Your roots are showing, dear…

With a major construction project underway for my laboratory, many offices have been relocated in a “musical chairs” dance that was underway before i arrived in my new job last June.  We have now reached the steady-state condition for the next two years, which has all of the “Management-Like Objects” working out of modular offices, located in the parking lot. 

Trailers*. These are the things that are rented out as temporary offices, classrooms, or as construction site headquarters. Ours are quite nice, but have been around the block a few times. Literally.  They are not new… but they are cushy!  

It’s a “Quintuple-wide” — five modules, with over twenty individual offices, a kitchenette and a conference room!  i was mostly excited that the ladies room has THREE STALLS!  Of the twenty managers/tech advisors in the modular offices?  There are only three women – we can each have our own toilet! Luxury! 

Recent events, however, have truly exposed my trailer park origins to my new colleagues.  If they weren’t sure what they were dealing with before?  They are now… 

Incident A:  The Wednesday before Christmas Eve, there were only a few of us in the office. Our Division Admin, Allen, had brought in a 12-pack of Sam Adam’s finest lager to celebrate the holiday. As the five of us gathered in the kitchenette area, we realized we didn’t have a bottle opener. Rooting through the kitchen drawers, i found a couple of cork screws, some old plumbing parts, but no bottle opener.  

“Wait?  Plumbing parts?”  Looking again, i saw what it was…  a small bit of tygon tubing, attached to a copper “L-joint”, which was covered by a plastic bag.  Oh shit.  i knew what it was.  Without thinking, i pulled it from the drawer, pulled off the plastic bag and took a sniff… A one-hit pipe.  Loaded with burnt weed!  SHIT, SHIT and DOUBLE SHIT!  

Of the five of us assembled, only Allen realized what i’d just found…  we had to explain it to the other guys, and then figure out what to do with it.  My fingerprints were all over it, so the initial thought of putting it on the boss’ desk was discarded quickly.  Obviously leftover from a prior occupant, we disposed of the contraband, but not before ol’ daisyfae got tagged as “worldly”.  

Incident B:  Returning to my trailer office after a lunch hour visit to the gym, i was surprised to see a gaggle of nerds huddling outside the adjacent office.  There was an adorable young man in the middle of the pack, furiously wedging a piece of plastic in the door jamb.  “VK has locked his keys in his office, and there is no spare”.  Dropping my purse, shoes and coat in my office, i went to look.  The adorable young man was from the facilities office, and had managed to get his personal ID card wedged in the door attempting to slide open the lock.   

With the modular offices, each door lock system was different, so i went to find a similar door lock on an open office.  Getting the ‘lay of the door’, i then went to the supply cabinet, looking for a long, flexible metal ruler.  Striking out, i found a workable piece of hard plastic. 

Adorable Facilities Boy and i jimmied with the lock a bit, but it still wouldn’t budge.  The “manly men” were now arriving, with screwdrivers and pry bars and were planning to somehow disassemble the door.  Regrouping momentarily, one of the nerdier guys, RD,  and i went back to look at the other door… 

We realized we’d have a shot at going “up and over”, through the drop ceiling with a coat hanger to open the handle from the inside.  But it was a “pull down” handle…  Rather than up and over?  Under and up!  Scavenging a couple of metal hangers, i built the tool quickly, as the testosterone-level outside the door was rising at an alarming rate… they were prying the door frame… 

RD and i stepped up, and i informed them to turn down the “Man Factor” momentarily, as we were “going MacGyver on that bad boy”.  Laughing, one of the guys looked at his watch and said “You’ve got 20 seconds before the bomb goes off… GO!”  Fifteen seconds later?  i slid the coat hanger under the door, hooked it, pulled down, and popped the door open – under the direction of RD, who was peeking through the window.  

No blood, no guts, and no permanent damage to a rented trailer.  Adorable Facilities Boy high-fived me, and suggested we keep my tool as a “spare key” if needed again… 

But it was the comment i dropped this morning at the staff meeting that sealed it… 

Incident C:  There have been serious budget cuts over the past year.  With the start of the new year, our janitorial services contract has been scaled back.  We are now responsible for “Self-Trashing”.  Rather than have our custodian empty our office trash cans, we are expected to tie them neatly, and take them to a central covered office dumpster, which will be emptied weekly. 

Naturally, there was a bit of wailing and gnashing of teeth over this, but we all know that it’s not negotiable.  My suggestion:  “Can’t we just throw it on the lawn?  It IS a trailer, right?” 

On Bubba, On Billy Bob...

* For the past year, on all planning documents, they were referred to as the “Wind-Relocatables”, or “METH LAB Division”, for “Modular Exploratory Technology Housing – Labs and Bureaucracy” Division. i placed the ceremonial “Pink Flamingos” beside the door on my first day in the trailers…

With just a hint of garlic…

How lazy am i?  How big of a redneck resides in my soul? 

YOU make the call…

Plans for a casual dinner date with hot boy/potential victim a new gentleman friend.  Week night = very casual, but because he wanted to fit in an after work run, we agreed to meet at 8:00 pm.  Kinda late for a meal.  Besides, it’s the First Law of Chubbies that when we go on dinner dates, we have to at least pretend to be Skinnies-in-the-Rough.  At least for a few dates.  Poking at a dry salad – “No Croutons, please!” 

But i was too fucking hungry tonight to wait til 8:00 pm and then order rabbit food for dinner.  So i did the “fat chick pre-game” and made myself a filling snack when i got home from work.  Having nothing of substance in my house to eat - due to my “grocery store avoidance” gene - i went for this odd home-brewed concoction that has served me well. 

Starting with Orville Redenbacher’s “Smart Pop” microwave popcorn, i melt a small amount of butter, then add basil, garlic and a dusting of parmesan and romano cheese.  A low-fat, filling “delicacy” for sure… If you consume this with a diet coke AND an 8 ounce glass of water?  You’ll feel full for several hours.  Fiber.  Fiber is good, right?

Between trips to the bathroom – waging war against frizzy hair and the grape-sized zit* that had magically appeared after i went to work this morning – i bopped into the kitchen to tend to my gourmet treat.  Stuffing that first fabulous handful into my face, i realized something was amiss.  The carefully crafted tastes were not blending in a manner that pleased my palate…

Pulling the empty popcorn box from the trash, i realized my mistake.  There are several “mutant” varieties of Orville’s Smart Pop – and the one that i’d snagged was “Kettle Korn”.  For the uninitiated, “kettle korn” is sweet – like caramel corn, but different**.  Needless to say “sweet” and “garlic pesto parmesan” are not complimentary flavors.

The sad part:  i ate the whole fucking bag.  How lazy do you have to be to do that?  i was hungry, it was there, the clock was ticking and that zit wasn’t going to cover itself…

It’s times like this that i know the meaning of the phrase “Spam Suckin’ Trailer Trash”… no doubt.

That shure is sum tasty vittles, Wanda June!

That shure is sum tasty vittles, Wanda June!

* i’m 46 1/2 fucking years old.  and i get zits.  not just little things that can be painted over with a make up trowel, but those welts that are large enough to be visible from LANDSAT, and have been known to show up on GoogleEarth.  My dermatologist says “Oh, you should be happy!  When the pimples stop, you’ll get wrinkles!”  He’s a pig fucker.

** Sometimes, i am completely enthralled with my descriptive abilities.  This is not such a time…

Eyewitness Report: Redneck Wedding

In 2006, our Trailer Park family got to experience one of those magical adventures known as ‘The Wedding’.  DQ and BJ tied the knot in a hoedown to end all  marital hoedowns.  Striking just the right balance between “glamour” and “comfort”, they pulled together a wedding in their own style – and worked hard to keep costs down, doing much of the legwork on their own. 

The bridesmaids gowns were made from about a thousand yards* of brown satin.  They wore matching sequined flip flop sandals.  Brown.  “Why Brown?” you ask?  Well, that was the only color that could be coordinated with the “Mossy Oak” tuxedo vests. 

mossyoak.jpg

 

Since i was meeting The Girl halfway around the world, i was unable to attend.  But, thanks to the wonders of technology, my sister, T, was able to give me an electronic summary while i lounged poolside at a 4-star hotel in Bangkok.  Here, gently modified to protect me from the innocent, is her “Scores and Highlights” from the reception.  It was held in a “party barn” and was a “bring your own booze” event…
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The Clampett’s Take Granny To The Hospital

You’ve seen the episode.  Granny needs a routine medical procedure, but the Clampett’s don’t trust them smarty-pants doctors and them new-fangled doctorin’ machines.  With a show of force that could have changed the outcome at Normandy, the Clampett clan descends upon a poor, unsuspecting hospital staff, unleashing their homespun brand of hillbilly hijinks, and much hilarity ensues.

clampett_clan.jpg

 

 “Hilarity” is one word for it.  My word for it is “shoot – me – the – fuck – now – i – cannot – POSSIBLY – be – related – to – these – sociopathic – mutant – hillbilly – fucktards”.  For the purists out there, yes - i can count.  i tried the thesaurus.  There was no single word that captured the complete sentiment.

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duality clarified

The primary reason i’m hacking up morsels of my memory banks out here in the blogosphere is to sort out the duality of my nature…

Raised in The Park.  Comfortable in The Park.  Understand The Park.  Appreciative of Earthiness of The Park.  Know that my heritage lies in The Park.  Amused by The Park.

versus

Disgusted by behavior in The Park.  Struggling to run from The Park.  Embarassed by my connection to The Park.  Confused as to how i emerged from The Park.  Frightened by the potential impact of The Park on my children.

and then it hit me…

mullet1.jpg

 

oh fuck.  i’m a human mullet. 

“business” in the front, and “party” in the back…