Friday the 13th

OK, Teresa and I are on the road in the middle of Kansas and I thought I would share with you all a little story about what happened to me on Friday, October 13, 2006. I shall set the scene with a dramatized, but based on actual events dialogue scene starring myself and a few co-workers...

Jameson: Hey, *****, can I catch a ride with you to the job site? My main man, ***, already left.

*****: Nah, sorry, man. Not enough room in my truck.

(at this point, ***** tells someone else they can catch a ride with him. He moves like one lunch sack from the bench seat to the truck bed.)

Jameson: I ain't THAT fat, damnit. The fuck's up with that? I am gonna ask someone else if I can ride along.

Co-worker #2: Ask (fill in the blank with a typical co-worker's name). He's heading out soon.

Jameson: Yo, (fill in the blank with a typical co-worker's name), can I catch a ride with ya?

Co-worker #3 (aka fill in the blank with a typical co-worker's name): Yeah, OK.

(The scene then cuts to outside, where there are smokers and cold weather. Co-workers #4 & 5 exit the building and join me in the great outdoors)

Co-worker #4: How are ya getting out to the job site?

Jameson: I'm heading out with "fill in the blank with a typical co-worker's name".

Co-worker #5: Ride with us. "fill in the blank with a typical co-worker's name" needs to go get some supplies.

Jameson: Sweet.

*****************

But only it really wasn't that sweet. I was riding in the back of a van with all sorts of pipes, screws, tools and stuff. I had my "Life is good" thermos full of coffee and a bacon and cheese sandwich made with a hamburger bun. I thought life would be good with that stuff, but nooooooooooooooooooo. Cuz , we were driving along highway 77, just kinda toolin along, enjoying the fact that it was Friday and that means the end of the work wee...

KAH-BLOOEY!

Our van gets rear-ended by some fool answering his cell phone. He claimed everyone was rolling along and then suddenly stopped, causing the collision.

*BUZZ*

Wrong answer, the answer, my dear readers was D: traffic was at a dead stop for about 30 seconds due to a stop light.

I was all like, "Holy shit!", and a bucket of spare copper rammed my lower back. I wasn't hurt, just kinda freaked out. Then I thought, "Fuck, I'm riding illegally and if the cops come to take a report, they will deport me to Mexico or some stupid shit because I don't look Nebraskan" or some odd shit. Ya know, I felt like I was riding in the back of the van after sitting on some docks somewhere and some rich, but stingy dude wanted to hire some illegals to cut cost down...you know, like in the movie "Born in East L.A.".

Yeah, that sort of shit.

I was kinda half-wondering if the driver was gonna yell, "La Migra" when he saw me sitting in the back. I mean, where would I have gone? I couldn't like hide in a spare tire or anything. I have one of those already around my waist like some brown Michelin Man or something.

What the heck was I gonna do? Run for the hills? Nebraska is flat. I am fucked.

Teresa, just reminded me that Nebraska means, "flat water". So I am now some wetback? Am I a clown, do I make you laugh, like ha ha very funny, am I Beano, the Mexican-Chinese Clown? I am neither Mexican nor Chinese. Damn. Thanks, Teresa*, I love you too.

Anyways, we get to the job site and I have to carry some heavy shit in a bucket upstairs and, guess what? The fools who designed this garage bay area decided they wanted the concrete floors to be as slippery as possible. The floors were polished just the night before and there was a thin layer of debris on this already slick floor courtesy of the sheetrockers (not to be confused with punk rockers).

So, up up up the ladder I go and I get to the next-to-top rung (because the directions tell you NEVER EVER EVER step above that rung because YOU WILL DIE!) and suddenly I feel like I am getting shorter because my step up to the room where I was supposed to be was getting farther and farther up the wall. If you have ever slid backwards on a ladder situated on a slick surface, you know how this feels, if not, I guess you should picture some Three Stooges crap or Charlie Chaplin...except that it is your friendly neighborhood Jameson sliding in slow motion and can't do a danged thing abou...

...it stopped. One of the two ladder feet butted against the wall behind me. Had the ladder been scooted over 2 feet, I would have slid to certain disaster. At least my insurance started this month.

Holy shit! My lucky day! I didn't break my neck or die because here I am on Sunday the 15 writing this to you right now!

But it sure was scary...

I learned my lesson that day: If you have to carry heavy objects on a ladder on polished concrete, get that guy who refused to give you a ride to work to do it for you.

Love,


*She thought she comes off bad in that paragraph, but like I said, this is dramatized. Any real persons or incidents depicted in this tele-novella (Viva Univision, canal 34 en Los Angeles) are purely coincidental.



PS: Teresa, when are you gonna start writing stuff? I am sure there is a lot of stuff going on in that pretty little head of yours. OK, I am out. Jameson says "Thank you and good night. See you next tour!"