December Hate Thing, day 26 Cutting corners

I hate cutting corners.  Every time I cut a corner it always come back to haunt me in one shape or form.  Even though I am fully aware of this, I continue to cut corners.  For instance, I was out helping my grand dad with his garden and he had a hose clamp on part of his garden hose.  The clamp was slipping so I pulled my pocket knife out and was getting ready to use it to tighten the screw.  Grandpa being the smart man he was said, "Use the right tool for the job and get it done right.  Screw around with that pocket knife and you'll run that blade into your hand."  Grandpa started to walk away to retrieve the right tool for the job and I managed to stab the shit out of my hand.....  See what I am getting at?

Then there was the time when I was living with my dad and I instead of doing the dishes by hand (which I prefer), I decided since there was about a full load, I'd go ahead and use the dishwasher.  I load the dishwasher and much to my dismay, there was no detergent.  On a subconscious level, I knew the right thing to do would be to run to town and buy the correct detergent.  The dumb ass side of me said "Use the Dawn, genius!"  I figured I had put adequate thought into the situation.  Driving to town and back was going to take as long as the wash cycle, so it makes perfect sense to just use the Dawn and save the gas money.  I squirt about 4 tablespoons into the dishwasher and fired it up and took it upon myself to take care of some other chores.  (This is the day I learned that not all soap is a like.)

Much to my dismay, as I walked down the hall back towards the kitchen, I could see what I initially thought was smoke!  Well, it wasn't smoke.... it was soap bubbles and I had the entire kitchen and dining room full of them and the shit was creeping into the living room.  I spent hours trying to clean this train wreck up.

And here's the weird thing about all of this.  Every time I am about to screw something up, I can hear my grandpa saying "use the right tool for the job."  I swear, every time.  So between stabbing myself in the hand and filling my dads house full of bubbles, there were dozens, maybe even hundreds of screw ups of all levels.  Most of them were small and really no big deal.  Some required stitches.  That's just how things go for me.

Take the time that I was headed back to Vegas to see my mom and all of my friends.  I used to get off at 10pm on Sundays, but this was the off season so I was off at 8pm.  Immediately, I think of the plan to just go fill my duffle bag full of shorts and t-shirts (because it was spring time) and hit the road.  Brilliant!  I'd get there and everyone would be at work, so I could crash out while everyone was working and be ready for anything when they all got off work.!

I grab my loaded duffle bag, wallet full of cash, and out the door I go.  I knew it was going to be a long haul and since I had nobody to keep me company (this was before satellite radio), I knew I was going to have to get a bunch of caffeine into the blood stream and keep it flowing.  Next stop was mini mart where I promptly picked up a 6 pack of Mountain Dew, a box of No-Doze, and an extra large coffee.  Nothing was going to stop me now!

Now, I am hauling ass!  I'm past Salt Lake and I am cruising!  I had that coffee and 2 Mountain Dews pumping through the blood stream.  I'm talking turbo, Baby!  I have a grip on the wheel, the accelerator mashed to the floor and am calculating how much further I can get before I am forced to stop for fuel.  The way I had it figured, I could make it to the half way point and that would be perfect.  Turns out I forgot about all of the coffee and soda right about the time I committed to sticking to the road.  I had conveniently flown by the last bathroom opportunity about 10 minutes ago and I had to pee.  This shit was urgent.  (Here's where shit falls apart.)  I tell myself, "You ain't stopping.  Stopping is wasting time that you don't have!"  I convinced myself of it and tried my damndest to keep on trucking.

At this point, every little bump is about to make my bladder pop!  I'm sweating, but I'm determined.  That lasted about 2 more minutes and I started looking at my options.  There was the right one which required me to stop the truck, pull off the road and take a whiz.  Then there was option be which would have required me to pee while driving 90 miles an hour.  "Option B"!!!!  First I look at a pop can and think two things.  "I'm gonna pee way more than that and, knowing me, I'll somehow maim myself with the sharp edge of the can..."  I'm not that stupid, well, kinda.  I see the extra large coffee cup and was elated!  No way can I injure myself and that baby could hold at least 22-24 ounces!

I do what comes natural to me.  I started driving with my knee (going 90) and start to unbuckle my belt and get my pants unzipped.  Now, I think I am a genius.  I was having difficulty trying to find a way to get the cup at the right angle, but I had to keep the steering wheel locked were it was so I could knee drive.  I "switch hands" putting the cup in my right hand and all of my stars were aligned.  I start to pee and it was AWESOME!  Going 90, peeing at the same time while driving with my knee!!!  What could go wrong?

Turns out, nothing went wrong other than the fact that I now had a 24 ounce cup of piss and nowhere to put it.  (Truck didn't have built in cup holders.)  So I'm staring at the cup and weighing my options.  To me, I had 3.  Option A:  Hold onto the cup of pee until I got to the truck stop and dispose of it there, or Option B: Throw the entire cup and pee out the window and keep hauling ass, or Option C:  Throw the piss out the window while keeping the cup to dispose of later, since I am not a little bug.  Option C was the easy choice for the reasons stated.  Okay, this solid plan had just a bit more planning to do.  I had to be sure to open the window (duh) and had to have the correct angle on the cup as to not allow the piss to fly back in nor lose the cup in the wind.  After running some redneck physics through my head, I determined that it was going to have to be a right hand toss, over my left shoulder in order to get the cup past the door.... The plan was flawless, so I rolled down the window and grabbed the cup in my right hand.  I measure the thing up a couple of times and do a couple of complete trial runs in my head.

It's go time!  I take the lid off, wind up and let it rip.  As my arm and hand moved across my body, the bottom of the cup hits the steering wheel.  Obviously there was a splash and I determined that I no longer had any control of the cup.  My only option was to go ahead and litter because I had to open hand that piss cup out of the damned truck.  It gets worse.  As I try to redirect the cup-o-piss out the window, I slam it as hard as I possibly could into the door jam.  Piss goes flying everywhere!!!  All over me, all over the door, all over the head liner, all over the dash and down the heater vent.

After being "annointed" I go through a gagging process knowing that I am wearing pissy coffee.  My eyes are watering and I am trying to quit gagging and keep the truck on the road.  I eventually gained my composure and limped into the truck stop after wearing piss for about 30 minutes.  I had to go in and pay cash for the gas, so I thought I would also smarten up and change clothes.  I took a pair of shorts, a new t-shirt and my flip flops in.  As I open the door, it becomes abundantly clear to me that not only to I smell like piss coffee, I am wearing piss and trying to conduct business.  The clerk took my money for the fuel and pointed to the bathroom with a perplexed look on her face.

This was the walk of shame.  The smell was magnified inside this place and everyone was looking at me.  I was trying to convince myself "they think you are the new guy around here and they don't recognize you".  Anything I guess to try to avoid any more embarrassment.  I get into the bathroom and decided that I was not going to take the pissy clothes back through the entire joint, so I get rid of them and put on new, CLEAN attire after giving myself an anti piss bath in the sink.

I make it back out to the truck and get it fired up.  I grab about 30 paper towels from the window washing thing and the squee-gee.  I intended to squee-gee everything on that truck!  I get to work and get the door panel and door jam cleaned, the dash... not so much.  Piss went down the heater vent, so I am going to have that with me for a while.  I finish my clean up in less that 5 minutes and am back on the road.

As I hit the on ramp and punch it, I can hear my grandpa's voice...  "right tool for the job, blah blah blah blah....".  I couldn't help but laugh about it at this point.  I hoped to high hell that I'd never have to tell the story.  I've told it dozens of times.  Seems as if there is a pattern developing here too.

I hate cutting corners!  (And throwing piss all over me and my truck.)