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Day 38 & 39: Chisels and Monster Trucks

I made over $100 in tips in the last two days. That is phenomenal for a Monday/Tuesday.

Other interesting things have happened. Merc has moved on to bigger and better things. No, he didn’t die. I came in some time during the last week, asked where he was, and found out he was gone. Cap’n let me know.

Speaking of Cap’n. I was running a report on the back computer. I sat on a small, hydraulic chair. The fabric was crusty and powdered. The cushion was well worn from many a backside. The hydraulic system seemed flawless. As I sat working, I adjusted my feet underneath.

I lost altitude.

I didn’t think anything of it. The loss of altitude coincided with my foot adjustment. You’ve done that before. You hit the button with your heel and boom, you’re eight inches closer to Mother Earth.

“Nothing?” I hear.

I turned around and started. Cap’n was right there.

“I didn’t get anything out of you?” she said. She had a wry smile.

“Uhhhh, you startled me just now standing there!”

“I lowered your chair and you didn’t even jump,” she said. She looked disappointed.

“Oh! I thought I did that! I had adjusted my feet and the bump, heel, slide along the floor, you know…”

I stammered. She chuckled. I felt honored. Cap’n tried to play a joke on me!

I’ve mentioned that Blastoise resides in our dishwasher. I may or may not have mentioned that they run a hose out of his back. It reaches behind the Dishwasher and hooks onto a nozzle above the sink. 

I call this the Chisel.

The shape of the nozzle and the velocity of the water is built, as far as I can tell, to cut through anything. The amount of oil that is used in making pizza can be wash-prohibitive. A normal sprayer might just bead up water and roll it off the glistening surfaces of the pans. The Chisel? Oil. Grease. Dough. Carbonized crusties. I think I dented a pan once. No seriously.

Ok, maybe not. But still. It makes spraying anything off easy. It also teaches you things.

It was weeks ago. I was trying to clean dishes with haste. The Warrior ninja’ed in and dropped some seasoning sauce buckets into the sink. They have small ladles. The cup on the ladle is about two inches across. I grabbed the stickiest, nastiest one in the bunch, held it down into the sink and let loose the fury of the Chisel.

4th graders? Science Teachers? Anyone? Heck, I know at least one physicist reads this blog every once in a while. Anyone with any common sense can piece together what happens when you direct high-pressure water into the mouth of a ladle. If not, let me enlighten you: the water comes right back out at you at the same speed you sent it in.

At least the sauce was tasty. I wiped/dried off and learned from my mistake.

I’ve gotten better at using it, but I wielded it on Monday and thought, “Man, I have got to tell people about this thing.”

Monday night, the car broke. They do that. It’s dumb. Had to take it into the shop. That means Tuesday I delivered pizzas in our 1993 K1500 Suburban.

That’s not our truck, but it’s pretty close. Ours has more rust, dents and pock marks. It’s huge.

I pulled up to a lady’s house and parked. I had a parachute in the back bench, so I put it on, grabbed the pizza and opened the door.

I landed with knees bent and rolled, disengaging the chute. The lady was at the door before I got there. Very nice. She had a last name I recognized.

“Oh, do you have family in Bellevue by any chance?”

“Nope, not at all,” she said.

“Ah, thought I’d ask. I went to school with some folks with your last name,” I said. I meant Church, but it was during High School. So sue me.

I got to thinking afterward and realized I must be working on my Nebracism. The family I knew was as Caucasian as Europeans. This lady was as Caucasian as an African American.


But, you never know! Maybe she married into the family! I didn’t rule anything out.

I didn’t smash anything or run over anybody. People were friendly and the tips were good. We’re making progress. And I delivered pizzas in a mammoth truck. Intense.



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