Hell of a Guy
We didn't lose the game; we just ran out of time. - Vince Lombardi

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Four Plus Hours at the Indianapolis Airport

03/28/2007

My travels, or travails, have taken me from my beautiful country home to the big city.  Indianapolis isn’t as large as some cities, but the airport is just as big and boring as a lot of them.  I am not necessarily enjoying this adventure.

My flight today left Dulles International at 12:15.  I arrived in Indianapolis just about 2pm.  I came here for meeting that is to take place in Terre Haute, Indiana tomorrow morning at 8:30 in the morning.  I am to meet my boss, but he does not arrive until 6:30, about two hours from now.

Not long after I got off United Airlines’ flight 7803 in Indy, I proceeded as slowly as I could to the baggage pickup area.  I really had little to no idea how I would spend the four hours until Big Daddy arrives.  It didn’t take me long to explore every nook and cranny of this airport seeking a venue in which to sit my butt down and wait.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, however you see it, I found a very nice bar just outside one of the concourses.  I took a seat at the bar, perused the bar’s menu of delectable appetizers, which was made up of numerous types of deep-fried fare and other nasty sounding things.

You all know I am particular about the beer I will drink.  This bar just happened to serve Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and assorted mass produced industrial swills: you know-Bud Light, Miller Lite, Michelob Ultra – the usual crap some people believe to be “good” tasting beer.  God must have a special purpose for these poor, gullible, unfortunate souls.

I decided to have a Sierra and some chips and salsa.  Time to go: three hours, forty-five minutes.  I knew pacing my consumption was in perfect order, but for those who know how quickly I can put this stuff down my esophagus, pacing is nearly a Mission Impossible.  About thirty minutes into my wait I have polished off three Sierras, all the fritos y salsa I had ordered, and knew number four would not serve me well.  I paid the bill and skedaddled.  I went on a search to find a quiet place to work.  Don’t laugh: This is work.

Here I sit in a secluded corner of the baggage area of the Indianapolis Airport writing BS for my Hell-Of-A-Guy.Com website so wanting to go back up to the bar and enjoy another Sierra, but it would not be prudent, especially with His Majesty coming in to Indy in a little under two hours.  It will be bad enough I have beer breath; a buzz will not be a good thing to have as I greet the guy who keeps me employed.

The experience has caused me to make some notes to self:
1. Never drink five beers while waiting your boss.
2. It is very difficult to hide a $60.00 bar tab on your expense report.
3. Four and half hours in an airport is not a fun time.

And that is all I have to say about that…

 
Monday, March 26, 2007

A New Theme, A New Vision

03/26/2007

I have made a huge, life altering decision.  When I first began to post things I have written for this website it was my intention to compose only humorus stuff, stuff one can laugh at.  Somewhere along the line I stuck a few philosophical pieces in and also some sad stuff.  No more!  From this point on it is my intention to only post happy stuff.  From now on this will be known as the “Happy Shit Site” and not the “Sad Shit Site.”  So, stay tuned for good shit from me.  But first I have to come up with some good shit.

 
Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Life Comes at You Fast…

03/21/2007

You have all probably seen the series of commercials on TV with the tag line “Life Comes at You Fast.”  Well, ain’t it the truth?

A friend called me and told me about a handsome, young friend of his, a bank teller in New Mexico.  This particular young man at age twenty-three worked his way through college with an impressive 3+ GPA, his dream, to go further with his education and a goal of getting certification as a physical therapist.  As with a lot of people he got it in his head he would not be able to do it – you know, money, circumstances, the load of “what ifs,” “I can’ts” and “maybes.”

My friend – in fact one of the best, if not the best – doesn’t quite look at life that way.  For him, it’s Katie bar the door, full speed ahead; take no prisoners, no getting off the train until the last stop in Brooklyn.  There is no “surrender” in my bud’s vocabulary.  He knew if the young man really wanted to go further, he could do it.  My friend found the young man a school offering the program he wanted to attend, but in Nevada, not New Mexico.  With a gentle push my friend inspired the young man to apply to this school.  He did and was he accepted, and he was given the chance to go on a scholarship.  The young man’s life was falling into place.  Could it be any better than this?

This young man had grown up on a tough road.  Life comes at you fast, but it isn’t always great and it isn’t always easy.  This kid had it stacked against him from the beginning, but it did not stop him from aspiring to be something.  He worked hard to rise above his humble beginnings and have the future the American Dream promises is available to anyone willing to work for it.  My friend is proud of what this young man accomplished, and was willing to give support to this young man to get to the top, to realize his dream.

Life comes at you fast!  Never lose sight of that.  One never knows what lay ahead.  In cosmic time we are but here for a very brief time.  Life is tenuous at best.  We live never knowing when the thread of life will come to its end or snap.  Life comes at you fast!  Live it now.  Don’t hang back there somewhere…forget what happened yesterday and live for today, in the “now.”  This young man, so full of promise, was thrown from a moving car and his young life ended.  How very sad.  Life came at him fast.

And that is all I have to say about that…

 
Friday, March 16, 2007

Up or Down

03/16/2007

I have an office in a small building in Beautiful Downtown Berkeley Springs, WV (aka Town of Bath), population 711.  The primary tenet/owner is an attorney.  The other tenets include a lady using one office on the second floor and another rented by a very handsome, somewhat older, pudgy, balding guy…also known as a “Hell of a Guy.”  The building, just to create a mental picture for you, is a former residence and probably about eighty- to ninety-years old.  Its condition borders on “soon-to-be-condemned” to “a-good-wind-will-blow-it-away.”  Three to four hundred thousand dollars in improvements might bring it up to a condition of something worth looking at.  Trust me; it isn’t pretty, but it suits my purpose.  The second floor of this less than palatial edifice has four offices (formerly bedrooms) and a bath – technically called a “restroom” in an office building.  Only two of the offices are occupied.  No other business person in his or her right mind would rent space in this dump, but, again, it serves my purpose.

Most of the time the only people who use the unisex “restroom” on this floor are the lady tenet and me, and with that bit of information, herein lay the issue.

All of my adult life it has been my rule – and I am the king – to put the lid, not just the seat, on the toilet in the down position.  I opine that if the damn thing has a lid, it must have been put there for a reason, and the reason is for it to be down.  My floor mate must have been raised otherwise.  She never puts the lid down.  I always put it down.

Occasionally I hear her office door open and hear the “restroom” door close.  The walls in this building are not very soundproof.  Sound carries.  I hear her having to lift the lid, and the nefarious side of me loves to hear the little thump it makes as the lid strikes the water closet.  Thump!  Smile.

I believe she plays the game with me in reverse.  I bet she chuckles to herself each time she hears me shut that door, because she knows the lid is up.  She knows I hate it, and I do I hate it.  Put the damn lid down!!!

And that is all I have to say about that…

 
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