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My Robot Is Pregnant » competitive coffee drinking

My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

tough guy poetry and manly stories of loneliness
all contents copyright Jon Rolston 2004, 2005, 2006

February 24, 2012

competitive coffee drinking

Some days are better than others. Some clouds are greyer than their neighbor. Some verbs got more punch than their synonym. Some how some way. Something else I wanted to mention: yesterday while rolling a stacking washer/dryer unit I tripped in a pot hole and the whole thing fell on me, handtruck and all.

The unit was over six feet tall so I was walking backwards, and as I’m falling I’m trying to push the thing away from me. It sorta worked, and by that I mean it slammed into a parked car and dented the shit outta the driver’s door.

The worst part was I farted when I fell, trying to throw the machine off me. So when a woman ran over to see if I was okay, I snarled, “Get AWAY from me!”

So you must sit there and wonder, what is it like to drive around in a big truck all day?

You’ve seen us, not us, but crews like us. Three guys in the cab of a box truck laughing, or scowling. One or the other. Either hung over or still buzzing. Hairy dudes with muscles that smell like booze and B O, mouths that smell of coffee and cigarettes.

The suspension isn’t good in a cab over, since the cab is over the engine and the engine is over the wheels. You get bucked and kicked. It’s not a caddillac. Dudes have a hot coffee and we hit some bumps and they jump up with steaming coffee in their lap and they dangle the cup between two fingers so it rides the wave and the seat belt is tying ’em to close to the heat and the curses and grunts are hilarious to me, who’s driving, and holding onto the wheel.

Had a guy working last month, he picked his boogers and peeled ’em off his finger into the little sippy part of an old coffee cup. He considered that polite. Everytime I look at a coffee cup lid now I think of him.

We drive around San Francisco and see all the billboards. Lately someone has taken it on as their life’s work to draw with a sharpie on the kid who is advertising for polio. Maybe not Polio. The kid looks 12 and is in a wheel chair and somethin’ aint normal, as they say. Even more so because he’ll have two giant black squares for eyes in the Tenderloin, and over in Noe Valley he’s drooling black and holding a whiskey bottle in his hand.

We see the city. Every day. Just driving around.

1 Comment

  1. thanks for share!

    Comment by Adriana — February 24, 2012 @ 8:59 am


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