I'm getting old, guys! (and I don't just say this because my birthday is just one measly month away)
I completed my first work task today.
The job entailed driving down to LA, loading a ton (literally) of diesel additive, and driving back home.
Since it was my first time doing this, Dad accompanied me and showed me the ropes, introduced me to the sales reps and whatnot.
Obviously I was stoked about this... because I love LA and I love anything relating to vehicles-- please note the sarcasm.
My day started at 5:30AM, when we headed out... and within minutes Dad took the wrong entry to the freeway... which was apparently my fault. Fun start to my day.
After that tiny speed bump, Dad and I began to bond-- especially when I started to pick his brain. I'm boggled by his entrepreneurial spirit, seriously. It's something my mind just can't grasp. I definitely don't possess that trait... whatsoever... but shiiiit, do I admire the fuck out of anyone who does.
Whenever we weren't talking, we'd be busy listening to Sirius Radio's channel 82... you know, "RadioClassics." I sat there for FOUR HOURS, listening to classic radio shows that went back to 1930... 19-fucking-30!
While it was initially aggravating, the damn shows grew on me. They even made me get in an existential mood.
Imagine... these voice actors are DEAD now. So sad... they sound so youthful and innocent... and excited to be alive. Now you're dead... and I'm listening to you in 2012. 20-fucking12.
Made the trip to LA very quick.
Then came time to meet Dad's sales rep and pick up the cargo.
Fun shit.
Until I caught a glimpse of the sales rep... the hot, young, and incredibly sweet sales rep.
Diesel? I LOVE IT!
Suddenly, this new work task of mine became enjoyable.
After loading all of the boxes, we headed straight back home.
There were terrible car wrecks in the way, more deep father-daughter conversations, and four more hours of RadioClassics.
There WAS one giant problem: Once in the LA area, I downed two liters of water. An hour into the drive back home, I encountered the uncomfortable urge to piss.
I fought the feeling for three more hours... three excruciating hours which had me borderline-delusional, with visions of Jesus and Saints running wild. Me making promises left and right to dear ol' God.
Please, Christ, don't let my bladder explode! I already feel the toxic bacteria building in my urinary tract. Please forgive me, body! PLEASE STEP ON IT, DAD! OH MY GOD! People seriously take for granted their ability to piss in peace.
I even began weighing the pros and cons of pissing my pants... "piss your pants, AnoMALIE" almost coming out the winner, had I not been wearing "cold shoes."
The moment the truck came to a stop in my driveway, I swore I was going to suffer that dog-reflex where they just let their piss go before reaching a tree... so I ran.
So. Good. So good.
I'll never get sick of saying this: peeing is such a wonderful release.
Anyway, I've spent the rest of the day trying to recuperate, especially since I've only slept two hours in the last 36 hours.
I can't even walk upright... or straight.
This aging crap sucks dick.
I completed my first work task today.
The job entailed driving down to LA, loading a ton (literally) of diesel additive, and driving back home.
Since it was my first time doing this, Dad accompanied me and showed me the ropes, introduced me to the sales reps and whatnot.
Obviously I was stoked about this... because I love LA and I love anything relating to vehicles-- please note the sarcasm.
My day started at 5:30AM, when we headed out... and within minutes Dad took the wrong entry to the freeway... which was apparently my fault. Fun start to my day.
After that tiny speed bump, Dad and I began to bond-- especially when I started to pick his brain. I'm boggled by his entrepreneurial spirit, seriously. It's something my mind just can't grasp. I definitely don't possess that trait... whatsoever... but shiiiit, do I admire the fuck out of anyone who does.
Whenever we weren't talking, we'd be busy listening to Sirius Radio's channel 82... you know, "RadioClassics." I sat there for FOUR HOURS, listening to classic radio shows that went back to 1930... 19-fucking-30!
While it was initially aggravating, the damn shows grew on me. They even made me get in an existential mood.
Imagine... these voice actors are DEAD now. So sad... they sound so youthful and innocent... and excited to be alive. Now you're dead... and I'm listening to you in 2012. 20-fucking12.
Made the trip to LA very quick.
Then came time to meet Dad's sales rep and pick up the cargo.
Fun shit.
Until I caught a glimpse of the sales rep... the hot, young, and incredibly sweet sales rep.
Diesel? I LOVE IT!
Suddenly, this new work task of mine became enjoyable.
After loading all of the boxes, we headed straight back home.
There were terrible car wrecks in the way, more deep father-daughter conversations, and four more hours of RadioClassics.
There WAS one giant problem: Once in the LA area, I downed two liters of water. An hour into the drive back home, I encountered the uncomfortable urge to piss.
I fought the feeling for three more hours... three excruciating hours which had me borderline-delusional, with visions of Jesus and Saints running wild. Me making promises left and right to dear ol' God.
Please, Christ, don't let my bladder explode! I already feel the toxic bacteria building in my urinary tract. Please forgive me, body! PLEASE STEP ON IT, DAD! OH MY GOD! People seriously take for granted their ability to piss in peace.
I even began weighing the pros and cons of pissing my pants... "piss your pants, AnoMALIE" almost coming out the winner, had I not been wearing "cold shoes."
The moment the truck came to a stop in my driveway, I swore I was going to suffer that dog-reflex where they just let their piss go before reaching a tree... so I ran.
So. Good. So good.
I'll never get sick of saying this: peeing is such a wonderful release.
Anyway, I've spent the rest of the day trying to recuperate, especially since I've only slept two hours in the last 36 hours.
I can't even walk upright... or straight.
This aging crap sucks dick.
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