Day 679: Struggles with Native Distractions and Tribal Vehicle Repairs

My mother always said there’d be days like this.  What she didn’t say is that there’d be weeks.  Multiple weeks.  Weeks have passed where the consumption of attitude modification beverages, also known as alcoholic beverages, have been required for purposes of mental health.  The struggles I have been experiencing with the natives are not new nor are they behaviors I have not witnessed or experienced; rather, these radical, sometimes horrific behaviors are being amplified – intensified with an energy that would make the fires of hell look like a single match stick.  Yup.  They’ve not only learned what to do to raise my ire, they now intentionally do it – in fucking tandem.

On occasion, I do have work that I need to accomplish. I know, how the hell dare I.  However, I do.  I must get SOMETHING done other than increase my chances of needing an I-love-me jacket and a padded room all to my own.  The occasions of needing to accomplish this “work” as I call it are becoming more frequent and thus deadlines must be set and adhered to.  I get it.  My clients get it.  Everyone gets it, except for – wait for it – the natives.  In fact, I think they are the antichrist when it comes to work.  I can hear them now in their primitive, scheming little minds: “Thou shalt not attempt to accomplish anything other than tend to our every whim!” (Biblical dialogue added for added effect – the natives do not use biblical verbiage about the abode – hell, most of the time, I’m lucky if I can get a whole fucking sentence.)  And, each day that I sit down, at my place at the food preparation area, the natives take their respective roles in the Thou Shalt Not Work Circus.

I have not determined just how they know the very moment I sit down to try to accomplish something; perhaps it’s a sixth sense.  Their uncanny ability to know the very moment I attempt to begin working and appear that next moment demanding, because requesting using manners is just too fucking difficult, is frightening and impressive.  These “attempts” at impeding my labors begin as soon as they arise in the morning, with the first several interruptions being beverage related – simply put, they need something more to drink.  And, what one must have, the other must have also.  Yet, do you think they’d time it so that they’d interrupt once instead of timing it perfectly after I return to work after the first request?  No.  That would be fucking heresy.   After getting both natives their beverages, the peace that I get to perform any kind of productive function lasts from two to five minutes.  After that they’ll request – of all the nerve – food.  Square fucking cheese.  For those who are unaware, square cheese is simply American Cheese.  The natives designate the cheese that they desire by shape.  Anyways, this usually prompts multiple interruptions until the first meal of the day is consumed by them and they return to whatever diabolical scheme that they are concocting in the tribal living area.  I then get a few moments to work.  What the hell was I doing again?

Many of my interruptions are caused by arguments – tiffs – slight brawls – between the natives over just about anything.  I wish to note here that my refereeing skills need some work.  Normally when I am beckoned to intervene in a squabble, I approach it like I am loaded for fucking bear.  And, usually, I preface it with, “For the love of God.”  When asked what the disruption is about, what do I get?  You guessed it – those damn crickets.  No blaming.  No owning up to it.  Nothing.  Well, except for more crying and squabbling.  I’ve had my fill of solving and refereeing arguments between the natives – normally, they revolve around Tuesday causing some atrocity toward or at her younger sibling.  On rare occasions, Wednesday is the culprit for her elder sister’s chagrin.  And sometimes, just sometimes, Wednesday cries for no fucking reason at all.  None.  Like ghosts or apparitions or something cause her displeasure because when the situation is observed, she’s all alone and no one is within striking distance.

And yet still there are those tell-tale fucking sounds – you, know the ones I’m talking about – the ones that scream, “Hey, I’m scaling the electronic media structure, come look at me,” or “Hey, I’m attempting to leave the abode and I’m fumbling with the locks, could you give me a hand?”  These are the sounds that stop me in my tracks – in mid-thought and say, “Get your ass up and investigate.”  It’s like fucking toddler mischief sonar.  And yes, it’s a blessing and a curse.

So those are my distractions – and never are they predictable and never are they the same, day in and day out.  Something to add a little, “How can we fuck up your day” into your routine and today was no different.  The day started in the usual manner, the tribal leader rose and began preparing for work, and I attempted to steal a few more moments of sleep.  Fat chance.  Before departing, she had informed me that one of the wildlife had vomited all over the reclining tribal furniture in the tribal living area.  Fucking wonderful.  So, I rose and attempted to start cleaning it before one of the natives arose and plopped their belongings down in the mess.  I cleaned that and then returned to our resting chambers.  Any hope of more slumber was squashed by Wednesday who made her drunken penguin trek out to the food preparation area, babbling and talking away, the whole journey there.  Fantastic.

After getting her situated, I then received a phone call from the tribal leader informing me that her mode of transportation had a flat tire and that she had taken the other vehicle to get to her usual occupation.  This day just keeps getting fucking better and better.  So, she placed in my trust the deed to get the tire fixed, which appeared to be a simple task. The effective word there is “appeared.”

So after spending the entire morning fielding attacks from the natives on my attempts to accomplish anything – clean dishes, work, clothe my stinking hide -anything – one of the tribal elders arrived so that I could escape..I mean fix the damaged tire.  I got outside to the vehicle and there it sat – flatter than flat.  My first job was to figure out where the fuck the vehicle support was that would enable me to remove the damaged tire.  I looked under the hood of the vehicle – no, not there.  I looked underneath the vehicle – no not there.  I looked in several compartments in the back-end of the vehicle – no, no, no.  I felt like I was looking for fucking Waldo.  I then resorted to consulting the manual that came with the vehicle – a novel idea.  According to said manual, the vehicle support was in two entirely separate locations in the vehicle – both of which required A LOT of purging of “stuff” before they were accessible.  In fact, I fought with one part of the support for ten fucking minutes before I got it out so that I could use it.  Ten fucking minutes.

After getting the vehicle support out and assembling the pieces, because what would be the sense of this device being somewhat together, I attempted to raise the back-end of the vehicle to remove the damaged tire.  Great.  Back end raised.  No tire iron.  Shit.  I found some tools and attempted to remove the lug nuts with a ratchet when I realized that the end of the handle for the vehicle support was the piece that I needed.  Dipshit.  After that, taking the lugs off was slightly easier – I say slightly because I nearly had a damn hernia trying to get them off.  All fucking six of them.  Once off, I was able to complete the job by taking the tire to a merchant that fixes vehicle tires for a minimal fee.  About an hour later, the tire was back on and my work was done.  Now to check on the tribal elder.

I expected to see the natives running rampant with the tribal elder tied up or some such situation – however, this was not the case.  The natives had, however, managed to finagle more food from the tribal elder – after they had already eaten bananas, waffles, cheese, hotdogs, strawberries and vegetable flavored sticks.  Upon my arrival inside the abode, Tuesday informed me that she was “playing in the water in the sink” with her arms wet up to her elbows.  Sigh.  I informed her sternly that the dish water was no place to be playing and that the tribal leader merely asked her to place a dirty dish into the water.  Lost in translation.

The remainder of the day prompted more exuberant behavior from the natives and tantrums – oh the fucking tantrums – galore.  For now, they sleep.  Soon, I will too.  After another glass of wine…


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