Cars… I don’t do them…

Tonight, while I was leaving after my eleventh hour of work, a truck pulled in.  I hate that.  I just know it’s a customer with some “oh hey, glad I caught you” bullshit that could easily wait until business hours tomorrow.  It’s 8:30pm and raining…  Seriously, get bent.  Alas, it wasn’t that at all.  It was two strangers, in fact, and they just pulled in because they dug the look of Fast Orange.  Wanna know what two strangers were doing in town on a rainy night?  They were across the street looking at new Dodge trucks, yet took the time to drive over and talk to me about my old orange bowtie beater.  I like that.

That brings me to my point:  I don’t do cars anymore.  I’m in the middle of a gasser build that I’m going to go WAY over budget on, and that I know I’ll never drive.  I work all the time, and when I eventually move and change jobs, I’ll still be working all the time.  There’s no room for a car in the life of an entry-level working man.  Old trucks are bad ass, because they’re still old, they’re still cool, and you can still use them as a truck.  Not only that, everyone can relate to them.  Everyone has a story of dad’s old truck, grandpa’s old truck, or the piece of shit that work let them use that starred in every funny story about being stranded with only a pack of smokes and a deck of cards.  Don’t believe me?  Ask the distracted guy from tonight.  He had a generic red Dodge that I didn’t ask one question about, and I noticed he never went back to the dealership when he finished talking to me.

Mother (Fucking) Nature

It’s been a while since I posted on here.  Honestly, the hardest part is the pictures.  I’m not generally a phone princess, so I never take a lot of pictures.  If I don’t have a picture, I don’t sit down to upload it and write.  I literally took this photo out my back door just so I had an excuse to sit here and do what I do.  I may do that more, so get ready to be very familiar with the back of Fast Orange and my patio.

I was supposed to go to a hot rod/motorcycle barbecue tonight.  It was about forty miles away, but about five minutes after I walked out the back door, it started raining as hard as it could, with some hail mixed in.  The pants came off and that was it, or so I thought.  Amazingly, as quickly as it came, it went.  Pants on!  I had some truck stuff to do out in the yard, but everything was wet and the mosquitoes had awoken like savages.  Pants off again!

Isn’t it funny in this scene how the weather can change plans? A 600 car event can get cut down to 150 with a red spot on the radar.  I’m pretty positive the barbecue was cancelled,  but even if it was still a go, I certainly wasn’t going to be one-of-five people forty miles from home standing in a camp shelter bitching about the weather and bumming the community can of Deep Woods Off…  Next time, I guess. Good thing I bought beer last week.