|By Louched_Liver on Friday, November 16, 2001 - 08:00 pm: Edit|
And so the super, who I know checks his maintenance request a good hour, say hour and a 1/2 before the proles start working, waits for some reason, until they've squeezed out 3 loads to tell them to hold it!!!!
So my wife, who I am obviously lucky to have, goes above and beyond the call of duty, and sorts through 4, count 'em, 4 bags, just to be sure. Found some more of the contents of our trash bag, but not the envelope. Never did. Never will.
|By Louched_Liver on Friday, November 16, 2001 - 07:54 pm: Edit|
No go Sparky. Remember, my beloved dumped the bag in the chute upside down. From 12 floors up. With the VERY IMPORTANT ENVELOPE on the top of the bag-last in, 1st out. Well now, dammit, at least I know right where that fucker is. I'll just pop that load right out of the bottom of the compactor like nobody's business. Fire the beast up again. Twist the switch for the disgorgement of the load, and it sounds like the machine is gonna break! Snapping, groaning, the hydraulics screeching. I shut it off, since it will be pretty damn obvious who busted it.
So the location is zeroed in, how to recoup my investment?
I'll leave a note for the super to save the 1st load they squeeze out in the morning, and have the wife pick it up for me to poke through.
So I did that.
|By Louched_Liver on Friday, November 16, 2001 - 07:44 pm: Edit|
Ok.Open compactor door. Check.
Fish out bags tossed in since compactor shut off, keeping eyeballs peeled for ours. Check.
And there it is! The bottom of the bag. But it's pinched between the hydraulic ram and the top of the final compaction area. Time to back this mother up! Fire up the compactor, reverse the ram, Voi-fuckin'-la! the bag is free! So I pull it out, carefully mind you, and look through it, and, and,
|By Head_Prosthesis on Friday, November 16, 2001 - 07:16 pm: Edit|
Thou I know the ending, my hands are trembling...
|By Louched_Liver on Friday, November 16, 2001 - 07:14 pm: Edit|
Ya see, what had happened was-because I was talking on the phone and not paying attention, I crossed up the 2 envelopes. Duh. I never open my direct deposit confirmation, because it is always the same. I only take it home so that my underlings won't find out how ridiculously overpaid I am. So I toss it as soon as get in the kitchen.
Anyway, I used to work maintenance here, as well being a doorman, so I know my way around the compactor room. What fun it was to look at all the interesting stuff in people's trash. So I go to the doorman, and tell him I think I tossed my keys out w/the trash. Could he please let me in the compactor room?
I know how to work the machine, I'll be fine here, and I'll lock up when I'm done.
"Are you sure?"
|By Louched_Liver on Friday, November 16, 2001 - 07:05 pm: Edit|
This is WAY fuckin' not good. But wait, lemme look @ that envelope, yep it's sealed, yep it's my direct deposit confirmation, but hey, it can't be!!!! I'm not that goddam dumb!! Wanna bet?
'Ney (short for honey, from when we used to pretend we were the Cleavers), where's the trash? You didn't take it out did you? Of course, it not being there should be a tip off. But hey, she never takes the trash out!!! Wanna bet?
And I had just shown her how to hold the bag in the trash chute (we live in a high-rise) with the top open and upside down, because the chute door is only about big enough to put a shoe box down. If it isn't bigger than a size 10 that is.
Compactor! 12 floors down.
|By Louched_Liver on Thursday, November 15, 2001 - 07:38 pm: Edit|
Geez, I'm tipsy!!!!!
Tomorrow I work from 7am-9pm. That's when I usually need to unwind, so I'll do my level best to put this mess to bed.
|By Louched_Liver on Thursday, November 15, 2001 - 07:31 pm: Edit|
I am heartened mon amis! But, too much hotass Serpis, and the Victoria's Secret show, has wore me out!
Did I tell ya about the time I was hangin' in the same room as Veronica Webb, Stephanie Seymour, Iman, and Heide Klum, plus Ron Silver, Phillipe Starck, Donald Trump...?
|By Mr_Rabid on Thursday, November 15, 2001 - 07:15 pm: Edit|
|By Bob_Chong on Thursday, November 15, 2001 - 07:07 pm: Edit|
Finish the tale, maestro.
|By Louched_Liver on Thursday, November 15, 2001 - 05:42 pm: Edit|
No onanistic autobiography for me. If anyone really wants to here the denoument. Chime in. Otherwise, I feel like-I'll save the story for face to face telling when and if the time is right.
|By Louched_Liver on Thursday, November 15, 2001 - 05:40 pm: Edit|
Up the next day. Off to put my shnozz to the grindstone, with the added treat of a-Yipee!-manager's meeting after my shift is over.
And it is a B I G fucking waste. What a shock.
And home I go.
Time to divvy up the pills. Get Dogboy's 1/2 ready to pass on. And, hey. Maybe a test drive?
Open the stash...
And my direct deposit confirmation is there!!
In it's envelope.
This is not good.
|By Louched_Liver on Thursday, November 15, 2001 - 05:17 pm: Edit|
Worked the remainder of the day w/out dousing my stash, which was in my pocket. Opened up the envelope in the car to see...20 cute little purple pills w/"21" on them. Yehaaahh. Better than an SC package.
Off to the home 20.
In the door-Gotta call Dogboy!! He's my, well, dog.
"Dude! Yeah 20! No, different than the last bunch. Shit yes!! Of course!"
Much wandering about the homestead, as I am wont to do. Very agitated. The Liver's big score.
"OK man. Sure, sure. You fuckin' bet!!"
Back to reality. Time to take the rats for their yearly checkup (don't go eeeewwwwhhh. I'm not the only rat lover in the forum, either).
Off we go to the vet.
Routine visit. Much cooing over the rats from the staff, and the usual couple of women in the waiting room squirming at the sudden rodent invasion.
Anyway, nothing happens, back home we go.
And I am BUSHED.
So I fuck off to bed early.
|By Louched_Liver on Thursday, November 15, 2001 - 05:03 pm: Edit|
The day started out particularly smartly. My coworker, and connection, I'd guess you'd call her, informed me brightly that she had good news-
"I'm gonna see that guy, like, tonight."
Work proceeded apace. Lunch went by w/out incident. All was well.
"He's here. That guy. Like eating lunch. You still want it?"
Do I still want it. Sheeiittt.
Can he swing 20?
I'm off to the bank.
I'm off to another bank-$200 limit.
I'm off from the bank.
While crossing the front of our establishment I'm accosted by my pal-
"Hey! Where are you goin'."
Well, I wanted to be discrete, but fuck it! Here's the Jacksons.
10 minutes later-
"Got the mail, here's a letter for you!!" hands me an envelope.
Huh, says acceptance department. As I feel the little round discs.
"Guess it's accepted!!"
|By Head_Prosthesis on Thursday, November 15, 2001 - 02:41 pm: Edit|
Were it not for you, I wouldn't be the powerful darklord megalomaniac that I am today...
|By Louched_Liver on Thursday, November 15, 2001 - 02:38 pm: Edit|
Ah, Headly! Favor returned. Once upon a Forum I created "Head's Thought for the Day".
And now back at me.
Let me see if the muse-not the green one, is about.
1st though, a shower after frying 320 lbs of chicken wings. To refresh, and at least cut the stench down.
|By Bob_Chong on Wednesday, November 14, 2001 - 07:00 pm: Edit|
got a surprise from my honey got a message from my girl when she picked up a pen from beside her bed and wrote me a scribbled note
|By Head_Prosthesis on Wednesday, November 14, 2001 - 05:36 pm: Edit|
"It was a blustery morning the day I ..."
|By Head_Prosthesis on Wednesday, November 14, 2001 - 05:30 pm: Edit|
The floor is yours
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