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

To: Rambi who wrote (39389)	10/7/1999 6:25:00 PM
From: Gauguin	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

You tell her, Rambi. Yes we are...... eom

To: Rambi who wrote (39389)	10/7/1999 6:47:00 PM
From: Crocodile	Respond to of 71178

Hark!! What's that mournful cry??!!! I think I heard it at least a mile before I got to the farm and switched on the computer.... Ah, I see... You're looking for Part 3 of the Wrecking Yard Story... Well, allow me a little time wine and dine and I shall return... I promise that all of your questions will be answered... Later little gators... Croc...;-}>

To: Rambi who wrote (39389)	10/7/1999 10:54:00 PM
From: Crocodile	Respond to of 71178

Wrecking Yard Story No. 3 -- Part 3. Some wrecking yards exist on a different plane of reality... in some kind of warped out dimension which is devoid of normal rules. What passes for "normal" would seem to be "on the edge"... or perhaps already over the edge to most people. But after awhile, if you're "there" long enough, all things become mundane. I mention this because some of the following events and adventures may seem...well..bizarre.... Even now, I sometimes wonder how all of these things happened,.. and how I survived for 3 years in the vortex of a whirlpool of insanity... Now, it seems that the toilet-less office has raised great consternation..and so I should pick up the story at that point. Yes, it's true... there wasn't a toilet at the wrecking yard when I arrived. In fact, there wasn't a toilet for at least 2 or 3 weeks. It seems that the owner had decided to wait to see if I would stay long enough to make it worthwhile to install a toilet in the "tail-lamp storage room". Thus began a little Waiting Game... with me having to retain body fluids like some desert camel while arguing for the need for a toilet... while he, promising me a toilet, waited to see what my next move would be. Would I decide to pack it in and leave in a week, or two, or three... Or would I break down and decide to make do with The House That **** Built? Or would I stoically hold my ground (and my water) while insisting that a toilet was a right...nay... a necessity...in order to work properly. And finally... arriving at work one Monday morning, I was met in the yard by the owner...beaming like the Great Sol himself... eager to escort me to the tail-lamp storage room to see his handiwork. And there... there against the wall, stood "The Toilet". Never mind that it was some strange colour of 1950s pink... and that it wasn't bolted to the floor... and that the gray, brackish fluid in the bowl was an unsettling mixture of 1/3 water, 2/3 motor oil, with a good measure of bright red "rust" added for color. No, here was a throne fit enough for even the most discerning Wrecking Yard Princess... With a raised eyebrow and a faint smile, I nodded my approval... And so it was that I stayed.... Now, before going further, there are a few points that beg explanation... First, most wrecking yards are not located on "prime real estate". No... they are usually at the end of a dead-end road... probably in the middle of some mosquito-infested swamp or bog. This yard was quite typical. It consisted of several acres of swampy ground with a wide moat which someone, with great foresight, had dug around the perimeter to keep would-be auto parts thieves out...and unhappy employees in. However, as you will soon see, The Moat was a stroke of genius... Next... many wrecking yards make use of "torch trucks" which are the principle form of transportation over the rough roads that weave between countless rows of rusting, rotting "heaps". Each "torch truck" is a masterpiece...conceived by its driver.... constructed of any car or truck or other miscellaneous pieces which the driver takes a fancy to. Many of the torch trucks are actually cars which have been hacked apart to turn into Jeep-like gizmos that would warm the heart of Mad Max himself. Into these trucks, cutting torches and their gas tanks are secured to turn them into mobile units..well equipped to voyage into even the swampiest regions of the yard to cut away chunks of cars which will be sold to body shops or garages... And last... The denizens of the wrecking yard are a "different crowd". They come from all walks of life. Some are illiterate... some are scholars... some are funny, or witty, or possibly insane according to any legal or medical definition. Most are young.... All tend to be heroic in their own way... It's a very tough life... and can be very dangerous.. Now, back to The Story.... The weeks rolled by, and then weeks turned into months. But every day was full of surprises... some pleasant, and some frightening or infuriating. First there were the accidents... a car going up in flames after it became ignited by someone's cutting torch... a slipping jack almost pinning someone into the mud.... two torch trucks colliding while their drivers worked on their stunt-driving techniques out in The Field. Burning cars were invariably extinguished by scooping them up with a large articulating loader, then summarily depositing them into the nearest section of The Moat. Injured men were usually rushed to the office for "patching up"... On a couple of occasions there were very close calls... One that immediately comes to mind is the day that Tire Mountain went on fire... I don't remember how it started, but someone yelled to me to call everyone over the intercom to tell them to hike it over to Tire Mountain to break up the fire. Soon thick black smoke billowed up from the pile of rubber as men tore at the tires, trying to roll the burning ones down to the ground where other men would toss them into a section of The Moat. Everyone worked feverishly to keep the fire from spreading... At last the inferno was extinguished... just as the local fire department arrived on the scene with sirens screaming... The other incident involves he of the big hunting knife... (to be continued...)