Monday With the Mechanics
(photo – Cabel Sasser -Flickr)
The Mechanics take a break every day at 1:30. I frequently pop in to say hi during their breaks. When I walked in today, Kevin was parked in his usual spot. In front of him was a fat leather binder with a fireworks catalog inside it. Kevin sells fireworks in bulk every year before July 4th.
Me: KEVIN! Look at you. If you have a leather binder like that, you are BIG TIME.
Kevin: It’s serious business KB.
He then quickly opened the book and started paging through it like a 5-year-old boy seeing a Sears and Roebuck Christmas Wish catalog for the first time.
Kevin: I’ve got that one, and that one, and that one……….ooooh……. but I don’t have that one. I have to get that one. ………. OMG. LOOK! It’s the HATFIELDS AND MCCOYS…….in fireworks!
Me: What do they do?
Kevin (reading the description): “Watch Hattie and Clyde Hatfield from Virgina take on Buba and Lulu McCoy from Kentucy!” The Hatfields and the McCoys started fueding in 1863 so we bring you four feuding fountains, two from each family. Each side emits it’s own showers of either green sparks with gold glittering & titanium crackles and whistles or red sparks with white glittering & titanium crackles and whistles. Sound like gunshots and screaming!…….I. HAVE. TO. HAVE. THIS!
The names of the fireworks are hysterical and I often think you could play the “in bed” game with them like you do with fortune cookie fortunes. WILD CAT……… in bed. DIRTY THIRTY…….. in bed. SCREAMING BANSHEE…………in bed. The Hatfields and McCoys…………eehhh……..might be the exception.
After being swallowed whole by the Depressionasuarus Rex this morning, I decided the best way to get the beast to vomit me back into a happy reality was to visit The Mechanics (my coworkers who maintain the factory equipment). When I ventured to their domain, I found them outside grilling hamburgers and hot dogs for a work-place celebration. As I entered the roped-off grilling area wearing clothes fit for an undertaker slicing and dicing in the depths of a chilly morgue, the following conversaton occured.
Cliff (acting like he is going to throw a frozen hamburger at me): KB! GO LONG!!!
Jim: GOOD LORD KB! TAKE OFF THAT COAT!
Me: It’s freezing in the building.
Kevin: Are you some kind of vampire? (Kevin doesn’t focus on one topic long)
Kevin: OOOHHH………… 1 week to True Blood. BAM!
Me: I don’t watch that.
Kevin: You should! Snookie is a ho vampire.
Me: I came to see y’all because I’m depressed.
Cliff: DEPRESSED!!! KB! Why are you depressed?
Me: My life sucks.
Cliff: You sound like you’ve been in a bar all morning drinking beer. Next thing ya know you’re going to be asking me which end of the bridge is easiest to jump off of.
Me: It’s not THAT bad.
Cliff: See. That’s what I mean. Your life doesn’t suck.
Kevin: I know something that’ll cheer you up? I picked up a load of fireworks yesterday. There are some dandies. This year we’ve go your “Bezerky Frenzy” and your “Dirty Thirty.”
After standing by the grill for awhile, I began to get hot. I took my coat off. When I did, I noticed the coat had picked up the heady scent of grilled burgers.
Me: Why is there no perfume named “Grilled Burgers?” Would ya’ll like that on women?
Kevin: Yeah. If it was on Jessica Alba.
(quickly changes the subject)
Kevin: Hey! Have you had that new pie at the pie place that involves macaroni and cheese poured in a pie crust made of bacon?
Me: What if there was a perfume that smells like bacon? Would y’all like that?
Guys in unison: NO! no no no.
I hung out with The Mechanics longer than normal today. When I walked away, my mood had been lifted significantly. If I had to develop some kind of hypothesis, I’d say The Mechanics are a Depressionasuarus Rex’s ipecac. Then again. Maybe I started tasting like a grilled hamburger and the Depressionasuarus Rex didn’t like it! Either way, I was properly vomited out of that beast. I love The Mechanics.
Today I ate lunch at the local Tex-Mex restaurant (Houston’s) The Most Interesting Man in the World with the mechanics and The Most Interesting Man in the World who graciously struck a pose with Kevin and Cliff (photo). For lunch, my boys ordered a boy-sized pile of hot wings and proceeded to eat them with the passion of cavemen. They say, “When in Rome, do like the Romans Do,” so I dove in like I hadn’t eaten in a week. The rapid fire of wing slinging elbows resulted in wing sauce being sprayed like machine gun fire on everyone in the room. In the end, all of us sported wing rings around our mouths. We were happy, but my face burned for two hours afterward.
Long after the fire on my face had been extinguished, I went to see Cliff. When I crossed the threshold of his office, I froze. He sat motionless staring at the wall with a blood-dotted tissue hanging out of his nose. The wings apparently had set fire to his sinuses. I immediately started laughing.
Cliff: Man! I’m embarrassed.
Me: Pfft. That’s not embarrassing! When I was a very young adult, my nose started bleeding one time while kissing a boyfriend.
Cliff: Was the boyfriend you were kissing nice about it or did he try to shove your face in a pillow to stop the bleeding?
Me: He was nice. I mean. What would you have done if your girlfriend’s nose started bleeding?
Cliff: As a young man? I wouldn’t have given a crap. I’d probably just said, “Here cram this tissue up your nose and take your clothes off.”