friends.
The night started fairly slowly. Probably less than 25 old men, ogling some floppy tits. Until around 2200 when a birthday party arrived. A guy with the same birthday as me had shown up with about 20 of his friends for his birthday.
It was kinda odd. That group was like the "mirror" image of my group of friends. They came in ordered drinks and started tossing $1's around.
AntiMe, was not as big as I was but not a small guy by any means. He was way down the road towards his first "legal" case of alcohol poisoning when he arrived. The group in general just kept spending money on girls, and dances, and were fairly well behaved.
I was walking around the room, keeping tabs on the lap dance area, and generally keeping busy to avoid boredom. I was making my way back towards the bar area, when I hear one of the girls “yelp.” I look towards stage and AntiMe, has grabbed the dancer’s g-string. She is doing her best to keep covered up while pry him loose. Before I could make it around the stage one of the other bouncers had grabbed him and got him to let go. They sat him back down told him to be good, and enjoy his birthday. Now I’d been told that as long as they don’t do anything completely retarded, and are spending money, we give them a warning before we boot them. AntiMe had now had his warning. I continue on around the stage and talk to the other bouncer.
“So if he fucks up again, he’s out right?”
“Yeah, he should be alright, his buddy is who talked him into it. I’ve been standing here for about 20 minutes just watching. I gotta piss stay here and I’ll be right back.”
I lean against the pillar and light a smoke. I’m feeling pretty cock strong and tough. AntiMe, and his buddies continue to blow money, and drink, like they are going to the Russian front in the morning. Juan, the other bouncer, wanders back from the bathroom and begins walking around the room like I had been doing previously. He gestures for me to stay there.
There is a dancer switch, and the new dancer is a girl I went to high school with. She about shit when she saw I was working earlier that night. It was probably to do with the comment I made about, “I always knew I’d get to see you nekkid.” She is extremely attractive, and with her “whore” paint on, she is a 5 star. Easily a 5, she made anywhere from $500-$1000 a night, in a small town titty bar.
AntiMe goes nuts. She works him like an ATM machine. He starts throwing $5's and $10's at her, she starts doing her little tricks for him. Now one of the oddest of these tricks involves the tipper to turn around and lay back on the stage face up. The tipper places a folded bill over their nose, and the dancer squats over his face, shakes her crotch a bit then uses her ass crack to pinch the money off of the tippers face.
AntiMe folds a $20, lays back on stage and the trick begins. As “Kami” goes to pinch the bill away he reaches up and grabs her by the waist and lifts her down to his lap. She tries to wrestle away and he continues to paw at her. Juan starts around the bar, but I’m already there. I snatch Kami up and set her down towards the changing room for the girls, and look back to AntiMe.
“Man, you were warned Bro’. Time for you to leave.” He looks at me dumbly for a moment kinda nods and starts to gather his stuff and get his friends wrangled together. One of his friends starts talking shit.
“Fuck that, we’ve spent a lot of money. We ain’t gotta go no where.” Juan shows up at this point and remarks.
“Yeah ya do.”
I begin to walk Instigator to the front door. He doesn’t need dragged and is walking on his own towards the door. Still running his mouth but moving non the less. I show him out and walk back in to see Juan holding AntiMe by the arm talking to him. Apparently he’d got a bit pissed about Instigator being walked out and had started swelling up. Juan is a fast talker. He basically had AntiMe talked back down and walking out when I realized I’d made my first mistake as a bouncer. I’d not made sure Instigator couldn’t come back in.
“Fuck You Mother Fuckers!” He yelled from behind me. I turn towards him snatch the little shit off the ground as I head lock him, and proceed to toss his ass onto the sidewalk in front of the bar. I can hear the scuffle inside before I can see it.
Juan has AntiMe pinned to the stage. TheBartender is standing down the rest of the group with a huge can of pepper spray. One of the big can’s that look like fire extinguisher. Juan stands AntiMe up and partially carries and partially drags him towards the door. Instigator can be heard screaming from out front, which again charges AntiMe’s batteries. He shrugs Juan off and turns to swing at him. I grab him by his collar and pull him towards me. He continues his spin and hits me with his biceps as I was much to close for the roundhouse to work. Juan is back on his feet by now and grabs AntiMe’s left arm, while I grab the right one. We lift him and start towards the door.
As we pass TheBartender, who is still herding the rest of the group, Instigator darts back in to try and rescue AntiMe. I turn and kick him back out the door. I’m guessing, by the look on Instigator’s face, that being kicked in the stomach by a 500lbs man hurts. He falls backwards out the door and starts retching. AntiMe begins to struggle. By struggle I mean, shakes me off like a pesky flee. He then lands a right cross onto Juan’s jaw. And I shit you not, Juan looks at him and says, “No You Fucking Didn’t?!” Then proceeds to beat AntiMe off the wall.
After a minute I figure Juan has beaten on this poor fucker long enough and grab his right arm again, and proceed to drag him out the door. Now here is where it gets odd. For some fucking reason still unknown to either Juan or myself. TheBartender, decides that we need help, and fog sprays us (AntiMe, Juan, and me.) with the pepper spray. I mean all fucking over.
We, the sprayed fools, all stop for a second as we realize what has just happened. Knowing I was about to be in a world of hurt, I tighten my grip on AntiMe and fall backwards through the door. I was hoping I could get him outside before I was useless. (I had been fairly useless already, I know, no need to comment.) Juan apparently had also thought along those same lines. He had decided to just shoulder shove AntiMe through the doors at about the same instant I began my tossing maneuver. Well with the added help of my toss and Juan’s shove, AntiMe is hurled out of the bar and slides across the sidewalk on his face. Literally on his face. Juan, not expecting my help, is also launched out of the bar and onto the sidewalk. He doesn’t skid on his face but does do a number on his forearms. (Have you ever heard a man scream as pepper spray residue and his freshly torn meat mix? I don’t recommend it.)
I’m now gagging and puking all over the entry way, and myself. People running out of the bar, which is now fogged over with pepper spray, spit, gag, and kick me on their way out. Juan is doing the same thing I am and receiving the same treatment from the people leaving, except he has the added bonus of road rash ala pepper spray to enjoy.
Finally after what felt like about 9 years, the burning lessened and I could almost see again. One of the girls helped me to the restroom and gave me a towel soaked in milk. She’d heard that it was supposed to help. It did a bit. Juan is being nursed in the women’s restroom by someone else. By the time I was cleaned up so was he. We both look like hell. He’s sporting a bar towel wrapped around his arm, and a puffy face. I have a puffy face and a black eye from someone kicking me. We begin looking for the bartender. I was gonna stuff the pepper spray up his has and trigger it. Juan later said he was thinking the same thing except he was going to stuff it up his ass SIDEWAYS. Turns out the little shit figured we were gonna eat him and left.
By the time the bar had aired out all the way, it was time to close. We walk all the girls out. Juan locks up the bar. And we start to leave. As I am getting into my van, Kami pulls back up and gets out of her car leaving it running. She walks over and hands me $100 in twenties. She kisses my swollen cheek softly. And says, “Thanks, by the way, Happy Birthday.” She hugs me and leaves.
I’ve hated my birthday ever since.
TINY
Epilogue
Juan and I finally got TheBartender back. At my aforementioned birthday party, he passed out and we dripped pure capsaicin oil into his left eye. We kept the oil for TheOwner’s Bloody Mary’s. We’d dip a toothpick into the oil and stir it through the drink. I later find out that pepper spray uses about a 20% solution of capsaicin. Oops.
Pet Peeves Volume 107:55 Dec 31 2005
Times Read: 898
Pet peeves. What a fantastic idea for a thread. I've been wanting a forum where I could voice my feelings on a few things. Let us not dally, we've some area to cover.
I. - Driving
1. Everyone take a moment to get out your personal driver's license and look at it closely. Now make a note of what type of license you have. Is it a standard operator’s license? Is it perhaps a C.D.L.? (Commercial Driver's License) Maybe it’s a Chauffeur’s license. If you have only the standard operator’s license the following apply’s mostly to you.
A. YOU DO NOT OWN THE FUCKING ROAD. That’s right. While a minuscule amount of your tax money pay’s for the roads you drive on, the professional driver’s of the world pay far more than you do.
B. DO NOT drive if you are in any way shape or form impaired.
impaired (m-pârd) Diminished, damaged, or weakened: an impaired sense of smell. Functioning poorly or incompetently: a driver so tired as to be impaired. Having a physical or mental disability: an impaired child in need of
special assistance.
(This includes but is not excluded too; Stupidity, Ignorance, Extreme Shortness, Excessive Age, Mental Retardation, Anxiety, Anger Level, Apathy Level, etc, etc...)
C. Respect Semi’s. The average semi, can weigh as much as 80,000lbs. The average passenger vehicle, weighs roughly 2,500lbs. So if your jaunting along in your Toyota Camry and cut of a semi, then slam on the breaks to make an exit, don’t be upset when your killed. You should take pride in the fact that your death will most likely be spectacularly gruesome.
D. If you are a professional driver, (C.D.L., Chauffeur’s etc etc...) DO NOT USE YOUR FUCKING JAKE BREAKS ON FLAT GROUND!!! Do Not Fucking Be That Guy.
This concludes the introduction to Article 1 of my psychopathic rage initiator’s. I will compile the rest of my outline as time allows.
TINY
Editor’s note: It should be mentioned that if you are a woman with a small child, you should not read Article 253, “Babies at the Movie Theater.” If you do choose to read it, sub-article B, should be avoided at all costs. “Forced Sterilization and it’s Pro’s and Con’s.” will not make me any friends.
__________________
Are YOU going to Hell?07:48 Dec 31 2005
Times Read: 900
Hell? I'm getting offered a job from Satan himself as PR guy.
After getting out of high school 2 years early for reasons of "Safety to Faculty and Students," I decided I wanted to study theology. I mean really where else can you have a profession that the main guide book lets you make up shit as you go. OH YEAH, Lawyers and Doctors do that too.
Either way, I was attending a few core classes at BSU and taking some other classes elsewhere. Having ditched a final for the want of "something to tell Padre in the box," I found that if I didn't get at the very least a 70% or better on said final I was bombing the course.
This worried me a bit as my father is roughly the size and shape of a bulldozer with legs. And his money was the money being wasted on my "education." While worrying about this, we were actually on the way to Bloomington to pick up some lysergic acid diethylamide. (I should of took chemistry as a major.) My friends said they'd help me if I thought of a way to get out of it and get a re-test.
At this point in the trip, on Highway 46W, we were nearly killed by a near-miss accident with a dump truck driven by what was later described as a "waste of good skin," it came to me. (It should be brought to the attention of the readers that I was not currently using the acid, yet.)
After getting back to Muncie, we started laying plans. We get my car and head to a little used and hard to observe parking lot behind some apartments. We line up the angle and then ram into each other. Yes, some people say they were in an accident to get a re-test, I staged one to get my re-test.
The impact was a bit more than I'd expected and I ended up slamming my head into the door window, shattering it and cutting open my left eyebrow at the same time. This makes necessary a trip to the ER to have my face knitted back together.
The next morning I am waiting for my Prof at his office at 9AM with my un-bandaged head, and smashed up car in the spot next to his. He shows up, and looks at me and the car. He invites me into his office and asks if I'm alright. I say that I am and that insurance should cover the car and the injury, but not the final. He says I can take the re-test when I feel "able" to do so.
His concern is apparent as he walks me back out to the car. He asks, when the last time I slept was, not thinking I reply that I hadn't slept for about 48 hours. Thinking I'd blown it, I look over at him almost ready to cry for fucking up my story.
He looks at me closely and says, "Mr. Fox our obviously still dazed from the accident, it's a good thing you didn't sleep you probably have a concusion. Your not to drive like this, I'll take you home and your to rest until you absolutely must go out."
I dumbly get in his car, and sit in silence during the ride. As I'm getting out he tells me to wait for a minute while he makes a call. Turns out to be his wife. He explains to her that he has a student who has been in an accident, who has a head wound and is curious if he should take me back to the hospital as my eyes are still dilated oddly.
I can't hear what she says but apparently she told him I should be fine cause he tells me to go get some sleep, and drives off.
TINY
The Tree House07:37 Dec 31 2005
Times Read: 902
I spent a good deal of my youth growing up on a diary farm in rural southeastern Indiana. There were a number of us boys nearly the same age. No more than 8 years between the youngest and the oldest. At some point between the ages of 10-12, I participated in the creation/birthing of one the most homicidal inanimate objects on earth. The Tree House.
We picked a 3/4s dead elm tree. It's lowest branches being roughly 40' above the root cracked ground. With lumber, tools, and other implements of mutilation, scavenged from around the farm, we began the sub contracting process. We hired an older cousin, he was nearly 20, who used a tractor and a complicated web of spliced chains, rope, and bailing twine to haul roughly 2000lbs of material into the large lower branches. We used old tobacco stakes nailed to the tree as a "ladder" as means to scale the tree, to the construction site.
( Author's Note :To simplify, I shall refer to my cousins by a numerical system. C1 being the oldest and I was the youngest.)
C3 and C4 were twins, and dumber... er, braver than most of us. C3, being smaller and lighter than C4, was attached to the "ascension" equipment, and dangled roughly 60' in the air while he attempted to nail the "floor joists" into place. This was accomplished with a counter weight technique. I (yes insult fat kid joke) was tied to the other end of the rope and was on the ground basically being ballast. I'd move a bit to raise or lower him as needed. C4's , job was to "stabilize" his brother by poking him in the head with a 5' 2X4. I didn't really see as to how it helped, but being the youngest my questions often were answered with violence, so I just watched in good humored silence.
After having made the "foundation" we began laying the floors and constructing the walls. It was during the raising of one of the walls, the one with the door to the cool rope slide we were gonna have, that the Tree House began showing it's true colors.
I was being used yet again as ballast. I was being aided by C6, just a year or two older than me. He was all of 80lbs. Wet. He stood with me and held onto my belt loops to make sure that I didn't fly off into the tree, should C1-C5 misjudge and let the wall fall from the foundation. They did this at the first opportunity. I was jerked from the ground a good 12ft, and was only halted, when the wall caught itself on a branch after slammed against the trunk 2 or 3 times. I was bleeding from both nostrils and my left ear. C6 had skinned both his knees and bloodied his nose also. There was a fast round of "convince C6 to not tell on us," and construction continued. (It should be noted that convincing C6 to not tell on us was a game that was played very often, to different degrees of effectiveness.)
Being as how that was about the least injury ridden accident of the build, I'll move onto the first night we "camped" in the Tree House.
We packed rations and provisions to last 1 night, the list of gear includes but is not limited too;
5 packs of hot dogs - no buns
5 bags of chips
2 cases of soda
1 box of candy bars - Milky Ways
2 packs of cigarettes - Paul Maul Red
1 dozen comic books
1 much abused issue of Playboy
1 battery powered lantern
7 flashlights
1 boom box radio
150 cassette tapes
50lbs of batteries
1 ax
7 pocket knives
7 jackets
7 sleeping bags
7 boys with no idea what god had planned for them
It was going great. We were enjoying the fruits of our labor. But our pitiful blood sacrifice was not enough to appease the Tree House. We'd all began nodding off to sleep, when for some reason C6 decided to fall out the door and 40ft to the ground. He immediately began saying that someone had "kicked" him out the door. I was the nearest person to him and I can testify to the fact that NO ONE kicked him. He was stupid. And Clumsy. And had called me a lard ass for the last time.
He began the 1/2 mile sprint back to the house to tell on us. C4, in an attempt to save us all from being grounded, DOVE out of the Tree House. When I say dove, I mean, like a paratrooper, sans chute. He went at it like a dirt belly flop. He of course missed C6, but his act, made C6 stop and look for a moment, and gave C3 time to catch him. C3 snatched him up, and began to drag him back toward the tree. C6 struggled and managed to kick C3 in the balls. C3 makes good his escape and bolts for the house. C1 is trying to figure out how to bury C4 before he gets found, and as I'm about as fast as glacial thaw, it was up to C5 to save the day.
He left the blocks like Johnson and his gold shoes at the Olympics, he sailed over fences and pushed through mud. And He managed to catch C6 as he grabbed the back door's knob. He beat th... convinced C6 to come back to the Tree House, to talk about what happened
And once C4 and C3 had recovered. Ladies and Gentleman, thats how Todd nearly died.
TINY
COMMENTS
-