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.