Shindog
10-12-04, 11:42 PM
I write these quasi-biographical stories from time to time. Please let me know if it's funny when you just read it with out having some one explain it and act it out.
One of the aspects of living in a college town that I never tire of is finds. Those of you how live in upper-scale type areas are most likely not familiar with the concept of finds. Just as your kids are most likely unfamiliar with pain games like butts-up and bloody knuckles. Some people can afford real games. You people can also usually afford furniture. I have never been one of these people. In college I was even less of one. That’s why my roommates and I had to rely on finds to furnish our homes.
Basically the furniture food chain is just like the social food chain, with me the last in line. As of my Junior year in college I had yet to pay for a single article of furniture. Everything in every one on my apartments was a find. I liked to take the phrase one man’s trash is another man’s treasure to extents that others usually feel are unhealthy.
Despite seven years of this behavior I only had one ill experience (a striking ratio compare to all those things that I only did for a couple months with many ill experiences). And a concussion is a small price to pay for long career of finds. And everything else that happened, happened to other people, so I don’t even think that should count. Let me explain.
It was a typical Idaho October day, which translates into gray. Gray skies, gray trees, skiffs of gray snow patching the brownish gray grass. My best friend Jack Pattywack and I were at a local park tossing the Frisbee around. After some rigorous physical exercise we were driving home when we saw it. There on the grass between the sidewalk and the street, hidden amongst some black plastic trash bags was the perfect find. We stopped the car so we could properly examine it.
It was chair, one of those nice leather ones. The kind that’s as comfortable as a recliner, but one solid piece, like a couch. At least it used to be. It was still leather but nice definitely no longer applied. There where several places where the leather was torn clean through. As a result of these holes a lot of the padding had come out forcing you’re middle back to rest against wood with only the no longer nice leather for cushioning. And it was not one solid piece anymore. It was still plenty solid but the left arm was now only attached by the torn leather cover. Basically, it was a piece of junk.
“This is so much nice than the other stuff in our place!” Jack exclaimed with excitement he usually reserved for $4.95 each Pizza Hut coupons.
“I know,” I cried back with a joy that I hadn’t felt since we found our coffee table. “Let’s get it in the car before any body else comes and takes it.”
This would have been easy with Jack drove a truck. Unfortunately for us he drove a ’78 Dodge Colt. We didn’t want to risk some body else taking it while we went back to the house to get rope or tape or anything so we just opened he trunk, put the chair in it and I sat in the chair to weight it into place. Our plan was working perfectly until Jack’s mean streak reared its ugly head.
We were stopped at a light waiting to cross the busy intersection (I had to beg him not to gun it through the yellow) when a car full of local co-eds pulled up next to us. I could tell there was something about me that they were attracted to because they couldn’t stop staring at me. One of them was about to ask me something, I can only assume it was my phone number when the light turned green. Jack, who was already green, gunned it, purposely flipping me out of the trunk, chair and all.
I’ve amazed myself before in the past but this was by far my one of my finest escapes. Using the natural momentum of the chair spinning out of the trunk I manage to do a barrel roll and stick the landing. I expected my Top Gun style maneuver to inspire the girls to treat me as they would Tom Cruise but alas they had already left with only their exhaust to remind me of what might have been.
Jack muttered some apology about how he forgot that I was back there and we loaded up the chair back into the back of his car. I figured that if I was going to let something little like that ruin our friendship it would have happened along time ago. Besides, his plan clearly backfired. I was a shoe in with those girls next time I saw them.
Our apartment complex was run by the biggest, strictest real estate company in town. . Each apartment was an exact replica of the ones one both sides of them. They had rules about everything to ensure that it would stay that way. We couldn’t put up posters, dart boards were out of the question, we couldn’t even buy holiday print paper towels (not a big deal to us, we didn’t even buy normal paper towels)
Of course they we’re always too busy doing all sorts of important real estate things so they never came by to actually enforce any of them so it was kind of on the honor system. They of course, along with everybody else who’s ever shared a fridge with college students realized that the honors system wasn’t really worth that much. For this reason they made committing the capitol offence of bringing in un-coordinated furniture impossible for the average human by making the path from the parking lot to our room a veritable obstacle course.
Jack and I however were anything but average. We had been kicked out of all kinds of apartments and had thus become experts at getting all our stuff in or out of places in less than two hours.
As I struggled to open the door behind my back while I balanced the chair on my knees the familiar sounds of me groaning in pain attracted our other two roommates Brian Batowski and Willy. “Hey great find!” Brian yelled as he held the door open for me. Willy, not being as refined in the science of finds, was full of needless doubt-filled questions.
“Where did you find it? How do you know they don’t want it any more? Are you sure this isn’t stealing? What’s that smell? Why is their gravel in it?” Some how in all the babbling he did managed to ask one question of worth. “Where are we gonna put it?”
I guess in all the excitement of the find I very took the time to think of were we would put the chair. Our place was already very well stocked with finds from all over town. Willy latched on to the momentary distress on my face like a starving coyote on a household guinea pig. “I guess we’ll just have to get rid of some of this junk,” he said smugly.
I don’t know what hurt worse, the fact that he would ask me to give up on of my children, or that he had called my babies junk. I figured is must have been that the big fat idiot thought he was smarter than I was. “We’ll put it right here,” I responded pointing to the empty space against the wall between the door and the door/hole that lead the bedrooms and bathroom.
“Where? In front of the door?” he asked.
“Yeah, why not?”
“There’s no room for it.”
No it was my turn to be smug. “What do you mean there’s no room for
it? It’s there now isn’t it?”
“Okay so maybe it fits, but I just think it in the way. What are we gonna do when we want to go from the door to our room?
“Step around it,” I explained. “It’s not like it’s that big.”
“I don’t know man,” Willy said. “It just feels like a bad idea.” At that moment, I could almost swear that I hear ominous music.
The endless stream of time continued to flow and ten whole hours passed rather uneventfully. We had all busied our selves with various activities. Willy had to visit the doctor and since he had no car Brian had to drive him. Jack became deeply involved with his homework. I was in the kitchen baking a cake. I had just placed the pan in the oven and was getting ready to eat the bowl of batter I’d set aside when Jack made a snack run.
“Why you baking Skippy?” he asked as he got the chips out of the cupboard.
“It’s Cathy’s birthday,” I explained.
“Is it traditional to make a cake for the girl you’re stalking?” Jack asked even though I’m pretty sure he knew the answer.
“Dude, if this cake doesn’t make her forget the kitty litter incident,” I reassured him “nothing will.”
While the cake of destiny was cooking I retired to my room to do some reading.
Mean while across town Willy’s doctor’s appointment was ending. (I was filled in on all this later) “Let’s hurry,” Willy whined. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”
Brian was going to argue with him that he should use the doctor’s restroom but we had all lived with Willy long enough to discover much to our dismay that not only had he never used a public toilet but if he had any control over the matter he never went number two with out taking a shower after wards. This may seem strange to you but in comparison to some of his other personality traits, it was down right normal.
So Brian had to “hurry” home. I use quotes here because Brian speeds for no man. By the time they made it home Willy was beyond miserable, he was at a dead sprint for the apartment before Brian had even opened his door. Before he was all the way in the front door Willy had already undone his belt and his pants where moving downward.
At this exact moment the smoke alarm went off announcing that I had forgot the now charred cake, I jumped to my feet to try and save the cake and my relationship with Cathy. Book in hand I ran with blinding speed from my back bedroom past the bathroom toward the kitchen.
Willy, forgetting that we had put the new find right in the path between the front door and the bathroom and not being able to see it through the smoke until it was too late was forced to hurdle it. He actually might have made it had his pants not been around his ankles to trip him up. His hands were still busy with other matters so he landed on his face right in front of our hallway.
I saw Willy go down and heard the thud but I was too close to stop myself. I felt the top half of my body continue forward while me feet were pinned beneath Willy. I flew forward and went face first into our coffee table. Fortunately I just bounced off it, not breaking the mirror on the door preventing seven more years of living with Willy.
Willy and I both healed just fine, although he did make me get rid of the chair and buy him some new underwear.
One of the aspects of living in a college town that I never tire of is finds. Those of you how live in upper-scale type areas are most likely not familiar with the concept of finds. Just as your kids are most likely unfamiliar with pain games like butts-up and bloody knuckles. Some people can afford real games. You people can also usually afford furniture. I have never been one of these people. In college I was even less of one. That’s why my roommates and I had to rely on finds to furnish our homes.
Basically the furniture food chain is just like the social food chain, with me the last in line. As of my Junior year in college I had yet to pay for a single article of furniture. Everything in every one on my apartments was a find. I liked to take the phrase one man’s trash is another man’s treasure to extents that others usually feel are unhealthy.
Despite seven years of this behavior I only had one ill experience (a striking ratio compare to all those things that I only did for a couple months with many ill experiences). And a concussion is a small price to pay for long career of finds. And everything else that happened, happened to other people, so I don’t even think that should count. Let me explain.
It was a typical Idaho October day, which translates into gray. Gray skies, gray trees, skiffs of gray snow patching the brownish gray grass. My best friend Jack Pattywack and I were at a local park tossing the Frisbee around. After some rigorous physical exercise we were driving home when we saw it. There on the grass between the sidewalk and the street, hidden amongst some black plastic trash bags was the perfect find. We stopped the car so we could properly examine it.
It was chair, one of those nice leather ones. The kind that’s as comfortable as a recliner, but one solid piece, like a couch. At least it used to be. It was still leather but nice definitely no longer applied. There where several places where the leather was torn clean through. As a result of these holes a lot of the padding had come out forcing you’re middle back to rest against wood with only the no longer nice leather for cushioning. And it was not one solid piece anymore. It was still plenty solid but the left arm was now only attached by the torn leather cover. Basically, it was a piece of junk.
“This is so much nice than the other stuff in our place!” Jack exclaimed with excitement he usually reserved for $4.95 each Pizza Hut coupons.
“I know,” I cried back with a joy that I hadn’t felt since we found our coffee table. “Let’s get it in the car before any body else comes and takes it.”
This would have been easy with Jack drove a truck. Unfortunately for us he drove a ’78 Dodge Colt. We didn’t want to risk some body else taking it while we went back to the house to get rope or tape or anything so we just opened he trunk, put the chair in it and I sat in the chair to weight it into place. Our plan was working perfectly until Jack’s mean streak reared its ugly head.
We were stopped at a light waiting to cross the busy intersection (I had to beg him not to gun it through the yellow) when a car full of local co-eds pulled up next to us. I could tell there was something about me that they were attracted to because they couldn’t stop staring at me. One of them was about to ask me something, I can only assume it was my phone number when the light turned green. Jack, who was already green, gunned it, purposely flipping me out of the trunk, chair and all.
I’ve amazed myself before in the past but this was by far my one of my finest escapes. Using the natural momentum of the chair spinning out of the trunk I manage to do a barrel roll and stick the landing. I expected my Top Gun style maneuver to inspire the girls to treat me as they would Tom Cruise but alas they had already left with only their exhaust to remind me of what might have been.
Jack muttered some apology about how he forgot that I was back there and we loaded up the chair back into the back of his car. I figured that if I was going to let something little like that ruin our friendship it would have happened along time ago. Besides, his plan clearly backfired. I was a shoe in with those girls next time I saw them.
Our apartment complex was run by the biggest, strictest real estate company in town. . Each apartment was an exact replica of the ones one both sides of them. They had rules about everything to ensure that it would stay that way. We couldn’t put up posters, dart boards were out of the question, we couldn’t even buy holiday print paper towels (not a big deal to us, we didn’t even buy normal paper towels)
Of course they we’re always too busy doing all sorts of important real estate things so they never came by to actually enforce any of them so it was kind of on the honor system. They of course, along with everybody else who’s ever shared a fridge with college students realized that the honors system wasn’t really worth that much. For this reason they made committing the capitol offence of bringing in un-coordinated furniture impossible for the average human by making the path from the parking lot to our room a veritable obstacle course.
Jack and I however were anything but average. We had been kicked out of all kinds of apartments and had thus become experts at getting all our stuff in or out of places in less than two hours.
As I struggled to open the door behind my back while I balanced the chair on my knees the familiar sounds of me groaning in pain attracted our other two roommates Brian Batowski and Willy. “Hey great find!” Brian yelled as he held the door open for me. Willy, not being as refined in the science of finds, was full of needless doubt-filled questions.
“Where did you find it? How do you know they don’t want it any more? Are you sure this isn’t stealing? What’s that smell? Why is their gravel in it?” Some how in all the babbling he did managed to ask one question of worth. “Where are we gonna put it?”
I guess in all the excitement of the find I very took the time to think of were we would put the chair. Our place was already very well stocked with finds from all over town. Willy latched on to the momentary distress on my face like a starving coyote on a household guinea pig. “I guess we’ll just have to get rid of some of this junk,” he said smugly.
I don’t know what hurt worse, the fact that he would ask me to give up on of my children, or that he had called my babies junk. I figured is must have been that the big fat idiot thought he was smarter than I was. “We’ll put it right here,” I responded pointing to the empty space against the wall between the door and the door/hole that lead the bedrooms and bathroom.
“Where? In front of the door?” he asked.
“Yeah, why not?”
“There’s no room for it.”
No it was my turn to be smug. “What do you mean there’s no room for
it? It’s there now isn’t it?”
“Okay so maybe it fits, but I just think it in the way. What are we gonna do when we want to go from the door to our room?
“Step around it,” I explained. “It’s not like it’s that big.”
“I don’t know man,” Willy said. “It just feels like a bad idea.” At that moment, I could almost swear that I hear ominous music.
The endless stream of time continued to flow and ten whole hours passed rather uneventfully. We had all busied our selves with various activities. Willy had to visit the doctor and since he had no car Brian had to drive him. Jack became deeply involved with his homework. I was in the kitchen baking a cake. I had just placed the pan in the oven and was getting ready to eat the bowl of batter I’d set aside when Jack made a snack run.
“Why you baking Skippy?” he asked as he got the chips out of the cupboard.
“It’s Cathy’s birthday,” I explained.
“Is it traditional to make a cake for the girl you’re stalking?” Jack asked even though I’m pretty sure he knew the answer.
“Dude, if this cake doesn’t make her forget the kitty litter incident,” I reassured him “nothing will.”
While the cake of destiny was cooking I retired to my room to do some reading.
Mean while across town Willy’s doctor’s appointment was ending. (I was filled in on all this later) “Let’s hurry,” Willy whined. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”
Brian was going to argue with him that he should use the doctor’s restroom but we had all lived with Willy long enough to discover much to our dismay that not only had he never used a public toilet but if he had any control over the matter he never went number two with out taking a shower after wards. This may seem strange to you but in comparison to some of his other personality traits, it was down right normal.
So Brian had to “hurry” home. I use quotes here because Brian speeds for no man. By the time they made it home Willy was beyond miserable, he was at a dead sprint for the apartment before Brian had even opened his door. Before he was all the way in the front door Willy had already undone his belt and his pants where moving downward.
At this exact moment the smoke alarm went off announcing that I had forgot the now charred cake, I jumped to my feet to try and save the cake and my relationship with Cathy. Book in hand I ran with blinding speed from my back bedroom past the bathroom toward the kitchen.
Willy, forgetting that we had put the new find right in the path between the front door and the bathroom and not being able to see it through the smoke until it was too late was forced to hurdle it. He actually might have made it had his pants not been around his ankles to trip him up. His hands were still busy with other matters so he landed on his face right in front of our hallway.
I saw Willy go down and heard the thud but I was too close to stop myself. I felt the top half of my body continue forward while me feet were pinned beneath Willy. I flew forward and went face first into our coffee table. Fortunately I just bounced off it, not breaking the mirror on the door preventing seven more years of living with Willy.
Willy and I both healed just fine, although he did make me get rid of the chair and buy him some new underwear.