I am about to prep for a few more hours for the class I’m teaching tomorrow, and realize that no one knows the types of adventures I end up on while working—or teaching, for that matter. Why? It’s not near as entertaining as the antics I can get into at Homer Hollow or Farmer Ron’s ranchette (Scapegoat Farm).
Frankly, I will never be able to top the stories I used to tell (all involved given fake names to protect the innocent, of course) while working in the medical field. How does one top a poo-flinging senior yelling at the top of his lungs that you stole his pork chop? I think you get my point. But, I do still have those days…sort of.
Safely arriving in Milwaukee at my “economy” hotel, I was thankful there was a Mexican restaurant adjacent to it. Having no food since 7:30 this morning, and it being three hours after lunch, I was in a mood. Specifically, I was in a mood that didn’t allow me to deal with the “swelling door,” as the hotel keeper called it, and a small emergency back at Homer Hollow.
I staggered over to see what Jose had in his Cantina. Jose’s Cantina was a very chintzy restaurant but I knew it would be, and I didn’t care. I would have eaten almost anything at that point. Literally a second after I sit down a Latin god in an apron and salmon colored shirt comes over and asks me what I would like to drink. What I hear him saying is, “Would you like hot or mild salsa?” What I see him thinking in his mind is, “Hello there my bonita lady; I am more fertile than anyone in my family and you will be impregnated before your nachos hit the table.” Seriously, he’s that cute and it’s that kind of grin. Luckily he’s not pouring the machismo on, he’s just very anxious to be a good waiter. I did exaggerate a bit. Hell, it’s what makes me colorful.
Ricky gives my nacho order to the kitchen staff then he and two much shorter Mexican gentlemen duck out the front door. They do this rather quickly and at first I think, “Oh, how nice, the waiter is helping the kitchen staff carry garbage or stoke the smoker.” Then the real Kimi starts to think and almost aspirates a chip while thinking, “There go the rims on my precious FJ Cruiser.” I know-it’s a horrible thing to assume about anyone.
The three amigos took a while to come back and I swore when they all walked back in that one of the little ones walked past me and said, “Vroom, vroom!” Is that Spanish for “enchilada plate with hot sauce?” I nodded and thought to myself, “Yeah, this will surely want to “vroom vroom” right as I get in front of my class tomorrow morning. Oy. I’d better stick to the mild salsa!
Meanwhile, back in my cheap room—cheap because I paid for it—lacking certain amenities like heat and extra pillows, I cranked the heat (again) put my scarf and hat on, and hoped that my laptop would overheat while I was holding it so that my nose would thaw out.
It’s all worth it though: my bathroom is periwinkle blue.
Have you taught any tech classes before this week? They might not throw poop, but... (OK, that's hard to beat outside of the dropzone, did I ever tell you about Bill...).
ReplyDeleteBut still, you should still be on the receiving end of some rather colorful tales before too long.