Velociworld

PLANES, TRAINS, & AUTOMOBILES

Your Leisure Working Boy has been busy. Oh, yes. And he's missed his friends. But the Mortgagee of Darkness waits for no man, hence my Unfortunate Journey into the Bowels of Productivity.

We begin with a plane flight from Jax to Providence Monday afternoon. Into Providence late, I had a shit dinner and then to bed. Tuesday I drive to Andover, Mass for lawn fellowship. This course is so far north the back nine is in New Hampshire. Then I drive back to Providence for dinner. Wednesday I drive back north to Lexington for a sales call. I point out the Commons where the Battle of Lexington occurred to my boss. He wants to know why there aren't any grenade holes.

From Lexington I drive back south to Providence to catch the Acela bullet train to Newark. A great ride, if you're a fucking porter. Slack'jawed commuters sit in their overstuffed seats and stare at their laptops while industrious Amtrak workers rifles their personal belongings. I copped a Blackberry, two Palm Pilot V's, and a rancid gyro. You enter New York from Fort Apache, the Bronx, go under the East River, then surface at Penn Station. Still no Twin Towers. Life sucks, although I did flip the Berry and Pilots for an FDNY baseball cap in the men's room.

We had dinner with a customer in rural Jersey. The boss clipped a baby deer in the parking lot. The deer's fine. The piece of shit rental car has a crease.

Thursday: we visit the New York/New Jersey Ports Authority folks. Tony and Pussy want to know why business is down. We turn down ziti with Carmela at the risk of our lives. We take the creased rental to Baltimore, avoiding the Blackout by three hours.

The CrabFest in Baltimore is nice, if you enjoy 98 in the shade, and sweat globules the size of deer ticks coursing down your tits. That night I take customers to see the Yankees and Orioles at Camden Yards. Mt company GAVE the Yards to Baltimore for that stadium. Now they treat us like shit. Just because we moved every job we had out of that twisted town.

Great seats on the first base line. The only thing better than seeing the Yankees is seeing the Yankees lose. They win, 8-5, alas. At least from my seat I could heckle Derek Jeter every time he rounded first. Every time he rounded first. I think he took umbrage at my shouts of quadroon cocksucker! I don't know why. It was a compliment. I swear.

Now the trip gels, as they tend to do at the end. Packed the boss off to Jax on the 8:45 Southwest (before the game) and hung for the night. Which was actually bad. Because you don't want to be in Bohager's at 1:30 in the morning when you have to get up at 5:30. Never been to Bohager's? Great bar. They have a two story foam machine that floods the bar with suds, like a Mr. Bubble run amok. Girls get in and soap each other up, and, well, Daddy Like. I tried wearing the foam beard like the little kid in the Mr. Bubble commercials to impress the girls, but I'm a tired, lame old-schooler. They wanted Derek Jeter. To add insult to injury I closed the bar at Shula's at 2:00 am, nursing my first (!) cocktail of the evening. Up at 5:30, at BWI at 6:15. Got to my house at 11:00 am, spent 20 minutes packing, then drove to St. Petersburg to see Ringo. That's the next blog, if my corpuscles hold out.