Wednesday, May 23, 2012

which scenario is the one that actually occurred?

Below, find a number of scenarios, your task shall be to determine which is accurate/occurred and which did not.  To determine this, you will engage your BS detector and utilize your knowledge of me, your memory of what I've told you, etc and so on.

Don't be a creepy lurker bastard; you can either post a comment here or on FB.

It's a nice hot sunny day, and I'm driving the bus, sort of between routes, I'd finished dropping off all the junior high kids and was heading for the high school, it's a 10-15 minute drive unless there's road destruction like there was last May and June which caused all sorts of stress, irritation and tardyness on my part arriving to the high school.  I like bananas,  I eat a couple of them each day, unless I forget to have some on hand....ripeness, you know.  I can't eat them if they are green.  So after I've dropped off the last kid, I haul ass to the high school to get the next batch.  Often, on the way, I enjoy a banana.  I made the mistake once of putting the peel into the trash....holy swarm of fruitflies, I was afraid they were taking over.  I ate the banana, and put the peel on the ledge next to the window.  Had to stop for a red light, and got to looking around.  Huh, I thought.  That could be fun.  The light was about to turn green, the convertible next to me had his top down, I tossed in that banana peel.....I just couldn't help myself.  Believe me when I tell you that I laughed my ass off the rest of the afternoon, too.

Couple weeks ago, I had to go to WallyMart for something.  Seems like we always have to go there for something, probably because we can't ever remember to get everything we think we need at one time.  I was walking thru the pharmacy section, and I see a really old couple shuffling along, leaning on the buggy, looking at everything like Christmas is coming and they were making out their wish list.  Could just see the list, scrawled in their spidery old folk handwriting:  Preperation H, Depends, enema, chap stick, powder, vaseline, super polident, XLax, aspirin, rolaids....I can see that getting old is not for sissies.  I grabbed up a box of condoms and dropped it into their buggy while they were not looking.  I had nothing going on that afternoon, so I loitered on the bench near the front of the store to watch them check out with their pile of goodies.  She's unloading the cart, and when she gets to the box

She says:  "XL?  30% larger?  What the hell is going on here?  Are you hoping they make you 30% larger?  And a whole dozen of them?  We have not had rumpy pumpy 12 times in 20 years.....are you having an affair?"  I commenced LoLingMAO as I left...

To be continued....
LOL here's one I banged out a while ago but never posted.

Good morning, happy Tuesday....

Clicky this linky, listen to the music as you read. 

The sky is dark, the sun is several hours away from coming up, the bed is soft and warm, all snuggled in with my wife.  5am comes and goes, and I sleep, dreaming of a college volleyball team doing yoga and jumping on a trampoline.  5:30 slips past, with dreams of Grandma making pies, pies with no calories or fat.  Link for more mood music. it's not exactly the same alarm tone as Val has set for her first alarm at 6, but you can bet that all dreams came to an abrupt end.  Maybe you've seen my glasses...I've got astigmatisms in each eye, can't see very well at all w/o my glasses. 

So her alarm went off, instantly I knew that I was late.  I set my alarm for 5, normally I hit the snooze once or twice, then get up.  I shower, sometimes I even shave.  I get dressed, make some breakfast and coffee and check in on FB.  That's not what happened today.   My alarm didn't go off, or if it did, I turned it off, I have no memory of hearing it.  Val uses her phone as her alarm clock, sets one for 6, one for 615 and one for 630.  Yeah, kinda weird....but effective.  That trumpet blasted reveille, I shot out of bed, grabbed my glasses, hauled ass down the stairs.  I saw the time, 6:02 after my bathroom pit stop...decision I call in or not?  I could call, say "hey, dude, I'm on the way, but running a bit late...can you get it going for me?"  I calculated drive time:  10 minutes.  Not going to call.  I was out the door in about 5 minutes, I even grabbed my coffee, my book, made sure I had my phone and wallet, was very happy to see there was not any frost to scrape. 

Usually, traffic on Tuesday is the worst traffic all week.  Today's trip in was ok, hit some red lights, but right at the end of the red.  You know how it is, get up there right before it turns green.  Just enough red light to irritate you.

What's the point to this post?  Just bragging, I guess.  I can go from bed to work in 16 minutes.  Of course, that means I have had no breakfast yet, but I get a short break at 730 at Kwik Trip.  Different industries have different rules/needs/expectations.  If you're a paint delivery guy, it's not too critical to be on time.  If you're a secretary at Mayo, a few minutes here or there won't affect much.  Bus driver?  Pretty important to be on time.  There's 45 kids heading out the door to wait for me to pick them up starting at 640.  By 652, I've got them on the bus and heading for school.

Saturday, May 19, 2012

So this will be as boring as Mr Ness' speech class or that blonde twit's health class for those of you that don't live here and ride motorcycles, but can't have everything (where would you put it?) and eat your cake too.

Friday night (last night) I wanted to go for a short ride to make sure no parts would fall off my newly repaired bike.  Most people would ride by solo, as to not endanger others....but I decided to join the CMA club instead....because I knew that some of them were paramedics and they're plenty religious so if I crashed and died I'd get lots of prayers.  Plus turns out one of them pretends to be a mechanic, but I didn't know that before I went...

The top pic is what the bike looked like before I took it apart, and the bottom pic is what it looked like apart.  Fun stuff.

If you're curious, I serviced the steering head bearings, they go in that black tube in the bottom pic, the left side in the middle.  I put on a new front tire, and front brakes.  And now it looks like the top pic again.

So...the CMA.  Christian Motorcycle Assoc.  They ride every Friday evening, meeting at 6:30, riding somewhere and then coming home.  Nice people.  Very, very nice people....which you'd hope to expect to find in a religious group, right?  Note:  even though they're nice, they don't hesitate to "take the piss out of a guy"; which is an Andy McNab way of saying "pick on" "heckle" "rib" "poke fun at".

Here's an example.  There is a guy, Bob, that rides an older GoldWing with a Voyageur trike kit. He also has a hole in the base of his throat, and uses a gizmo thingy to talk.  At DQ, Bob got a shake and had a tremendously hard time getting the lid off.  And he also forgot to get a straw.  So when he went to get a straw, someone put the lid back on.  And then a while later, the guy across the aisle fumbled around with his lid and asked Bob for help to get his lid off.  It was pretty should have been there.

Decent enough route for a short ride, 63 to Hammond, on to Millville, 4 to 60 to 2 to Plainview to DQ, south to 2 to Rochester.  Uncle Google will help you with that, if you want to see the route., just google Hammond, MN and you can see the roads once you get the zoom set right.

The problem was:  they too slow!  I was bored, practically to tears...I was yawning so much.  Next time I'll take my mp3 player and make sure I'm ahead of Bob, he was all over the road, way over the center line, onto the shoulder kicking up rocks....someone should knock that fucker in the ditch.  I might have, but he said that he likes the sound of my bike....which is something that I can't take any credit for.

Some of the passengers were talking about all the deer that they saw...I didn't see any.  I did see a dead bird, a dead racoon and hit a bug with my forehead when he flew into my helmet.  I saw some cows, some horses, some eagles, a redwing black bird, and some redneck people.  It was a good ride, and I'll join them again.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

More Sheridan Egg:

Lucky for me the dump was downtown, next to the grocery store, which stayed open past our break, which was dinner time for me.  I think I bought my dinner there every night I worked there.  BTW, that was approx 730pm.  I'm quite sure the stepmonster never provided anything for my dinner.

First night:  show up for what amounted to orientation, if I recall correctly, they sort of showed me what to do and turned me loose.  Holy hell.  They don't start the new guy doing the easy work, they start the poor bastards doing the many tasks that I told you about.  About half way thru the 2nd half of the night, I was dying of thirsty, so I went to the water fountain and did my camel imitation.  The supervisors were sorta surprised that I came back.  My cousin Billy had not come back for entire night, big strong all state throwball player and wrestler/marine-to-be couldn't handle it.

That same spring, I had yanked the engine out of my old car and overhauled it.  At one point, grandpa and I were loading the block into the back of his pickup so I could take it to town to get Jim to use his ridge reamer on the cylinders (selfish bastard would not loan a tool!); Grandpa heaved when he should have stood still, because he pinched my right pinky between the block and the tractor.  This was shortly before graduation...and I remember this because the pinky nail turned that lovely shade of black and hurt like hell even during graduation...some guy was shaking my hand and I was being a wimp about it, he wanted a good hard squeeze, so I showed him my poor dead pinky nail and gave him a proper shake leftywise.

I told you that story to tell you this one.

I was working away in the egg dump, maybe I even graduated to flat loader from the shitty hump the boxes and flats and egg bucket task; I slid my hands down into the box to pull out the flats and the edge of that dead fingernail caught on box and peeled back.  What a funky f'n feeling, I guarantee! Put on a bandaid, but a few nights later finally just pulled it the rest of the way off.

Probably as early as the 2nd night, I took in a jug so I didn't have to make a trip to the water fountain, I kept it on top of the machine thingy.  At some point, one night, some dickhead  must have put an egg in it, I went to take a drink but found the lid to be loose, and when I looked did not look right, so I figgered some smart turd had been up to shenanigans.

One time I wore a white Tshirt that I had worn whilst painting the barn with Steve and Grandpa, of course it had red paint on it.  One old dumbass was worried that it was still wet....he was sure that the USDA inspector would throw me out for wearing a shirt with wet blood on it.  Dude, don't assume.

Once while the "ladies" were cleaning up after a rotten egg incident, I was resting, apparently I was emulating a plumber, and a wiseass thought it'd be fun to pour some egg down my ass crack.

I worked there about 10 weeks, long enough to get pretty strong, long enough to get sick of burning egg smell, rotten egg smell, egg processing plant smell, etc.  The end came when we'd been putting up hay, mowing it in the very back of Grandpa's barn.  I was throwing the bales to the other guys, and my back rebelled.  I guess I wasn't as strong as I thought, huh?  Anyway, I called in sick a couple days, they said:  bring a doctor's note.  I didn't have one, so they sent me on my way.  Dumbasses.  I wasn't going to stay there a long time, anyway...had a church trip to Chicago coming up, moving to Phoenix coming up, so long Sheridan Egg.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

As promised, my memoirs of the Sheridan Egg company.

I applied for the job while I was still in high school, they called in early June, 1987.  2nd shift, which paid 10 cents more per hour!!!  Remember, minimum wage was $3.35, back then.  Minimum wage has not increased much since then, but lots of places that used to pay it have given up on it, since you can't get decent help for that wage.

2nd shift was awful...4:00 or so until about 2am.  That's right, 10 hours.  I do not do well at night...more of a morning person I guess.  Here's the deal.  They would buy eggs and process them.  That means some poor sucker, (me, that first night and for many many more nights) would be on the end of the line, filling the line with cases of eggs.  This means opening cases of eggs, 30 dozen per case, putting them on a knee high bench.  The loader dude would pull the flats out of the box, putting them onto the conveyor.  My next task was to catch the empty flats, stack them, tie them for reuse.  That meant separating out any that had contained a broken egg.

It was kind of neat, the system of transferring the eggs from the flats to the washer conveyor, 30 rubber suction cups would pick up the eggs and swing over to the next belt thingy which rolled them thru the washer.  From there, they move over a bright light for candling.  There, the dude would pick out the rotten, the bloody, the broken shells, etc.  One old bastard insisted that the egg was sour if it had a big bubble in it.  I don't know.

My next task was to keep a bucket under the suction area which would catch the egg that came running out of the washer; sometimes the heat or pressure would break the egg.  Those shells would be hauled out to a farm somewhere, used as fertilizer.  The egg was strained out and used somewhere else, somehow.

The good boxes and good flats were reused, the bad boxes and dirty flats were burned.

So!  the eggs are candled and transfer onto a breaker, which I could only see thru the little window that the conveyor went thru.  A girl would sit there watching this spinning thing, hitting the levers for each egg, whole, yolk and white.  Not entirely sure what they'd do with it all, sell it to Betty Crocker, I think.

Sometimes we'd get lucky and the eggs would come in on plastic flats and steel wheeled racks instead of in boxes and on pallets.  Much less work involved with the plastic...the eggs were cleaner, hardly ever any broken, and of course no boxes to open and unload.  Sometimes a suction hose would plug, causing all sorts of hell/havoc to occur with the flat stacking.  :(  Just imagine an egg remaining in the flat...they don't stack well.

All for now...I'll be back with the good stuff.  Just try to imagine the smell of this place.  

Tuesday, May 01, 2012

Pizza, the magical food that is a separate food group.

You can put anything on it as a topping, you can eat it any time of day, hot or cold....magical!  Wash it down with pop, lemonade, beer, coffee, tea, milk, even yak blood makes a good beverage when eating pizza....magical!

So....why don't I like it?  I do like pizza; or perhaps most accurately I don't dislike it.  But I don't love it like some people.  Jerry, Bekke, and Val for example.  I think they could eat it morning, noon and night every day.

Let's dissect a pizza, shall we?
Crust:  thin and crispy, double dough, pan, rolled/stuffed crust chicago, new york, wood fired.

Sauce:  red or white, sweet or spicy, herby or not.

Toppings:  too many to list

Cheese:  any

Cooking method:  heat!  grill, oven, etc.

Sounds good, right?  Bread, sauce, meat, cheese=sandwich.

For me, I think it's finding the right blend of crust thickness, sauce spiciness, (don't like sweet sauce), the right toppings and not too much cheese.  (gets slimy)

Val got my half as meat lovers of supreme or something similar.  Her half was most likely ham and mushroom.  Tombstone it'd be hamburger.

Here's the thing.  It comes rocket hot, I always burn all the skin off the roof of my mouth.  It's messy....either some sauce squirts out or some grease from all that meat, or some cheese will slide off, or even the entire load of toppings will slide off onto my shirt.  Then I forget to treat the stain, and it gets set in the shirt and then I have to wear a stained shirt for the next 12 years.

I quit my first job at the Junction Cafe to work at Buddy's cafe, which is where Dell's cafe was...he put in a pizza oven and hired me to take the place of some dumb kid that was going to move to CA.  I took a 50cent/hour raise to be cook part of the time and wash dishes part of the time.  But the cheap bastard wouldn't put in a new water heater, so you couldn't wash the dishes quickly and get them all done, you had to kind of space them out so the water heater could keep up.  One week he tells me:  you're the best dude ever, learning all this...blah blah blah.  The next week he tells me:  we've got to let you go, you're putting too many toppings on the pizza.  And then I find out that dumb kid decided to not go to CA after all, and they liked him better.  It's ok, I didn't much like working there, either.

Maybe I'll tell you about my job during the summer of 87, working at the Sheridan Egg Co.  If you're lucky.