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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Jacques Chitte who wrote (39329)	10/6/1999 11:07:00 PM
From: Crocodile	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 71178

Wrecking Yard Story No. 3: Part 2. I enter the dingy old mobile home trailer. It's tidy, but not really clean. The 20-year-old wood paneling is stained and blackened with engine oil that has rubbed off of the denizens as they move about "the office". There are lots of those tacky little wooden plaques with cutsey sayings about work, bosses, and women. The only lighting is the original living room lights consisting of a square glass light fixture. It's a dreary old place...smells old and musty... I suppress the urge to turn and run away. I remind myself that all "new places" seem kind of weird and foreign for the first few days. And besides, my friend has just arrived in the office, grinning and introducing me to the fellow inmates. Most of them seem amiable enough, but there's one guy... standing a little away from the rest. He seems kind of angry and aloof. He's blond...wearing coveralls turned down to the waist so that his tanned upper body is bared. He has a couple of tattoos and a jeezly big hunting knife in a sheath strapped to his belt. He stands with arms crossed, staring forward, expressionless. Many years of experience in this biz tells me, "This one's going to be trouble...". Turning to other matters, a deal is struck and I agree to start the next day. I take my leave and drive off down the road, past the high sheet-metal fences and the graffiti... thinking... ...what have I got myself into... Morning comes much too early. I arrive for work and it's trial by fire... Nobody to tell me how or what to do. Phones just start ringing and I'm supposed to instinctively know what to do... But it goes well, until around noon. Suddenly I start thinking that I wouldn't mind a little "rest break". I wander into the back of the trailer looking for the washroom... (This would be the washroom with the bathtub full of tail-lamps mentioned some time ago in another Wrecking Yard Story). But, you see... this "story" predates that story, so when I find the washroom with the bathtub-full of tail-lamps, there isn't a toilet... just a couple of hoses sticking up through the linoleum floor. I scratch my head... puzzled... and walk back to the "living room", not quite sure of the proper protocol for locating a washroom in a wrecking yard. Just then, my old friend arrives in the office. Relieved (or "not-relieved" actually), I ask him where the toilet can be found. Gazing down at his feet... perhaps a little remorsefully, he mumbles something... (did I hear this right?)..about there not-being-a-toilet... "Say what???!!" "There isn't one... The water freezes in here in the winter, so we don't have one.." "You're kidding..." "Ahhh...no.." Silence... and then the logical question... "Uhmmm..well, if there isn't a toilet, what am I supposed to do?" He gestures for me to come and follow him outside... We walk to the edge of "The Field" and he points to a big old Bread Van about 300 Feet away.. the wheels are missing and it's sort of just sitting there on the ground like a rust-eaten old shed. And there... emblazoned on its side in foot-high scrawling letters are the words, The House That Built (names omitted to protect the not-so-innocent). I turn my back and growl, "OH MAN!!.. What the Hell am I doing here?!", as I march back to the office. Five hours later, kidneys ready to burst... I arrive home... practically knocking Mr. Croc down on my way through the front door... "How was your first day at work??"... "%$!@%£$@!!!!!" (to be continued....)