Playboys and Trailer Trash

Over this far too short stretch of summer I have been quite loaded down with work and hassles to keep up on the blogging experience. I have not lost the love, but I had lost the time and inspiration. My nine hour a day job has been sucking the life, drop by drop, from every cell of my being with the monogamous labor. The side work chips some pep into the daily routine, but this is adding another five or six hours to my day which builds up a fatigue factor that you can only thrive under for so long. These points combined have drained my world of interesting things to talk about, but no longer. I have had a few incidences in my life that I would like to share with the three viewers of my rambles. The best of these is that I have quit the web of stupidity that they call a construction company to make my side work full time again like in the old days. This is a minor factor but it defiantly adds to my happiness and a feeling of freedom. The other more main inspirations for writing come from my experience with white trash and pornography.
I will lead into this with the more frustrating of the events to cross my plate. That is my encounter with the stupidity that is our justice system and the greed that embodies our society. Those of you who have known me for a while might remember the car accident that I got myself into on Christmas Day. Other than a black eye, a broken thumb, my nerves shattered, some totaled cars, and Cody and I missing the masterpiece of The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers everything was alright. I did not hear a word about this further until I was just about to turn 18, which also happened to be the statute of limitations on any lawsuits that could be filed against me for this accident. I had to go to the deposition and give my statement. Where at this event this lower life form of a man attempted to corner me into condemning myself to an image of a drunk irresponsible teen out to raise hell, but all he got was a court transcript of a 17-year-old making him look like a fool. The best part of this experience was the fact that I got to see the woman who was taking up the American dream. She could not even look at me no matter how long I stared at her haggard face in disbelief. This whole thing bothered me tremendously, and my lawyer tried to comfort me by saying that since the accident was in Clackamas County she would get no more than 9,000 dollars. This infuriated me more. My insurance already paid for her medical bills and her shitty ’92 Corsica and she would get some where in the ballpark of nine grand extra! I ranted and raved about the horrible greed of our society and the stupidity of frivolous lawsuits.
I never heard another word on the matter, and I assumed that things went as they were meant to. But we all know what happens when you assume. When I was looking for a new car and working out my finances, four years after the accident, I needed to look into the cost of taking on my insurance. In looking though their files, my father came across a number that I would never have expected. My dad called me up and told me the news that, as I expected, insurance would be expensive, but the other news he dropped on me would ruin my mindset for a length of time still to be determined. He informed me that in that suit they received 68,000 dollars for pain and suffering. Let that number sink in. It makes me sick. It chinks away at that small granule of hope for the human race. It is hard to think of how much lower we can go, but I am sure that humanity will find a way to take it up a notch to amaze and astound.
Something that did astound and amaze me on a much more localized level was a discovery that I made on one of my final days working in the money pit of a development where I spent the bulk of my days. I was stopping into one of my daily locations for a short stop and a small break. I locked the door to the porta-potty, flipped up the lid and saw to my surprise something unexpected. I know you are not supposed to look in. It is the last thing that you would ever want to do, I know, but some interesting pictures caught my eye. The flipped open pages of about five or six Playboys soaking in the deep blue abyss is enough to pull your attention anywhere. Not only were there the magazines, but there was also a bottle of KY warming liquid still in the package resting behind the seat.
This scenario just sent my mind wandering into what situation left these artifacts to be seen by me. Was someone interrupted in the act of enjoying some private time in the john? Was a son, or even a husband, caught in the act and a mother or wife disposed of these frowned upon items in the closest place that had nothing to do with their home? This discovery was even better when I returned the next day to find the mags removed from the john. They were placed in the dirt right next to that green box, toasting in the sun but still damp from the sewage that had been their home. The main change had been in the condition of the KY. It had been removed from its package and half of it had been distributed to somewhere I could not figure out. This got my mind spinning again about all the possibilities. Did the porta-potty cleaner have a little too much fun, or did a curious kid find a fun spray bottle? Who knows? All I know is that this was the most challenged my mind had been at work in the three months I had been there. Ah the joys of working.