Wednesday, May 7, 2008

with alarming frequency!


This one's from way back, so the details are fuzzy. All I remember is we were leaving the Bay House (my grandfather's vacation house in Port O'Connor, Texas) and my dad discovered something extremely unpleasant that had to be cleaned up. Ojo probably has more details.

Thanks to Ojo for coming through with the details (as I knew he would). Here's the story as per Ojo:
At some point in the weekend when we were there [July 4th weekend in Port O'Connor, a big family event with about twenty people in one house, filling up one trash can], though, the trash was taken from the shed and put into that old beat up truck of Bob's. I know, because I was the one who had to transport that fucked up mess. Gagged the whole time. Well, the trash was merely staged in the back of the truck and had been sitting there in the sun for at least one whole day. It further putrified and was dripping out of the bags and out of the bed of the truck in little milky streams. On Sunday I suggested that we go skiing. Mom and Dad were game, but the only vehicle we had that could pull the boat was the truck with the trash in the back. Mind you, the truck itself was a spectacle. It was the brown one that Bob tried to run through two trees that were about 8 inches narrower than his truck. So both sides of the truck were dented and scraped along the entire length. Kelly had also run over some posts or something that dented in the front and back of the truck. We were in the kitchen of the Bayhouse trying to figure out what to do when Mom asked why we couldn't just take the truck with the trash in it to haul the boat. That's when Dad turned to her with a look of astonishment and said in his subtle patronizing tone, "But baby, it's HORRIBLE." And it was too.

But that's not the rest of the story. The rest of the story is that we decided in the end to just take the truck and go skiing. (I think it was my vote that swung things.) So we go down to the fishing center to launch the boat and it's windy as fuck, right. We back the trailer down the ramp and I'm supposed to hold the boat fast while Dad gets in the boat to start it. Of course, it doesn't start and Dad starts getting pissed. Meanwhile, I'm struggling to hold the boat straight but the wind was too much and the boat started getting away from me. It turned sideways between the piers and blocked the rest of traffic. Dad starts hollering. Mom tries to get in the mix to help, but ends up just making it worse. By now, all of the vultures sitting on the benches at the Fishing Center watching people pull their boats in and out are all watching at us, pointing and snickering. The truck that's beat to fuck, (the boat wasn't in much better shape), the overpowering smell of rotten garbage, the crazy man yelling at his wife and kids - you get the picture. My joke of all of that is that I was wearing a J. Crew bathing suit that day and all of those people might have thought we were white trash had it not been for my J. Crew bathing suit.

9 comments:

llogg said...

While this isn't the funniest one, I wanted to start with one that neither Ojo or Snake mentioned to me. Next week's is awesome.

Snake Diggity said...

This quote harkens to the days of POC at it's peak, when there were probably 1/2 a dozen kids still in diapers over a 4ht of July weekend at the bayhouse. Anyway, in those days POC didn't have regular trash pickup; it all had to be either taken back to Victoria or over to the Western Auto and deposited in their dumpster. Well, for whatever reason, at the end of that 4th of July weekend, nobody had bothered to take a full 4-5 days refuse (food, DIRTY DIAPERS, tons of Larry beers, etc) back to Victoria with them. It was all just thrown into the dark, swampy, sauna that is the shed. Two weeks passed. We went down there to spend the weekend, and on Sunday opened the shed to get the trash and load it into the truck. The smell was unimaginable. It can pretty much be summed up this way: MAGGOTS CRAWLING OUT OF 2 WEEK OLD BABY SHIT. Dad, with his signature grimace, went inside to talk to Mom, and I'm pretty sure he just wanted to burn down the entire shed. Mom was like "Well, baby, can't we just take it over to the Western Auto down the road?" Dad's response, with the quintessence of disgust and abhorrence for the disappointment of life, was "But, Baby, it's horrible." ('Horrible' being bold and italicized.)

llogg said...

Awesome! Thanks snake.

Ojo Rojo said...

Close, Snake, but not quite the whole story. You are right about the trash and how it putrified in the boatshed/oven in the middle of July. At some point in the weekend when we were there, though, the trash was taken from the shed and put into that old beat up truck of Bob's. I know, because I was the one who had to transport that fucked up mess. Gagged the whole time. Well, the trash was merely staged in the back of the truck and had been sitting there in the sun for at least one whole day. It further putrified and was dripping out of the bags and out of the bed of the truck in little milky streams. On Sunday I suggested that we go skiing. Mom and Dad were game, but the only vehicle we had that could pull the boat was the truck with the trash in the back. Mind you, the truck itself was a spectacle. It was the brown one that Bob tried to run through two trees that were about 8 inches narrower than his truck. So both sides of the truck were dented and scraped along the entire length. Kelly had also run over some posts or something that dented in the front and back of the truck. We were in the kitchen of the Bayhouse trying to figure out what to do when Mom asked why we couldn't just take the truck with the trash in it to haul the boat. That's when Dad turned to her with a look of astonishment and said in his subtle patronizing tone, "But baby, it's HORRIBLE." And it was too.

But that's not the rest of the story. The rest of the story is that we decided in the end to just take the truck and go skiing. (I think it was my vote that swung things.) So we go down to the fishing center to launch the boat and it's windy as fuck, right. We back the trailer down the ramp and I'm supposed to hold the boat fast while Dad gets in the boat to start it. Of course, it doesn't start and Dad starts getting pissed. Meanwhile, I'm struggling to hold the boat straight but the wind was too much and the boat started getting away from me. It turned sideways between the piers and blocked the rest of traffic. Dad starts hollering. Mom tries to get in the mix to help, but ends up just making it worse. By now, all of the vultures sitting on the benches at the Fishing Center watching people pull their boats in and out are all watching at us, pointing and snickering. The truck that's beat to fuck, (the boat wasn't in much better shape), the overpowering smell of rotten garbage, the crazy man yelling at his wife and kids - you get the picture. My joke of all of that is that I was wearing a J. Crew bathing suit that day and all of those people might have thought we were white trash had it not been for my J. Crew bathing suit.

llogg said...

And now you know ... the rest of the story. I wish I had known the whole story at the outset since it's such a quintessential Dad story. I'm going to append your tale to the original post so any random passers-by won't miss it.

Snake Diggity said...

LMAO OJO!!!!!

desert boy said...

awesome.

i remember this story and of course the truck. what a piece. i was actually in it (with robb) when kelly mowed down their cute picket fence.

roy said...

This is going to be great. I'm guaranteed a good laugh at least once a week!

llogg said...

Roy, the best are yet to come.