What Rocks? (1 Viewer)

Black Swan

Abord the Yorikke!
Sorry about the long post. I had to unload it.

5 days ago, as a job, I dug up 25 holes in a garden to plant a variety of small bushes. I dug up more rocks than what I had to plant, filled all the empty pots with them rocks and a load more, some huge.
After thinking that the garbage truck would refuse to pick them up as trash, I decided to throw them all at the back of my truck. When I got home, I called the customer to ask him where could I put the rocks. He said that the city dump would accept the rocks if I paid them 15 bucks. I called the city and they confirmed that.

I carried them for days, because I had a few other jobs to do that couldn't wait.

I was running out of space for the hoses, lawnmower, the rakes, and the weight was getting tough on my suspension, so I decided to make the trip to the dump this afternoon.

I was starting to feel like Arlo in Alice's Restaurant.

At the dump, they told me that I would have to pay 40 bucks and not 15 because I was driving a van. I told a city employee that they would probably fill a car. He then told me that if I brought them back in a car it would cost me 15 bucks. He said that he needed a driver's licence and the plates of the vehicle and that my van classified as a truck. I refused to pay 40 bucks and told him that he was being illogical, that it should be calculated by the load.

He said that if the rocks were in smaller pots, the garbage truck would pick them up as trash, but that the garbage men might leave some if it took them longer than 2 minutes to pick up. I was getting histerical and told him that I could bring some to the city hall on garbage day and the rest in the mayor's driveway. I asked to talk to his supervisor but he had gone home.

So, I left with the rocks in the van.

I then decided to unload a few pots of rocks at different addresses. I also thought that I might get a ticket for throwing trash on other people's property. I had to go through a few quiet streets before I could commit the crime. I saw a load of contruction materials behind a bank. I pretended that I was picking the garbage and when I was sure that no one was looking, I lined up all the pots in a row along a wall of trash. The city workers surely won't leave dust behind a bank.

After calculating the time and the gas that I used, not counting the stress level that I reached, I probably saved 2 bucks. I still have to clean the back of my old van and that should take a good hour of my own time. That puts me in the red, I guess.
 
I then decided to unload a few pots of rocks at different addresses. I also thought that I might get a ticket for throwing trash on other people's property. I had to go through a few quiet streets before I could commit the crime. I saw a load of contruction materials behind a bank. I pretended that I was picking the garbage and when I was sure that no one was looking, I lined up all the pots in a row along a wall of trash. The city workers surely won't leave dust behind a bank.

Reminds me of:

I speeded back to Tammie's. I pulled up and double-parked, put the
red warning lights on. I pulled the boxes out of the car and stacked
them on the porch. I covered them with blankets and toys, rang the bell
and drove off.
When I came back with the second load the first load was gone. I
made another stack, rang the bell and wheeled off like a missile.
When I came back with the third load the second was gone. I made
a new stack and rang the bell. Then I was off again into the early
morning.
When I got back to my place I had a vodka and water and looked at
what was left. There was the heavy rattan chair and the standup hair
dryer. I could only make one more run. It was either the chair or the
dryer. The Volks couldn't consume both.
I decided on the rattan chair. It was 4 AM. I was double-parked in
front of my place with the warning lights on. I finished the vodka and
water. I was getting drunker and weaker. I picked up the rattan, it was
really heavy, and carried it down the walk to my car. I sat it down and
opened the door opposite the driver's side. I jammed the rattan chair
in. Then I tried to close the door. The chair was sticking out. I tried to
pull the chair out of the car. It was stuck. I cursed, and pushed it further
in. One leg of the rattan poked through the windshield and stuck out,
pointing at the sky. The door still wouldn't close. It wasn't even close.
I tried to push the leg of the chair further through the windshield so
that I could close the door. It wouldn't budge. The chair was jammed
in tight. I tried to pull it out. It wouldn't move. Desperately I pulled
and pushed, pulled and pushed. If the police came, I was finished. After
some time I wearied. I climbed in the driver's side. There were no
parking spaces in the street. I drove the car down to the pizza parlor
parking lot, the open door swinging back and forth. I left it there with
the door open, the ceiling light on. (The ceiling light wouldn't shut off.)
The windshield was smashed, the chair leg poking out into the moonlight.
The whole scene was indecent, mad. It smacked of murder and
assassination. My beautiful car.
I walked down the street and back to my place. I poured another
vodka and water and phoned Tammie.
"Look, baby, I'm in a jam. I've got your chair stuck through my
windshield and I can't get it out and I can't get it in and the door
won't close. The windshield is smashed. What can I do? Help me, for
Christ's sake!"
"You'll think of something, Hank."
She hung up.
I dialed again. "Baby...."
She hung up. Then next the phone was off the hook: bzzzz, bzzzzzz,
bzzzz....
I stretched out on the bed. The phone rang.
"Tammie...."
"Hank, this is Valerie. I just came home. I want to tell you that your
car is parked in the pizza parlor with the door open."
"Thanks, Valerie, but I can't close the door. There is a rattan chair
stuck through the windshield."
"Oh, I didn't notice that."
"I appreciate your phoning."
I fell asleep. It was one worried sleep. They were going to tow me
away. I was going to get booked.
I awakened at 6:20 AM, got dressed and walked to the pizza parlor.
The car was still there. The sun was coming up.
I reached in and grabbed the rattan. It still wouldn't budge. I was
furious, and began pulling and yanking, cursing. The more impossible
it seemed, the madder I got. Suddenly there was a cracking of wood. I
was inspired, energized. A piece of wood broke off in my hands. I
looked at it, tossed it into the street, went back to my task. Something
else broke off. The days in the factories, the days of unloading boxcars,
the days of lifting cases of frozen fish, the days of carrying murdered
cattle on my shoulders were paying off. I had always been strong but
equally lazy. Now I was tearing that chair to pieces. Finally I ripped it
out of the car. I attacked it in the parking lot. I smashed it to bits, I broke
it in pieces. Then I picked up the pieces and stacked them neatly on
somebody's front lawn.

Excerpt of "Women" © Charles Bukowski
 
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Funny thing, I could actually sing a few words of the first and whistle the second.
Things we store! o_0o No wonder my memory is failing me, there is no room left.
 
I believe that bukfan types with 1 or 2 fingers.
Hey, don't involve me in your sorry excuses, or I'll tell people about 'Miss Pinky', the battery driven rubber head you keep locked away. :wb:
 
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