Karma's a Bitch!

The company I was working for back in 2001 hired a new engineer. When I say new, I mean he was new. Fresh out of school. Probably about 30 yrs old. This guy, ummm… lets call him…Ken, was a bit of a germ freak. You could say he was obsessive about it. Most likely not taking his medications for it. Neatly trimmed and combed hair every day. Clean cut. Thin, but not in shape. He knew this too. He would even do pushups and sit-ups on his floor IN his tiny cubicle. He had Lysol Disinfectant spray handy on his desk and used it frivolously. I never saw him, but I’m certain that he sprayed the floor down every day before his exercising session.

Ken lived by himself and drove an old mafia type sedan. You know, like an old tan beat up Audi or something solid like that. For some reason, one day, he was getting something out of the trunk of his car and it was loaded, and I mean loaded with self help books. I have 3 or 4 books in my collection. I could see someone having a dozen or so. Maybe even some on tape or CD. This guy had at least 80 books and dozens of tapes of this shit! Even videos! I asked him if he stood in an alley way at night and sold them for a part-time job. He said they were all his and I was welcome to borrow them any time! ‘No thanks’ I said. ‘If I can help my self, why would I need HELP? Help would mean I can’t do it myself, therefore, I would expect someone else to assist me, not my SELF.’ I said this full well knowing I was going to get the ‘self help’ definition from him, so I immediately told him I was joking and quickly changed the subject.

Another day, he was at my desk, leaning up against it as he was looking at my monitor while we were working. I looked down to my right and noticed a small coffee drop stain on my desk near his hand. Very small stain and it could have been there for a day or so. As he was talking to me, explaining his thoughts on something work related, I wet the tip of my finger with my tongue and rubbed out the stain on my desk. Ken jumped away from my desk and in complete disbelief asked, “Is that how you clean your desk?” I laughed and said, “Why yes! That’s how I clean my entiiiiiiiire desk!” as I motion with my arms over my whole desk. He immediately turned around and walked away in disgust. I laughed my ass off! Later, while he was away from his desk, I licked my finger and wiped it on his mouse! Poor guy…Hahaha!

Unfortunately for me, the two of us were assigned to the same project, and, we were in need to go visit the job sites. Karma’s a bitch!

One job site was in Ft. Morgan Colorado, and the other was in Lincoln, Nebraska. The best way of travel time wise and financially was to fly into Denver, drive to Ft. Morgan, then to Lincoln, then drive to Omaha to fly back home. The whole trip was to take 2 and a half days. The drive from Ft. Morgan to Lincoln was going to be about 5 hours straight through. I wanted to stop off in Sidney and go to Cabelas sporting good store. This would take us about an hour off route, and maybe add another 30 min – 1 hour of driving time. The whole drive should not have taken us more than 8 hours WITH an hour shopping at Cabelas. As you will soon see, this was the longest road trip of my life!


The Itinerary:

Day 1:
Fly out to Denver Monday morning 9am. Arrive in Denver around 10:30.
Get rental car and drive to Ft. Morgan CO. Arrive around 12:00pm
Work until 6 or 7pm.
Get dinner.
Go to bed.

Day 2:
7am Breakfast.
Work until 3pm.
Drive to Lincoln NB. Arrive by 11pm.
Check into hotel.
Bed.

Day 3:
7am Breakfast.
Work until 3pm.
Drive to Omaha airport.
Flight home at 6pm.
Home by 9pm.



Day 1

Normally when I fly with business partners, we typically don’t end up sitting next to each other. Not that we didn’t ever intentionally avoid sitting next to each other, we just didn’t. I’m good with that too, because I don’t normally like to talk on flights. To me, it’s kinda rude to others that may want to have some piece and quite, and I respect that, because God knows there are times when I want it. However, this flight, Ken ended up next to me. And you guessed it…he wouldn’t shut up. I wanted to cough on him, but was afraid he would whip out is pocket sized can of Lysol and spray me down with it.

Thank God the flight was only an hour and a half long. But that didn’t seem to matter a bit, because I was going to spend the next 48 hours with him attached to my hip.

We FINALLY get to Denver on what seemed to be the longest flight of my life. We get to the rental car company and I find out the rental was reserved under his name. He has to drive now. This sucks for me because I’d rather drive, but I’m ok with it.

We get on the road and the speed limit is 65. He sets the cruise control to 63.

Me: Dude. The speed lime is 65. You should be going 72, or at least stay up with traffic.

Ken: The speed LIMIT is 65. That’s the LIMIT. That means you shouldn’t go any faster than that and I’m not going to get a speeding ticket out here.

Me: Semi trucks are passing us Ken. You’re a hazard on the road. The least you could do is the keep up with traffic.

Ken: No. They can get the tickets. I’ll stay at this speed.

Me: Well, at least put your ‘hazard’ lights on then!

Around 1pm we FINALLY get to Ft. Morgan. (nearly an hour behind schedule now). The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. We do our work, get our dinner, argue a little about what we actually get paid for on our per diem, then get to our hotel and to bed. (ya, we had separate rooms. Thank God!)


Day 2

We get to work. Pretty much uneventful as well. Ken does his typical “I don’t know why I’m here” stuff and I go off by myself to avoid him and all his stupid comments and get my work done. I don’t want to be on this trip any longer than I have to.

I’m done by 2pm. This is great! Even took a lunch! I tell Ken we can check out of the hotel and get on down the road.

So, we do. We check out of our hotel, and head to Sydney Nebraska. Cabales, here we come! Woo Hoo!

30 min into the drive, I’m done talking to him. Having a civil conversation with this guy is completely impossible. He is useless to have a conversation with. On top of this, we are going 53 MPH, because the speed limit on this two lane ‘highway’ is only 55. My clothes are going to be out of style before we get there. I’m going to die in this seat, I just know it. I hate him. HATE. Hate is a strong word. I don’t ‘hate’ anyone. Well, except one person, and that’s a different blog…

After what seemed like days, we finally make it to Cabalas. Shopped for about an hour then we were ready to get back on the road. I was getting pretty hungry by now. It was about 7 or 8 and we had not eaten since noon. My body apparently is on a schedule of eating before now and it was getting upset with me.

‘Lets stop at someplace along the road.’ He says.

‘We have Arby’s, Wendy’s and Subway right here Ken! What more do you want?’

‘Someplace decent we can sit down at. A restaurant.’ He says.

‘Fine.’ I say. And we are on the road again.

The sun goes down behind us as we travel along the long, desolate 2 lane highway at 53 MPH, passing a farm house every mile or so as I watch the diesels pass us. I was certain I was going to see a kid on his bicycle ride up next to us and ask if everything was alright. There is nothing out here. I mean, NOTHING.
9:00 – We pass an exit that had a gas station and a fast food place.
9:30 – We pass another one.
10:00 – Another….

I’m going to eat my arm.

10:30 – pass another exit…

At each possible sign of an exit with civilization, I’m cussing and yelling at Ken to get the fuck off the road to someplace to eat. I’m dyeing over here and I’m about to rip out the air bag and start chewing on it.

Finally, at 10:50, we pull off an exit that has a hotel and a truck stop WITH a restaurant! Big red neon lights that read:

‘RESTAURANT OPEN 24 HOURS’

‘There’s your restaurant Ken!’

‘I’m not eating at a truck stop’ he says. ‘This sign says there is a town 7 miles north. Lets see what they have there.’

‘It’s 11:00 on a weeknight Ken! Everything out here is going to be closed by 10:00! Lets just eat here!’

He turns the car and starts heading north at 35 MPH. For 7 miles. I’m going to kill this guy. 11:55 – we come up on a Subway sandwich place that is still open.

‘It’s open! We’re going there Ken! It’s better than that trucker food you don’t want.’

‘Well….Lets keep going into town and see if there is anything else.’ (BASTARD!)

5 min. later, we are in this ghost town and find a bar that looks like it might still be open.

‘Lets go there.’ he says.

‘You think this is going to be better than trucker food? You have got to be kidding me! I’m game if this is what you want. At least I can get a beer here too!’

We walk in and there are 2 people there. One sitting at the bar that is no more than 5 feet from the door. The other standing behind the bar cleaning glasses with a white towel. Both stop the conversation they were having and silently give us the ‘you two are obviously lost’ look. Rock music in the background coming from the juke box in the corner. Small place, maybe 3 tables and a pool table. Stairs going to a basement against the wall to the right.

‘You have any food here?’ I asked.

‘Ya – but I think the cook shut the kitchen down. I can get you a beer though.’

‘Alright! But first see if he’ll fire the grill up for a couple of burgers! I’m dyeing here. I’ll pay double what you charge!’ They both laugh as Ken says ‘I won’t!’ Moron!

‘I’ll go ask him.’ Says the bartender. He walks around the bar, past us, and down the stairs. We make small talk with the guy sitting. The bartender returns in a matter of seconds saying the cook is done for the night. Kitchen is closed. Mentally, I turned and hit Ken across the jaw with a right.

‘Shit! Thanks anyway. C’mon Ken.’

We head on down to Subway. As we pull in the parking lot, I notice the ‘Open’ sign is no longer lit. I look at my watch and it is 11:10. Then, the lights go out inside.

Again, I’m mentally beating the shit out of Ken.

‘Well Ken. Looks like it’s the truck stop restaurant.’

‘I guess so.’ he says. Moron.

We finally make it back to the truck stop. We walk in the restaurant and it seems very quite and dark. I blow it off thinking it is nearly 11:30 in the middle of nowhere. This is to be expected. The store off to the left is all lit up and hopping with customers.

We make our way to the restaurant area where the hosts’ podium is and there stands a white board next to the podium the reads:

‘KITCHEN CLOSED FOR MONTHLY CLEANING.

WILL REOPEN AT 7AM FOR BREAKFAST.’

Monthly cleaning? Did I read that right? MONTHLY cleaning? They only clean this kitchen once a month? Are you serious? Maybe it's best this way I think. But I'm not telling Ken that.

Mentally, I’ve got him on the floor on his back; I’m standing over him beating the living shit out of him. Not much I can do at this point. Not only am I ready to eat my arm, but I’m seriously contemplating killing him. We ARE in the middle of nowhere. He has no family back home. Lives by himself. No one would miss him. No one would ever know. I was actually starting to plan something.

Without looking at him, I turned and walked to the store to look for something. He follows and asks what I’m going to do. ‘kill you!’ I thought.

‘I’m going to buy me a muffin and walk across the street to that hotel, check in and go to bed. I’ll see you at breakfast at the hotel lobby if you make it through the night.’

‘What?’ he says.

‘I said I’ll see you at breakfast if you decide you are going to stay there too.’

‘Is that all your going to have? That muffin?’ he asked. I looked at him, then grabbed my muffin and walked across the street.


Day 3

Eating breakfast the following morning by myself, I was hoping I got up in my sleep and killed him in his room while he was sleeping. Just as I was thinking this, he walks in and starts gathering up his breakfast from the buffet. Damnit. I didn’t.

We finish our trip to the second job site with little conversation. We do our work and head home. I talked to him as little as possible. I really just wanted to kill him. Aside from my comments under my breath to him about wanting to kill him….slowly, the rest of the trip was uneventful.

After we got off the plane, he said, ‘well, see you at work tomorrow!’

‘Not if I see you first.’ I said.

I don’t know if he ever really knew why I was so mad at him after that trip. I never talked to him. Could not work with him at all after that. He eventually got transferred to our parent company in Japan, thank God! Only saw him one other time when I was there on business. The whole Japanese office had nothing but complaints about him. How nosy he was. The smell of the cleaners he’d use. The smell of the cologne he’d wear. Nobody seemed to be able to get along with this guy. No matter the country he was in. What a moron.

I got my fill just in time!

HEY !!! I did it! I finally filled up my car with gas the day BEFORE the MASSIVE price gouging occurred! WOO HOO! Prices went from a rock bottom $2.97/gal to not only surpass the $3.00 mark, but blew it out of the oil drum at an amazing $3.13 per gallon! Do the math on that. I'll wait.....OK - long enough. If you didn't get it figured out, that's $0.16 cent increase! SIXTEEN CENTS PER GALLON! I realize other places around the country are much higher than that right now, but I know you all feel my pain when the prices jump like this. Some may say, 'when you're paying 3 bucks a gallon, what's another 16 cents?' Well, on the other hand, I don't think anyone that pays for gasoline would say that at all. What was I thinking.
The thing that REALLY sucks about this, and I shouldn't complain to much because It was my decision, is I sold my little bet up old 4 banger car for an 8 cyl. 5.9 liter Durango! I went from spending $30 a week on gas, to over $130! That, my friends, is a killer for me. I need to sell this gas sucking machine as soon as possible!

Hope you all have a happy St. Patrick's Day!

The day I nearly killed my neighbor...on purpose!

I was washing my motorcycle one Saturday afternoon when one of my neighbors comes over to bullshit with me.

‘What’s up my brother?” I asked.

He IS black and yes, I got his permission to call him that. J was in his mid 20’s, had 2 kids with his white girlfriend, S. She was also in her mid 20’s. She just had all her teeth pulled and I think was pregnant with their 3rd kid. Not sure so don’t quote me on that. It’s just that she always looked about 8 months pregnant. These people always walked around everywhere barefoot. J rarely wore anything but his shorts. He stands about 6ft. Big boned and probably tipping the scales at around 250. Not a slim guy, and he had a gut on him that made it so he couldn’t see how long his toenails had gotten. His back was covered with the remnants of an old war battle he was in (and lost) with his acne. Not a pretty site. He had a short afro that hadn’t seen a pick since 7th grade. (which was probably last year).

S was pushing 250 herself, but she was only about 5ft 4. Always in nothing but shorts and a t-shirt with the 2 yr old twins attached to each leg wearing only a diaper. Each diaper was carrying that child’s weight in urine and sagging to the ground like it just can’t hang on to the kids hips any longer. The boy was white as day and the girl was black as night, both with the African American afro just trying to get big. The last time either of the kids had a bath was just before the nurse handed the kids over the their mother for the last time at the hospital after they were born. (I don’t count the spray downs with the hose after the ramen noodle or mac & cheese fights).

‘Man, I’d like to get me a bike sometime. What kind of bike is that?’, J asked.

‘It’s an 1983 650CX Custom.’ I said. ‘You ever been on a bike?’ I asked

‘Oh hell ya! I use da ride on em all da time back in Texas! Hell, we’d ride all day long, ya, I been on a bike! When yer done washin yours, you ought da let me take er for a spin!’

‘I don’t think so.’ ‘Na, It’s all good man! I swear! I’m a good rider. C’mon! Been so long since I been on a bike. Just a little spin around da block. C’mon brother.’

This went on for about 20 mins. Him telling me he can ride and me declining with stuff like ‘A bikes like your woman. You don’t lend her out to anyone to ride.’ He’d respond with stuff like, ‘dude, you can take my woman on a cross country trip! Hell, I don’t care!’ ‘ya – I’m on it! – HA!’ I say. He laughs.

After another 20 mins. I’m finishing up with washing my bike. He’s begging me at this point. ‘I’m not gunna steal it man! C’mon, let me take it for a spin.’

‘Alright! Hell, just shut the hell up already! You sure you know how to ride?’

‘Nutin to it!’ he says.


I move my bike from my patio into the carport of the townhouse complex. Across the drive is another carport for the opposing townhouses. I have the bike ready for him to just pull out into the drive and said, ‘ok, you ready?’

‘Ya I’m ready!’ he says, and climbs on.

‘Dude, you should probably put some shoes on.’

‘Na, It’ll be ah-right!’ This should have been my first clue he had not actually ever drove a bike before.
‘Where’s the clutch, right here on the left handle?’

‘Ya – and the accelerator is on the right.’

‘The what?’ he says.

‘The accelerator…the GAS!’

‘Awe – ya, right, I know where that’s at, shiiit!’, he says, ‘And the shifting is done where, down here at my feet?’

At this point, I knew he was just giving me shit. He had spent the last 45 mins bragging about how good he was. Now, he’s finally got his chance to ride a bike and he don’t know where to shift at? I hoped he was just joking….

We started the bike up and he suddenly became a bit more nervous.
His girlfriend and the twins are now outside watching this and asking if I’m sure I want him to do that, and giving her comments about how incapable he is. Even as a human being. (some how, looking back, I believe every word now.)

He said, ‘now I just let the clutch out and give it a little gas, right?’

I laughed (still thinking he’s blowing smoke up my ass) and said, ‘ya – just let the clutch out and give a little gas.”

Now, this is where everything starts slowing down for me. The next 3-4 seconds of my life ends up feeling like 5 minutes or more and I am paralyzed and can’t move.

He starts off slowly. I’m imagining him pulling out into the drive between the carports and on his way. This does not happen. Instead, he pulls straight out and keeps going straight. He realizes he is not turning and panics and tries to stop, however, he don’t know where the brake is. So, to stop himself, he puts his feet down on the ground. His BARE FEET ON THE GROUND! Mind you, this bike is over 400 lbs, and is moving at this point about 10 mph, ALREADY! And he puts his bare feet on the ground to stop!

As his feet make contact with the asphalt, they immediately kick back and now the tops of his long toenails are scraping the asphalt and leaving a mark. He is now about halfway across the 30 ft wide driveway and the bike starts to wobble from his feet hitting the ground and he is starting to loose control. (like he ever had it in the first place.)

The bike has turned itself slightly, just enough to be making a b-line for the carport post on the other side. If he misses that, he has the wall of the neighbors’ patio to stop him before he runs into the cinderblock townhouse.

I see my life with my bike pass before my eyes. All the good times we had. The solitary ride up the canyons. The polar bear ride with 1,500 other riders. The Safety awareness ride with 100 other riders at the race track. The nice cool morning rides into work. Awe, the memories…

As me and his girlfriend stand side by side watching this with our jaws dropped open, he continues his ride across this driveway. The bike wobbling more now and the poles for the carport getting closer. J somehow manages to narrowly miss the first pole as he enters the carport. The second pole is dead on now. No way at his speed is he going to turn away and miss it. Even if he does, he’s hitting that wall. My bike is doomed. I’ve had my last ride on it and I didn’t even know it. It’s like eating a cookie and digging in the jar for one last cookie to savor and there’s nothing! Your taste buds explode for more and there is nothing you can do about it. I needed one last ride, and there was nothing I could do about it but sit back and watch my bike get destroyed.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the brake lights came on and the back tire locked up! As the rear tire was leaving its mark on the asphalt, the front tire was approaching the pole, and fast. J managed to steer the wheel off to the right side of the pole missing it by an inch and the back tire stopped the bike just inches from the front turn signal hitting it.

He stopped! Somehow, he stopped! I could not believe my eyes. I looked over at S, and she looked at me like she was going to take him back in the house and beat the living shit out of him. I was probably giving her the same look. We both ran over to him and I shut the bike off. J was laughing and apologizing all at the same time. Admitting NOW that he had never actually drove a bike. He’d been on one once, but only as a passenger when he was about 8!

He climbed off the bike and I pulled it away from the pole. I told him he just about died, and not from nearly wrecking the bike. From me kicking his broke ass into the ground!

He apologized and I took my bike back across the drive and parked it. S and I then spent the next hour cursing him and checking out the skid mark on the ground from both the tire and his toenails. I wish I had a picture of it. His toenails actually left marks on the ground. Halfway across the drive and into the parking stalls. Not a mark on him though.

Needless to say, I never let him touch my bike again, nor did I believe ANYTHING he had to say to me. AND, I’d tell him too. Shortly after that, he left S and moved to Texas without telling anyone. Just one day, got in his car and left. 2 days later, he called S and told her he was in Texas and she can have the kids. She said, ‘Good!’ Life’s been good ever since! She says.

And I’d have to agree….

“Dude…You’re just like me!”

Several years ago I used to live in a Townhouse complex and one of my neighbors was mostly deaf and partially blind and a little slow in the mental capacity. He was around 23 but acted like he was 13. We’ll call him Dulain. Dulain is a really nice guy. Do anything for ya. He lived across from me, so when he looked out his window, he could see me out in my patio. Whenever he saw me, he liked to come and over bull shit with me and see what I was doing. Whether I was fixing my motorcycle or fixing up the flower beds, he was there putting in his two cents worth because nearly everything I was doing, he had already done or knew how to do it because he had seen it on TV or saw somebody else do it. Just so happens, I was always doing it wrong.

One day, I was out painting my patio and Dulain walks over and starts in about how he needs to paint his patio. He sees that I have a 5 gal bucket of paint and a paint pan to dump it in and dip the roller in. He says, ‘Hey – you’re just like me!” I laughed said, “How so?” He says, “you dump your paint into a roller pan and paint that way instead of just dipping the roller in the bucket.” “No Dulain,” I say, “you’re just like the rest of the world. This is how you do it. I know there are people out there that just dip it in the bucket, but they sell these roller pans so you can roll the paint on the brush to get the paint on the roller evenly. That’s how it’s done. I’m NOT like you…at all.”

Another time I was out doing yard work and cleaning out my flower bed, moving rocks around…you know, typical summer Saturday morning stuff. Dulain wanders over and says, ‘Hey – You’re just like me!’ I laugh and say, ‘How’s that Dulain?’ he says, ‘doing yard work on Saturday mornings. I love to come out in the mornings on the weekend and get this stuff done. Especially on a great day like today. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…’ I say, ‘Dude – Unlike you….I work all week. Saturday’s and Sunday’s are the only days I have to do stuff around the house. So, I don’t really think I’m like you at all.”

Another one…I’m out barbequing burgers and hot dogs on the grill. Dulain, being the nosey neighbor he is, mosies his way over to my place and asks what I’m grillin. “Burgers and dogs” I say. “Dogs for the kids?” he asks. “Yep” I said. “Dude – you’re just like me. I cook up the good stuff for me and the wife, and the hot dogs for the kids. No since spending a bunch of money on food the kids won’t finish or even like.” “No dude, I’m not like you. My kids ASKED if they could have hot dogs in stead of burgers. Has nothing to do with money. I’m nothing like you.” He says, “Well, tomorrow night after I get my food stamp money, I’ll be cooking up some ribs for me and the wife and the kids can have whatever they want. Hot dogs, cereal, candy, hell, I don’t care. I’ll be fat and happy on my perfect ribs. Blah, blah, blah…blah blah, blah…”

“So, when you going to get a job Dulain?” “I applied at dominoes pizza to be a driver, but I need to get my license first.” The state took his license away when he got in an accident and the officer realized he was legally deaf and don’t have a hearing aid. “Dominoes has basically hired me, I just need to go get my license.” “When you going to do that?” I asked. “I’m just waiting for the state to send me some money to get a hearing aid. But I need to first go get tested and fitted for one. My sister just needs to get me down there to do it. You know her. Can’t depend on her for anything.” (that’s another story I’m not going to get into right now. God, what a train wreck.)

“So Dulain,” I ask, “Where’s your car?”
“No car.” He says, “It got totaled in the wreck.” “How you going to deliver pizzas if you don’t have a car?” “I got a buddy of mine that is going to sell me one of his cars for $200 as soon as I get my license.” He says. "You have $200 for a car?" I ask. "No, But after I get an attourney and sue the guy that hit me I should have it."

“So let me get this straight. You don’t have a job. You don’t have a car. You don't have money for a car. You don’t have a drivers license. You are deaf, and live with your mother-in-law and collect money from the state and your going to go by ribs with your food stamp money instead of food for your kids?” He kinda laughs and says “Ya - Oh, come check out my new barbequer I got from lowes on sale for $180!”

“Ya Dude,” I say “I’m NOTHING like you.”