Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Cool Windows

Here's a cool old car that will never run again.

This one had his brother's neck in a death grip before I hit him with a broom

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.

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?"
"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?"
"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.

Creative Commons License
Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.