davezilla.com > current: August 29, 2001: "Summbitch"

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August 29, 2001 :: "Summbitch"

In my previous life I had to work on a regular basis with an outside printing firm. I was the senior art director for a chain of local newspapers. We did our production in-house but the negatives had to be sent to the printer up north. That meant someone had to make a three-hour drive at 4am. Thankfully, that someone was not me. It was a cantankerous, beastly, old trucker named Clarence.

Clarence was one of those men who’s too lazy to work, but too cheap to retire. A useless manatee, he wasted precious hours of my evenings telling me sordid tales of his summer home in “PENNNN-suh-COLA, FLAHR-ih-duh” and asking me how I managed to “drawr on one o’ them DIG-i-cal cahm-POOT-ers.”

We never knew exactly how long it would take us to finish the editions, especially when a last-minute full-page ad needed to be created from scratch a full two hours after deadline. One would assume that if you are sitting and waiting for three hours, that turning off the truck may be in order. Clarence did not seem to feel this was necessary and his truck would routinely run out of gas from excessive idling.

It got so annoying that, on more than one occassion, one of the reporters went outside and moved Clarence’s truck so it faced it the wrong direction. Clarence, dumb as a bag of hammers, would head off into the night, lost in the winding, residential roads of Royal Oak. Yes, he was really that clueless.

On one particularly stressful deadline night, we were downstairs proofing layouts before sending them to press. There came from above, a shout, a bellow really, as if a large mammal had been wounded nearby. Then without warning, water began spilling through the ceiling.

We grabbed the prints and dashed for a dry area. More sounds, this time cursing and muttering in Clarence’s golden tones. I asked him what happened. I was not in the least bit prepared for his answer. For the first in my existence I fully understood the phrase, “my jaw dropped to the floor.”

“I was takin’ a big ole shit and the gaddamed toi-ehlet bust unnerneath my ass! Summbitch!”

I replied with the only phrase I was capable of producing after having that vivid mental image permanently etched in my brain, “Do you think for one nanosecond that I’m cleaning that up? Mops over there you ...” And that point the smell engulfed me and I lost all consciousness.

I truly wish I could say this story was untrue but it’s not. I also wish it had a point. That Clarence had learned something. That we had come to know each other on a new level. But, no. I hate him more than ever.

He said. She said. There’s 11 Comments

Poopy old men suck. That's all I have to say. By Amy Allen :: August 29, 2001 04:09 PM EST

My boss is giving me weird looks for laughing out loud. By chunkbot :: August 29, 2001 07:38 PM EST

Who the hell are you? You're damn funny. By Lee :: August 29, 2001 08:31 PM EST

you make michigan sound like a lovely place to live, dave. By denise :: August 29, 2001 09:58 PM EST

I do? Won’t happen again I promise. By Davezilla :: August 29, 2001 10:29 PM EST

Oh stop I'm choking that's too funny ... must stop re-reading payoff quote ... in my head, he sounds like Slim Pickens... ooof side ache now... thanks ... By Miriam :: August 30, 2001 09:31 AM EST

That is a pretty good analogy. He did sound like Slim albeit with slight whistle on the letter “s” and a bit if a rasp. By Davezilla :: August 30, 2001 09:34 AM EST

gawwwdamn you, i now have this horrible image in my head, this horrible smell in my nose and i spit coffee through my nose (that could be the smell....)

*snicker* By tbit :: August 30, 2001 12:27 PM EST

Damn coffee all over the place now, and I think I wet myself laughing. By terreus :: August 30, 2001 04:35 PM EST

Wow. A little more information than I needed. By Davezilla :: August 30, 2001 07:47 PM EST

Something about you, Dave that makes people lose control of their bodily functions. By michele :: August 30, 2001 08:11 PM EST