True story...
I approach number 715 where The Fi and I reside when I am greeted by a stout latino with a paint roller. He arms himself as if we are to do battle. Before I am able to call up Gandalf to borrow a staff and commence a la Steven Segal, he informs me - "other side, ese" as he points with said roller. (I added the 'ese' to the story for effect).
"Perfect" I exclaimed with three Target bags, dog food and a folder in my hands. Why shouldn't I have to walk all the way around the other side of building 7 to enter my abode.
I trapse around back to find latino numero dos going in circles on the riding mower with his airman's earmuffs on. Then a piece of mulch slings past my head (literally heard it whizz) and smashes against the wall next to me. I of course react as calmy and cooly as possible by dropping everything and fearing that a scud missle has narrowly missed me. Of course my cussing is not heard by johnny earmuffs but I'm fairly certain his limited English-speaking ability would have allowed for a proper translation.
I had an awesome off-day.
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3 comments:
aaaand johnny's back. you were missed, hombre.
Target bags. No fair.
Why's it always got to be a latino thing?
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