ssǝɹddns ɹou ɹɐǝɟ ɹǝɥʇıǝu plnoʍ ʎʇǝıɔos ǝǝɹɟ ʎlnɹʇ ɐ ʇɐɥʇ ƃuıʇnɔolɯnɔɹıɔ suıɐʇuoɔ ǝʇıs sıɥʇ

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Hotter than Hell: Not a snowball in sight

My entire day was spent out-of-doors.

I left the modest adobe a tad shy of 7 in the morning, and I’m now back here out of the long reach of the soaring temperatures that can up and crush your manhood when coupled with prolonged bouts of direct sunlight.

I had a co coworker pitching in today, somebody who is used to working exclusively indoors. And when I tell you he was visibly wilting, be mindful of the reality of the situation, which was that I thought he was going to faint dead away on a few occasions.

The thing is, while just about everybody bitches out loud about out the borderline record-setting heat waves and worse, only a few of us are accustomed to facing the worst that they have to offer while being gainfully employed far from the reach of the air conditioners.

And to thrive in such an overheated environment requires experience, a workout regimen far removed from the ‘norm, seriously-honed hydration practices, a few well-timed smoke breaks and the ability to ignore the obvious discomfort and step it up into another gear no matter what Mother Nature has to say about matters. You know, dogged stick-to-itiveness that throws the bird at the increasing fragility of your mortality.

Anyway, there came a point late this afternoon when I was on my knees on concrete for far too long, I was secretly cursing the sunlight that was making things a bit insufferable, I was trying to direct my sometimes overwrought coworker who looked as if he had had more than enough, when this familiar voice from my past upped and provided me with the comic relief that gave me that little, that extra kick in the pants.

"Yeah mom? Well what do you care? That's all you care about, somebody sitting down in the snow and letting it melt through your four pair of corduroys. You don't care that Junior Barnes hit me on the side of the face with a slush ball and let all the gunk go down in my underwear because if you did care you'd go out and get him!"

I'm going to get Junior Barnes. I'm going to get you Junior Barnes, boy I'm going to get you. And I started to make a snowball for Junior Barnes. I made a snowball that was so round and so perfect. And it's got a little name inscribed (on it) says "Junior Barnes."

 And I went out looking for Junior Barnes."Junior Barnes? You gunky… Oh… Junior Barnes." I couldn't find him. And it was 7.30. I had to get home before the monsters come out. And I took that snowball home. And I put it in the freezer.

And I waited. July. July 12th. My birthday. It was 104 degrees in the shade. Not a snowball in sight.

Junior Barnes was sitting on the steps in front of my house. I was standing there with him. I had gone to great lengths to prove to Junior Barnes that I was his greatest friend. Let him drink out of my orange soda bottle without even wiping it off.

And old Junior Barnes just sitting there telling his little jokes, "ha ha ha ha ha." And I was laughing right with him, "Junior Barnes, you are so-o-o-o-o- funny ha ha ha ha ha!" And I said, "Junior Barnes, I'm going in the house, and get an orange soda for us. You just wait right here. ha ha ha ha ha." You gunky.

And I walked in the house, and opened that freezer door, and my mother had thrown the snowball away.

 So I went back outside and I spit on him.
Bill Cosby, kiddies. I know the Democrats hate him these days for daring to speak out on social morays and racial politics.

But if you were a kid growing up when I was a kid, thanks entirely to him, you had to have been afraid, even petrified of crossing the Eighth Street Bridge after dark.


No comments: