Hoboes of the 21St Century
Atlanta was once called Terminus because of all the rail lines flowing into and conversely, out of the city. My latest job location is about one hundred yards from one of these rail lines. Now, I like trains. I like trains a lot. I’ve always been captivated by the myths and folklore surrounding trains. That includes the men that live along the rails.
Standing outside the back door of my restaurant, I can see the rail lines just past the curve in the alleyway. Almost every hour at five past the hour, a train passes by in all her glory. Horns blow and the big diesels roar past the store. Never having the time to really venture out to the tracks, I stand out back smoking a cigarette and watch as the train passes.
Every morning, I see the same old guy walk out from the woods near the tracks. He walks down the alley, hops the little guardrail, and wanders into the neighboring liquor store. It never dawned on me before, but Got-Damn, this guy’s a real, live, honest to goodness hobo. He’s not the hobo like Buddy Ebsen from the Andy Griffith Show. He does not impress me with the stolen gumball trick and shouting “TUSCARORA!” He’s more of a 21st century hobo.
Back in the day, hoboes were men caught up in the throws of the depression. They would hop a freight for a free ride and hopefully find work in another area of the country. These hoboes would set up little shantytowns along the rail lines and hang out listening to tales of joblessness from other hobos. I guess it would be an early form of networking.
Now, this hobo is just another homeless drunkard. I’ve smelled the occasional wisps of smoke from some not to distant campfire. I’ve seen other vagrants emerge from the woods. Only now, these men choose to be jobless and homeless. Just Damn!
|||108217241640854288|||
Mr. 70’s
I noticed the car first, a baby blue and white Pontiac Firebird. It was straight out of “The Rockford Files.” I could see James Garner punching it out into traffic, tires smokin’ and squealin’. I hear that seventies Whaa-Whaa pedal guitar just thinking about it. Jim Rockford was a bad ass in his day. Anyway, I decided to scan my dining room to see who drove such a throw back, retro automobile. I had a few suspects picked out. I’d have to wait and see who got into the car. Oh, the games we play with ourselves while at work.
The prime suspect was of average height and build. Of course, it had to be a man who drove that car. No woman would want to drive such a machine, and no man would let a woman drive such a fine specimen of a car. I think my first real clue was the long hair and beard. He was clean and neat, not like an old dusty hippy. His hair was long in the back, but not in a mullet type fashion. As a matter of fact, he looked kind of like the guy in the old “Joy of Sex” manual, except with clothes on. I remember Billy and me finding that old book in his mother’s nightstand while we were searching for spare change. Anyway, The suspect looked like a seventies throwback. All he needed to complete the image was a Farrah Fawcett t-shirt.
Well, I waited and waited. Then I waited some more. The suspect was still there. The car was still there. Then the phone rang. It was my boss. I had to take the call. Although, the call distracted my attention for just a moment, the car and the suspect were gone. I guess I’ll never know. Just Damn!
|||108203633657979773|||
One Car Family
We’ve been the one car family since the big transmission melt down on I-285. Yes, the new transmission melted down…literally. It would seem that the fellas who installed the new transmission didn’t replace a seal. All the oil from the transmission leaked out causing a violent failure.
The repair fellas tried to blame the transmission guy. The transmission guy blamed the repair fellas. Meanwhile, I’m without the beloved truck. Upon independent review, the transmission guy is in the clear. The repair fellas won’t return phone calls and the truck just sits idle.
Small claims court could be my friend. I have thought about spending the sixty dollars to file suit against the inept repair dudes. Judge Wapner only hears pet cases now, so I don’t know who the judge would be. Knowing my luck, the judge would be the cousin of the wife of the chief repair dude. Small towns have a way of being inner-connected in a familial sense. Just Damn!
|||108194982657010957|||
Small Miracles
Usually on Easter Sunday, I ponder the three days from Good Friday to Resurrection. I mathematically calculate that it is only about a day and a half. I'm not going to question that this year. Yesterday, I witnessed a miracle.
Admittedly it was a small miracle, yet a miracle nonetheless. I guess I have to acknowledge the awesome power of God no matter how seemingly small and insignificant the miracle might be to others. Sometimes miracles are only for those who witness them. I won't be submitting my miracle to the Vatican. The last thing I need is millions of people making a pilgrimage to the scene of this miracle.
See, yesterday I was faking a trip to the bank. I had a lot of cash from Friday's receipts. I didn't want to actually deposit the cash. I might need the five and ten dollar bills as change for the holiday weekend. However, I didn't want to keep the money in the store either. I did want the staff to think the money went to the bank.
So, I drove off to the "bank." I took the usual path out of the parking lot and started toward the bank. Basically, I decided to just go around the block and park. I found a large church parking lot. I pulled in and stopped the car. It was while I was listening to the home fix it show and smoking a Marlboro that I witnessed the miracle.
As I looked around to the back seat of the car, there on the back seat floorboard was a half full / half empty fast food cup. There was no lid and the cup was standing straight up. Truly, I was witnessing an honest to God miracle. The cup had to have been standing up like that for five days. Mind you, I put about two hundred miles on that car since that drink was somehow placed on that floorboard. Up hills, down hills, around corners, at eighty miles per hour, for five days that cup stood up without spilling on the floorboard.
Truly, I am blessed. Just Damn!
|||108169677089945282|||
Banksters
I hate banks. I hate all banks. See, I understand what it is that banks do. They steal. This is where I could go off on a dissertation on the history of banking and the expansion of the money supply, but I’ll spare you that lecture, maybe some other time.
The latest theft is discovered at Walk All Over You…er…Wachovia. First of all, Wachovia is not a bank anymore. They are now a “Financial Center.” They have decided to soak the common man yet again. They now charge a four-dollar check-cashing fee if you want to cash a business check and you are not an account holder. Well, fuck me!
I always thought that a check is a demand deposit. That little piece of paper is a promise to pay on demand x amount of dollars. I can accept the check and deposit it in my own bank or take it to the financial center the check is drawn on. That is the way checks work. However, I don’t have to accept the check, especially now that there is a four dollar fee attached to it. I could tell the check writer to increase the amount of the check four dollars to cover that fee as a condition of my acceptance of payment. Unless…
Unless it’s a Got-Damned payroll check it’s bad enough that I have to pay my employees shit, but to then issue them a check with a built in tax on top of all the Governmental taxes. Most of my employees don’t have bank accounts. It’s not a job requirement. I just think Wachovia is putting a fucking to the common man.
Here is a copy of their policy.
The tellers take a heap of shit, the little guy gets shit on, and the bigwigs laugh all the way to the
|||108156177646861332|||
The Inner Circle
I’ve made it to the “inner circle.” My boss is a very wealthy entrepreneur. He started with one store, worked his ass off, and now has seventy plus stores. He hires guys like me to oversee several units. Right now, I fulfill the role of troubleshooter. If a store is in trouble, I get to fix it. I’m good at that.
My current challenge is turning around. I’ve increased sales thousands of dollars in just three weeks. Oh yea, I’ve cut costs too. Of course, that means I put in very long hours and get to make quick decisions. I work hard.
Last night the boss took a select five of us out to dinner and drinks. I have a feeling I’ll end up with a few stores from the uninvited. Anyway, he spent over two thousand dollars on our good time. He said, “You guys work hard, now you play hard!” Play hard we did. The high light of my evening was getting a high five from the boss followed by the required shooter. I knew all those late nights working in a bar would pay off. Maybe next month, I'll get to attend the trip out to Biloxi.
Today flew by, I felt like ass, but I endured. I have to work hard now, but I’d much rather play hard. Just Damn!
|||108131603386588313|||
What Time Is It?
Tonight is the Spring Forward portion of our yearly time change. This is the portion I hate the most. I enjoy my sleep far too much to let that one-hour escape. Of course, I do enjoy thinking that, “ at this same time yesterday it was….”
I enjoy the perceived extended daylight. I used to be against time changes. However, I’ve changed my position. I think I really do save money. I could be wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time. Anyway, I think I should go to bed now. That way I’ll be ready to lose that hour of sleep. Just Damn!
|||108101438699126238|||
Stupid Shit
I’m tired of seeing stupid shit becoming popular. Roaming gnomes and Sponge monkeys come to mind. Then there’s the Star Wars kid and that American Idol guy. I understand fads like Baby on Board placards and Pet rocks. What I don’t understand is why I can’t seem to create a national fad. I mean, come on, I think up stupid shit all the time. Just check my archives or scroll down this page for examples. And yes it’s for the money. I could use a little extra coin around here. I never would have thought that thinking up stupid shit that pays could be so difficult. Maybe it’s all in the marketing. Just Damn!
|||108101257510577635|||
The Coffee Mug
The big debate at Casa De Montana is over a friggin’ coffee mug. This morning, I woke up and poured a hot cup of steaming goodness into the first mug I pulled from the cupboard. I only noticed a few sips later that I chose the Rhinoceros Mug, big mistake on my part. Little did I know it was the wife’s mug. I didn’t realize that she is so possessive over that mug. She didn’t want to share.
Actually, not sharing is big in our house. I try to teach the kids not to share their things. I don’t want a house full of little communists running around. Selfishness is a purely capitalistic trait. However, I spend a lot of time mediating disagreements. As long as everyone keeps their hands to themselves, no one gets into trouble for not sharing. Then again there are family possessions that we all must agree on its best use. We take turns watching movies. Sometimes it’s not my turn to watch Buono, il brutto, il cattivo, Il (1966) , and I have to sit through the seventy-seventh viewing of Rugrats in Paris.
I guess from now on, I’ll stick to my Kahlua mug. It will save a lot of arguments. Just Damn!
|||108101163538247559|||
It’s A Prank!
Yes, I was fuckin’ around for April Fool’s Day. Although, I must admit it was a feeble attempt. I thought the photo was a dead giveaway. Oh well, with my ever changing work schedule, I barely have time to sleep much less Blog. However, I do have a few ideas for next year. You’ll just have to wait.
I did listen to a re-broadcast of Sean Hannity’s radio show yesterday. What a classic bit. He was very convincing as a change of bleeding heart liberal. My little Brother called my mother collect from “jail.” He really had her going. She was so upset she called me. April Fool’s day really doesn’t do it for me like it once did. I think it’s because I fuck with everyone all the time. Just Damn!
|||108095370374447361|||
The Party’s Over
I’m Done! My glass is empty, the cigarette is snuffed out, and I’m getting out of the pool. I’ve written everything. The muse is dead. I killed that Bitch! I’m pushing the off switch. I welcome my new membership into the Fucked Weblog archives. I thought I might make two years. It just wasn’t in the cards. Anyway, I’m out of here like the fat kid in dodge ball. Just Damn!|||108080053963171110|||