“What an a-hole!!!”
So there I was, giggling insanely as I drove along the the embankment, looking out the driver’s window at the ground and trying to maintain control as I carreened perilously close to rolling my truck over on it’s side…
And this is just the beginning of a story that has it’s origin back when I was still recovering from my laparotomy.
It seems that in the infinite “Hive Consciousness” of the World Domination Motor Car Corporation, having your alignment specialist be cross-trained in “Check Engine Light” diagnosis and repair makes some kind of perverted sense. After all, most of the clowns I have been known to work with use the same tools to make repairs on both systems: Pneumatic Air Hammers/Chisels, 5 billion ton hydraulic presses, 900mm open end wrenches, 8 foot long pry bars with a 20ft piece of pipe on the end for leverage, etc. So the Service Manager calls me right after surgery and if I recall correctly it was something to the tune of:
“Troy?”
” Uhhh.”
“Yeah, um, it’s Trick Dipstick. You remember me, I’m your boss. You know, the one that makes your life a living hell, tells you to work for free, calls you in on your day off, interrupts your vacation with stupid shit and still wants you to pay for uniform maintanence even though you bought and launder your own uniforms…”
(“Doctor, the patient’s BP is climbing: 380/257, pulse 5000, veins sticking out of his neck and he’s turning green!!!”)
“Anyway just called to tell you I am sending you to Driveabilty School… That way when you test drive your alignments, you can also diagnose all those check engine lights someone else gets to fix and make all the money on and take credit for even though they have no clue. And if they break stuff or screw it up we still have you to blame because we will just say you diagnosed it wrong and back flag you even though you didn’t get paid in the first place. I think this idea is really gonna work out!!! Everybody wins!! Well, except you, but then again, who cares?”
“Hurry up and get well so we can have you back working your ass off while we continue to refuse to acknowledge your superb knowledge of the Automotive Business and wring you out like a wet dish rag while making us tons of money and we will still be saying we can not afford to pay you what you are worth…”
Fast forward 2 months.
So there I was attempting to negotiate the war zone filled with unrecognizable wreckage, bits of torn metal scattered about, burned out farm houses dotting the landscape (And I have not even left my driveway yet!!) on my way to the World Domination Automotive School. While only 25 miles away as the crow flies, it is a gauntlet of surface streets and freeways to be run by only the bravest souls who have forsaken their humanity in search of an elusive paycheck. I was listening to National Public Radio and sitting in heavy stop and go traffic when I approached something I had always wanted to do: A big rig driver and a pickup truck driver were duking it out in the #2 and 3 lanes of the freeway. At this point, having heard on the traffic report what is going on and why there is a 5000 mile back up on the I-10, the Princess calls me to make sure it’s not me as one of the combatants…
I replied “No, dear.”
“At least not yet, anyway.” (I DO want to be a combatant!!!! I do, I do, I do…!!!!!)
Seeing as this is going to go the full 15 rounds and probably have to go to the ringside judges for a declaration of the winner, I see a nice smooth embankment to my right. “Hell, its only a 70 degree slope. Why the hell not?” Seeing an opening in the emergency lane, I dart over and whipping the right 2 wheels of the War Wagon onto the embankment and driving with one eye out the windshield, one eye on my left mirror checking clearence to the ground, one eye checking for how much time I have to get to class, one eye checking the raido station and the other eye looking to see where I dropped my cigarettes, I swiftly clear the boxing arena and resume my journey into what looks like a scene from Leathal Weapon as a long haired guy with bare feet is running across the tops and hoods of cars clutching an assault rifle.
Hey, it’s Arizona!!! What did you think happens here? That’s why they have the slogan “Who you shoot in Arizona, STAYS in Arizona…”
Later that same day, I finally reach the doors to the heavily fortified bunker known as the World Domination Motor Car Corporation Technical Training Center, Boot Camp and Super Secret CIA Torture Center. When I get to the door, of course, it is locked and secured tighter than Fort Knox and after beating on the windows for a couple of minutes I notice the cameras tracking me…along with a remote controlled twin .50 caliber mount. So unleashing my own inner “MacGyver”, I take in the situation. Weighing the odds, inventorying what I have at hand, I come up with the genius solution.
I run like hell.
Walking around the building, I see an open gate, go through see a an open door and walk right into class and plant my ass right as the bell rings. Apologising to the instructor, I introduce myself. It was at that moment time seemed to slow as a fellow student turned in his seat to look at me…
Our eyes locked.
Recognition flared.
Eyebrows raised.
Nipples hardened.
Simultaneously we said “Weenie Licker!!!”
to be continued…