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April 30, 2006

Farts Like Gold: 26

After breakfast, we drove to the warehouse in Tony's five year old Honda Civic. Virginia came to the door as we drove up. She wore a Bushpro cap with a greying ponytail poking out the back, blue jeans, and a Skinny Puppy tee shirt.

"Congratulations," she said. "You are about to be reunited with your loved ones."

"Virginia," I said. "This is Tony. Tony, this is Virginia." Tony looked a bit awestruck. His mouth was open and his hands hung limply at his sides.

"Delighted to meet you," said Tony. "You look like a very strong woman."

Virginia laughed and punched Tony lightly on the arm. He took a step back. "Damn straight!" she said. "I may be old, but I bet I'd snap you like a twig if we ever got together." She turned and went into the office. We followed.

"I told Tony we might have some work for him," I said. "But what do you mean by me being reunited with my loved ones?"

Virginia ignored me. She leaned against her desk and eyed Tony up and down.

"That's right, Ma'am," he said.

"Which part?" she asked. "The part where I'd snap you like a twig, or the part where you're looking for work?"

Tony said, "Well, not to brag, but I am pretty flexible. I even know a guy who worked in the circus. I guess that's not much proof of anything, but, anyway, I don't think I'd snap. So I guess I must mean the part where I'm looking for work."

"Anything broken? Both your hands okay?" she asked.

"No, Ma'am, and yes, Ma'am. Nothing's broken and I'm very flexible." Tony raised his right leg and put his foot on the desk. He stretched out over his leg and grabbed hold of his shoe with both hands.

Virginia pushed his foot off the desk and Tony stumbled forward. "Good. You're bendy and not broken. Well then, we may have a job for you," she turned to me. "Brendan managed to wreck a quad. He needs a new one. Gord and I were thinking you could drive it up to camp. And the timing is about right for you to meet with Franklin and unload a reefer for the helicopter job near Grande Cache."

Tony interrupted. "What's a reefer?" he asked.

"It's a refrigerated truck," I said. "They use them to haul trees."

"Got it," he said. "Thanks."

Virginia continued. "If you vouch for him you can bring bendy boy here. He can help drive and the two of you can unload boxes for Franklin which should make the trip worthwhile."

I held up my hand. "I can probably drive all right, but I don't think I'm quite up to hauling boxes around."

"You'll be fine," said Virginia. "There's nothing wrong with your other hand, is there? It's better for both of us if I put you on modified work. It costs us less in WCB and you waste less money on booze and riotous living. Besides, the only one else who is available is Gord and he's got too much to do around here."

"Well, what do you need Tony for?"

She flicked my broken hand with finger. I jumped. "That's why," she said. "Modified work means you might as well lug around boxes with one hand, but Bendy Boy is probably going to be more effective when it comes to actually doing any real work."

"I'm not sure he's really up for a couple of days on the load unloading boxes from a truck. I told him he'd just be working around the warehouse," I said.

"Hey, no, it sounds exciting," said Tony. "A road trip and some good honest work in the great outdoors. Fantastic!"

"Are you sure?" I asked. "We might be away for a couple of days. You might need to sleep in camp. Have you got a sleeping bag or anything?"

"Hey, I've been camping before. I've got all the kit. This is perfect. It's exactly the reason I quit my job," he said.

"I thought you quit your job to become a rock star," I said.

"Well, yes, but I think the music is only one aspect of playing bass. A bass player needs a certain mystery, a certain moodiness. You can't develop that in an office. I need a spliff of adventure if I'm going to be artistically moody."

"Well, I'm not sure how much adventure there is unloading a truck on the side of the road, but okay, the more the merrier." I turned to Virginia. "When do you want us to leave? Can I get a credit card?"

"I'll give you a gas card and $200 for expenses," she said. "Just make sure you bring me the receipts. And bring tallies back with you this time. Gord's loading the quad on to the pumpkin out back. You can take off as soon as you're ready."

The pumpkin was a bright orange Chevrolet 4x4. When we went out back, Gord was checking the oil on it. The quad was already strapped down in the back. I peered in the back of the truck in front of the quad. There was a jack-all and a spare.

"Gord," I said. "This is Tony."

Gord pulled his head out from under the hood. "Hi there," he said.

"Nice truck," said Tony. "Great colour. I've never seen an orange truck before. I bet it would be hard to lose in the forest. That's good thinking."

"Well, it was cheap at auction," Gord said. "That's probably the best thing about the colour."

After a bit more chit-chat, Gord gave me the keys to the quad and directions to where we were supposed to meet the reefer near Grande Cache.

I arranged to meet Tony at his place in an hour. He took off in the Civic to pick up his sleeping bag and get some clothes together. I sorted out the gas card and the cash with Virginia, then hit the road. I stopped by the bulk station and filled up the truck. I gathered my stuff from the hotel and paid the bill. When I got to Tony's he was sitting on the steps with two large stylish samsonite suitcases and a backpack.

"I wasn't sure what I should bring," he said. "But I figured you had the truck so there would be plenty of room."

>> Farts Like Gold: 27

Posted by YandaMan at 11:52 PM | Comments (3)

April 23, 2006

Farts Like Gold: 25

I slept straight through until the next morning. I rubbed my eyes, then got dressed and headed down the stairs. Halfway down I faced into a corner of the stairwell and undid my fly. I realised where I was just as I was about to loose a stream of piss. I clenched my penis to stifle the flow and stuffed it back in my pants. A bit dribbled down my leg, but at least I was able to contain it within my clothes.

I went back upstairs and changed into a new pair of underwear. I stopped off at the toilet on the way downstairs this time.

I stopped in the lobby to call Tony.

He answered on the third ring.

"Hello?" he said.

"Hi Tony, it's Kent," I said. "You left a message for me."

"Absolutely!" he said. "I wanted to thank you for giving me that boost of confidence the other night. You heard the truth. You can't argue with the truth."

"Indeed," I said. "What truth are we talking about exactly?"

"The truth about my music. The truth that I am a destined to be a bass player, not work in an office," said Tony.

"Ah, that truth."

"Exactly!" said Tony. "If it hadn't been for you I never would have had the courage to quit my job."

"You quit your job?"

"Yesterday. It was fantastic! They didn't even want me to serve my notice period. It's just good timing all around. My boss said he was thinking of firing me anyway. The timing couldn't have been better. Not much work at the moment, he told me. Go chase your dream!"

"Go chase your dream -- he really said that?" I asked.

"Well, not in so many words, but you taught me something the other night," said Tony. "You can either hear what people are trying to tell you, or you can hear the truth."

I covered my eyes with my forearm and leaned against the wall. "So, what now?" I asked. "You quit your job. What are you going to do? Are you going to join a band?"

"Well, I'm not exactly sure. I mean there's no rush. If it's going to happen, it's going to happen. I'm kind of grooving on the freedom," he said. "Besides, I don't have a bass yet. I found the bass I want, though. It's beautiful. It's a daphne-blue Fender Highway number one. It's beautiful."

"Sounds pricey."

"Music has no price. Tracy Davenport taught me that. It has great value, but no price. Which is a bit odd when you think about it. What I learned from my old job is that the value of something can be constant. But the price, i.e. what people are willing to pay for something, is extremely fluid. That said, you can always get someone to agree on a price for just about anything. Almost everything has a price. That's what makes music so amazing. It has no price!"

"How much is the bass," I asked.

"Just under £1300," said Tony. "Which is a problem. I've got enough money to buy the bass but that would pretty much clean me out. Food would be a problem."

"Maybe you shouldn't have quit your job quite so soon," I suggested.

"Absolutely not. It took a lot of courage to leave that job," said Tony. "You gave me the courage the other night. If I didn't do it yesterday I might never have done it. I can't thank you enough. Hey! What are you doing now? Can I buy you breakfast? Do you want to go see my bass?"

"Thanks," I said. "But I'm on my way to work."

"I thought you were off work. Broken hand, narcolepsy, etcetera."

"I'm working one-handed. It's better than nothing," I said. "Actually, Tony, do you want to come with me? It's not office work. It's good honest heavy lifting and wrench pulling. You might be able to pick up a few bucks towards your bass."

"And we could hang out together!"

"Yes, there's that," I said.

"Fantastic! I'll only do it if I can buy you breakfast," said Tony.

"All right," I said. "Meet me at Uncle Albert's."

>> Farts Like Gold: 26

Posted by YandaMan at 10:41 PM

April 16, 2006

Farts Like Gold: 24

After I hung up the phone I walked outside. I thought maybe another greasy breakfast might help. I didn't even make it off the steps of the hotel. The sun was just too bright. I sat down on the steps until someone looked like they might want to talk to me. Then I went back to bed. I woke up around noon. This time I managed to get something to eat. I had a burrito and three glasses of orange juice at Julio's. It definitely improved my outlook.

The company I work for, Larix Forestry, has their offices down off Argyll Road at about 90th street. I took the bus as close as I could and walked the rest of the way. Virginia was in the front office. She was the office manager for Larix. She had run camps for Steve, the owner of Larix, in the early days. She broke her knee playing hockey about six years ago. Field work was no longer an option for her. She was about forty, but looked much older, a result of spending most of her summers outside and most of her winters on an ice rink.

"Kent! Joe told me I might see you," she said. "Did you bring me any paperwork?"

"I've got some WCB forms." I dug around in my bag.

"What about tallies? Did Brendan send any tallies with you?"

"Well, no," I said. "Brendan didn't know if I'd be coming here or not. When we left camp it was just to go to the hospital."

"Always bring tallies," Virginia told me. "How am I supposed to bill anybody if I don't know what we've planted? It's not hard. You go to town; you take the tallies with you. That Brendan has a brain made of cheese."

"Sorry," I said. "Do you want these?" I offered the WCB forms.

"Yeah, I'll take care of them. Don't worry." She stood up, reached across the desk and took the papers. She glanced at them and dropped them in the empty "in" tray on the desk. "So, any news from the camp?" she asked. "Any big pounders out there? Any gossip? Is Cassie sleeping with anyone yet?"

"Cassie? I thought she was with Gord."

"No longer. Don't you even know what's going on in your own camp?" She walked through to the lunchroom and opened the fridge. "Beer?" she asked.

"Sure," I said.

She opened three bottles and handed one to me. "Follow me," she said. She pushed open the swing door to the warehouse in back. "Gord!" she yelled.

Gord pushed himself out from under the truck he was working on. "What?" he said.

"You still going out with Cassie?" Virginia asked.

"We were never going out," he said. "Just friends, that's all."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You still going out?"

"Well, no. Broke it off at the start of the season," he reached up and grabbed the beer that Virginia offered.

"See," she said to me. "Told you. So, who's she with now?"

I looked at Gordon. I felt a bit odd talking about Cassie in front of him. He took a swig of his beer. "She's not going out with anyone," I said.

"And you?" asked Virginia. "You still going out with Lucy?"

"Well, yeah," I said.

"For now, anyways," she said. She laughed and punched me in the arm.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I've just never known Lucy to stay single, that's all," she said.

"She's not single. She's with me," I said.

"The hell she is! You're here. She's in camp," she said. "Face it, until you're back in camp, you're both single."

"Whatever," I said.

Gordon stood up. He wiped his hands on a rag. The three of us walked into the sun on the back lot.

"So what else is going on in camp? Any gossip I don't know about?" asked Virginia.

"I never have any gossip you don't know about," I said. "I don't think it's possible to have gossip you don't know about. You are the source of all gossip."

She laughed. "That may be," she said. The phone rang and she went back in to the office.

"You need any help with anything while I'm here?" I asked Gord.

"Could do. I've got a gas tank I want to put in one of the buses today. I'd appreciate a hand with that."

"No problem," I said.

After we finished our beers I spent the afternoon helping Gord around the warehouse. We agreed I would come in the next day as well. Virginia had some paperwork I could help her with.

Gord gave me a ride back to the hotel. "Do you want to join me for dinner," he asked as we got in the truck.

"No thanks, I'm tired. I think I'll have a nap and grab something a bit later," I said.

There was a note waiting for me when I picked up my key at the desk. It said, "Call Tony." I looked at the phone on the wall and then stuffed the note in my pocket. Tony could wait until after I'd had a bit of a rest.

Brendan shut the quad off. It was good and stuck. The right side was much higher than the left. He swung his left leg over to the high side of the quad and stepped down off the peg into the mud. He sank into it over his ankles.

There were three boxes of trees on the back of the quad. Brendan stayed on the high side of the quad. He removed two of the bungee cords, leaving one to hold the boxes in place. He loosened that cord and carefully pulled one of the boxes out from under it. The others stayed where they were. He balanced the box of trees he'd pulled out on the seat of the quad and hooked the bungee back in place with one hand. The boxes were rectangular. They were about two feet long, about a foot wide, and about 16 inches tall.

Each contained 270 trees and weighed about 30 to 40 pounds. Brendan swung the box up onto his right shoulder and squelched his way out of the mud on to the firmer ground beside the trail. He put the box down with one end on a log to keep the bottom from getting completely soaked. He retrieved the other two boxes and put them beside the first box. He covered the three boxes with a small tarp to keep the rain off them.

He stood and looked at the quad. Definitely stuck. He walked around to the low side and felt in the mud with his feet for somewhere firm to stand. He pulled the handlebars to the right and started the quad up. The mud was too thick to kick the quad into gear with his foot so he reached down into the mud and yanked the gear lever into first with his hand. He braced his left shoulder under the handlebar and reached across to the thumb throttle with his right hand. He straightened his legs and tried to lift the quad as he gave it some gas. Nothing happened at first, but he kept pushing and the quad moved ahead a few inches. It was too far for him to have decent leverage from where he stood. He stumbled further into the mud. It was over his boots now. He repeated the manoeuvre. The next time he did this the quad got some real purchase and surged forward. He kept the gas on and let the quad pull him out of the mud. He ran awkwardly beside it and managed to get his left foot on the peg. He swung his right knee up on to the seat and rode the quad off the main trial onto a patch of the cutline that hadn't been trashed yet.

He shut the engine off and stepped onto the ground. He wiped the mud off his hands on a patch of moss just inside the treeline. He looked at the trail. There was a big pit where the quad had been stuck. The ruts were filling up with water from the rain. He was going to need to find a new route around this mess.

He loaded the trees back on the quad. He chucked the log they had been sitting on into the patch of mud where the quad got stuck. He laid all the branches he could find perpendicular to the cutline on the mud nearest the treeline. He stomped them in place with his boots. Then he got back on the quad and continued on to the next block.

He drove through the block to the last cache that had been set up. It was empty. He threw back the tarp and put the boxes of trees he'd brought underneath it. He got back on the quad and drove back out to the road. He drove fast to keep up momentum on the muddy trail. When he got to the patch where he'd got stuck before he slowed down and drove carefully over the branches he laid down earlier.

Back at the main cache, he loaded up the quad again and drove back into the block. He crept over the branches in the mud patch again. Despite the modest road-building he'd done, the quad almost got stuck again. There were planters waiting at the other two caches in the block this time. He split his load between them and raced back out to the road.

This time Brendan thought he might as well carry some speed over the muddy patch. It worked pretty well. A few of the branches got shaken loose. He heard a couple of them bang into the undercarriage of the quad, but didn't think much about it.

The cutline was about two kilometres long. Brendan was about 100 metres from the road when the quad stopped. He tried to start it again but nothing happened. The starter sounded jammed. He tried it a couple more times but nothing happened. He got off the quad and peered underneath it. It was covered in mud and grass. He cleaned it off and found the trouble. One of the sticks had pierced the oil cooler.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he said to himself. He pulled the stick loose and threw it as far as he could into the forest. He pulled his radio out of his inside pocket. It was wrapped in a plastic breadbag against the rain. He keyed the mike.

"Joe? Brendan here," he said.

There was a pause and then his radio crackled into life. "Yeah?" said Joe's voice.

"I'm over at the entrance to block 31 and I've got a problem," Brendan said. "I think I've killed my quad."

"Not, 'killed', killed?" said Joe.

"Pretty much," said Brendan. "I took a stick through the oil cooler. I think the engine is seized."

"Well that sucks," said Joe. "Are they set up in there at least?"

"Well, everyone is bagged up, but the caches are all empty. How's your block?"

"Busy. I don't think I can be over there for at least an hour," Joe said.

"All right. No worries. I'll meet you in camp. I'll give Gord a call and let him know what happened. I'm not sure what he'll be able to do about it though."

"Roger. See you at camp," said Joe. "Over."

"Ciao," said Brendan.

>> Farts Like Gold: 25

Posted by YandaMan at 11:19 PM

April 10, 2006

Naked in Amsterdam

Yesterday the missus and I walked through the door of 115 Herengracht in Amsterdam and spent the next four hours running around buck naked in the company of a bunch of naked Dutch strangers. The good thing about doing this in the Netherlands is that the Dutch are, in general, a health conscious and attractive race. I dread to think of encountering the same kind of establishment in certain North American cities (for example).

But really, that should be irrelevant. I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to look at anyone else in these places. This, of course, is easier said than done, especially when you're dealing with naked Dutch people. Fortunately, now that I am more mature in years than I once was, I don't have the same kind of hair-trigger erectile response I had when I was a teenager.

The magic door we walked through belonged to a place called the Sauna Deco. It was an incredibly relaxing and decadent experience. We went in the hot sauna. We went in the warm sauna. We went in the Turkish steam bath. We cavorted naked outside in the courtyard. We plunged naked in the cold water plunge pool. We each had a massage. And we sat at an ornate wooden table and played Scrabble with Dutch letters.

The hot sauna was a bit much for me. Every time I took a breath it felt like someone was sticking a pair of lit matches up my nostrils. The plunge pool was fantastic in a kind of OMIGODWHATAMIDOING kind of way. Once you came out of it you felt absolutely revitalised. I recommend the plunge pool. But first spend a bit of time in the hot sauna. (Or just leap into the sun - it's roughly the same effect).

Posted by YandaMan at 10:05 PM

April 9, 2006

Farts Like Gold: 23

After Lucy clipped the mike back into the radiophone, she sat on one of the kitchen boxes and rolled a smoke.

Brendan came up to get a spare battery out of the charger for his radio.

"Hey Lucy," he said.

"Hey."

Brendan stuffed the battery in one of the inside pockets of his vest. "Did I just hear Kent?" he said.

"No secrets on the radiophone," said Lucy.

"How's he doing?"

"Okay, I guess. Sounded like he had a good night last night," she said.

"Cool."

Lucy lifted up her legs and swivelled around on the kitchen box as Cassandra squeezed by wiping her hands on her apron. Lucy stood up and punched Brendan lightly on the shoulder. "Have a good one today," she said. "See you in the shower later."

Brendan laughed. "I'll try," he said. Lucy tossed her cigarette into the airtight and slipped though a flap in the side of the tent.

Cassandra walked by Brendan carrying a stack of Tupperware containers from the lunch table. "The shower?" she said.

"No idea," said Brendan.

Cassandra shook her head. "Be careful," she said.

"There's nothing to be careful of," he said.

Lucy caught up with Alistair and Cameron by the water barrel. Alistair stood with his back against the rain. Cameron knelt on one knee filling his water jug with a hose from the barrel. She handed her jug to Cameron. He filled it halfway up before Lucy stopped him.

"That's enough," she said. "I've got a feeling it's going to be a wet one. No point in carrying more than I need."

As soon as Cameron stood up, Alistair and Lucy started off down the road. All three of them walked hunched slightly forward with the hoods of their rain jackets pulled forward over their heads.

Brendan rode by on a quad. They stepped off the trail into the bush to let him past. There were three boxes of trees strapped to the back luggage rack of the quad and two on the front. The quad slithered sideways in the mud as it passed. Brendan smiled, his teeth suddenly white in his mud-splattered face.

The trio stepped back onto the trial once he was past.

"You talk to Kent?" Alistair asked.

"Yep," said Lucy.

"How's his hand?"

"I think it's okay. He didn't say much."

"It must suck to break your hand," said Cameron. "Not as bad as your leg though. If your leg was cacked, you'd be totally out of luck out here."

"He'll be back," said Alistair. "He loves it out here. It's sunny Northern B.C. What's not to love."

Lucy looked up at the rain. She stuck her tongue out to catch a few drops. "Yeah," she said. "What's not to love?"

>> Farts Like Gold: 24

Posted by YandaMan at 10:56 PM

April 8, 2006

The Cat Burglar and the Carlton in Cannes

At 5:00am yesterday morning I walked into the lobby of the five-star Carlton Hotel in Cannes. I had bare feet and was wearing my baby blue pajamas with the pink stripe on the pocket. Despite the early hour, the lobby was busy with very important television executives and the hideously rich, all catching sleek black Mercedes to the airport.

My pajamas had been a gift from my friend Bernie. She had made them herself. They were soft and fluffy. I have been told they make me look like Cary Grant. Admittedly, that was by a woman blinded with lust (i.e. my wife). Still, the concierge could tell by looking at them that I was a person of quality.

“Bonjour, Monsieur,” he said.

“Bonjer,” I said. “Jay oon problem.”

My accent produced the faintest of deep physical revulsion from the concierge. “How may I help you, sir?” he asked.

“Well, you see, there was this woman,” I said.

He nodded.

“No. It wasn’t like that. She’s a lesbian,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows.

“We work together. We were sharing an apartment a couple of blocks away. She left this morning, but something happened and she was shouting up at the window and somehow I ended up in the street in my pyjamas.”

“I see, sir,” he said. I could sense the most ephemeral of smirks straining behind his eyes.

“Let me try again,” I said.

A woman came up beside me clutching a small dog and a bottle of champagne and a bottle of scotch. “Henri, can you look after these?” she asked, putting the bottles on the counter.

“Absolutement, madam,” he said.

The woman’s eyes flicked up and down my pyjamas. She frowned, shielded her dog from me with her body, and continued into the hotel.

“Never mind,” I said to the concierge. “I’m locked out. But it’s only a spring lock.”

“Ah, bien,” he said. “You would like a piece of plastic to force the lock.” He elegantly mimed sliding a card into a door jamb.

“Exactly!” I said.

He held his hands palms up in a shrug. “I think it is very difficult,” he said. “Maybe there is someone you could call.” He looked up at the clock. “I think maybe it is too early, though.”

“I think I might as well try to open the lock,” I said.

He nodded and vanished from behind the counter. A couple of minutes later he reappeared with two blank plastic room keys.

“Merci,” I said.

“Bonne chance, Monsieur,” he said.

I left the Carlton and walked through the flurry of chauffeurs in front of the hotel. The sprinklers were on and the paving stones beneath my feet were wet.

A work colleague and I were in Cannes for a conference. We lost our hotel rooms at the last minute and the organisers booked us into a two bedroom flat.

My companion was catching an early flight and a car had come to pick her up. As I lay in bed, I heard her getting ready and open the door. Then there was a period of silence. It occurred to me that she would need her key to get the elevator to work. I got up to see if she needed any help. Her luggage was there propping the door open but she was nowhere to be seen. Very odd. I was still a bit asleep. I wandered into the lounge. She wasn’t there. I peered out the window. There was a car below the apartment. A man in a suit stood by the open driver’s door. I couldn’t see my friend anywhere. I could hear what sounded like a bird making an odd strangled cry.

I opened the window and poked my head out of the apartment. The driver noticed me and waved at someone over to my right. “Alors!” he said. “He is here.”

My friend came from around the corner. She had been shouting up at my window trying to get my attention. Being English and a lady, she had been trying to shout discreetly and so ended up sounding like some kind of exotic bird rather than a human being.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” she said. “I’ve locked myself out. Can you help?”

“No problem,” I said. I closed the window and looked around for her keys. I couldn’t see them anywhere so I went back to my room and got my own. Soon I was out in the street with the luggage. My friend kissed me on the cheek as the driver loaded her bags into the car and then they were off.

I went back inside the building and took the elevator upstairs. I put my key into the apartment door but the lock wouldn’t turn. I suddenly had a mental picture of where my friend’s keys were. They were inside the apartment, stuck into the lock from the other side.

I fiddled and strained and jiggled but to no avail. The lock wouldn’t budge. I went outside and peered up at the building. I considered trying to climb up to the balcony. There didn’t seem to be an obvious route that didn’t involve one of those cool rappelling things that batman always carries around in his belt. I wandered out into the middle of the street. It was deserted. The streets were annoyingly free of litter. If I was in London, I was sure there would be all manner of rubbish including discarded wallets filled with customer loyalty cards perfect for popping the locks on French apartments. But here an army of invisible minions kept every brick and knob polished at all times.

And so, a short while later I found myself two blocks away in the lobby of the Carlton.

The concierge was right. Popping the lock was difficult, but not impossible. Once I was back in the apartment, I found my friend’s keys right where I pictured them to be. I took them out of the lock and put them on the table in the kitchen. Then I washed my feet in the bathtub and went back to bed.

As I slept that morning in my Cary Grant pyjamas, I dreamed of the film “To Catch a Thief”.

Posted by YandaMan at 10:34 PM | Comments (2)

April 2, 2006

Farts Like Gold: 22

When I woke the next morning I was still wearing the clothes from the night before. This included one of my shoes. The other was nowhere to be seen. The window of my room was held open with a beer jug half full of puke. It was 6am. My hand hurt, but not nearly as much as my head.

I needed to take some more pills but I didn't have any water and the sink was down the hall. I had a brief look for my other shoe. Chances were it was under the bed, but I really didn't want to bend over. I considered removing the other shoe but that would have involved bending over as well. I sat on the edge of the bed mulling over my predicament and waiting for my head to explode.

I got up. I removed the pitcher of puke from the window. It closed very fast and very loudly. The noise made me sit down on the bed again. I got up and walked down the hall to the bathroom. I still had only one shoe on and the rhythm was oddly soothing. It gave me something to focus on. I put the jug on top of the toilet tank. I swallowed a couple of percocet and washed them down with water from the tap. Then I poured the contents of the pitcher down the toilet. I pissed into the resulting mess and flushed. I rinsed the jug out in the sink as best I could. Then I wiped it out with toilet paper and rinsed it again. When I was sure it was clean, or at least when I couldn't bring myself to clean it any more, I filled it with water. I took a good long drink, topped it up and clomped my way back to my room.

I sat on the bed and drank from the pitcher. Laying down made my head hurt worse. After a while, I got the courage to reach under the bed. Sure enough I found my other shoe. I sat on the bed a while longer and drank some water. I put my shoe on. I changed my shirt, and I left the room. I needed some fresh air and since I was up anyway I thought there was a chance I could catch Lucy before she left camp for the day.

I went downstairs. There was a payphone in the lobby. I dialled the operator and told her I wanted to make a calling card call to a radio phone. "It's Walford Mountain Tower, N166008."

Cassandra picked up on the other end, "This is N 166008. Go ahead."

"Cass, It's Kent," I said. "How are things?"

"Wet. All this water keeps falling from the sky. I don't understand how it gets up there. How's life in the city? Did they give you a new hand?" There was a click as she let go of the talk button on the mike.

"No such luck. But I'm bionic now. My hand is held together with meccano. You should see my x-rays -- very cool. Is Lucy still there?"

"She's coming. You should bring the x-rays when you come back to camp. See any movies yet?"

"No, I went to the bar last night, though. My head hurts worse than my hand."

"You poor baby. Here's Lucy." There was a double click as she handed the mike over.

"Kent! How are you doing?" said Lucy.

"Not bad. It will be a while before I'm planting again, but not bad, considering. I hear you had some rain," I said.

"Had, are having, and will have some more, by the looks of it," she said. "I'd rather be in town."

"Well, I'd rather be out there. At least then I wouldn't be hungover."

"We could switch."

"Yes, but then we'd still be apart," I said.

"Yes, but I'd be dry," she said. "Listen, I better get going. Do you know what you're doing yet? Do you want me to do anything with your stuff?"

"I don't know yet. When is the next camp move?" I asked. I listened to dead air while Lucy asked Cassie.

"Cassie says Joe says about eight more planting days with a day off in the middle somewhere."

"Thanks," I said. "Just leave it all set up for now. I'll talk to the office and see what I can sort out."

"No worries," she said. "I'm sleeping in your tent now anyway. You've got a nicer thermarest than me."

"Now I really wish I was up there," I said.

"Me too. Listen, I've got to go. Ciao, Bello," she said.

"Ciao, Bella," I said.

I heard Cassie's voice say "clear" to end the call. I hung up. I rested my forehead against the cold glass beside the phone. I bought a couple of chocolate bars from a vending machine and went back up to my room to get some sleep.

>> Farts Like Gold: 23

Posted by YandaMan at 11:51 PM