Saturday, July 23, 2011

Oil rush. pt II

     It had been a couple of month since I signed up to be a fracker and a couple of months since I'd seen Casey J.   Luckily, I had survived long enough for someone to retire in the offices and seeing as how I was one of the few with a college degree--and that could manage a computer without causing a power outage--I got a job as a supervisor at the shop. I over saw schedules, e-mails, notifications, billings, etc etc all the usual boring stuff that requires you do use excel and outlook and word--but never power-point, which, let's face it, is the only fun one in the Microsoft Office Suite, am I right?   

I worked at a warehouse off of mines road and I dispatched people left and right to Edinburg, Cotulla, Oilton and sometimes even to the valley and I was out by five most of the time so I had plenty of time do follow my own hobbies and interests. Sadly, I had no real hobbies or interests other than the occasional visit to a gym that I had been a member of for a little over 4 years and had visited probably about four times. I was in decent shape considering I never went. All that fracking must have done me a fracking lot of good. I know, I know I said no fracking jokes, but this is more of a pun, really.    I always  stayed around the warehouse a little after I would clock out to talk to Julio, Hernandez and Pug, who ironically didn't look anything like a pug.  We'd pop open the company fridge and pull out some mofles--tallies for the English exclusive club out there-- and drink out days and worries away.   Not that I had much to worry about, I was single, well payed, and was single. These other guys on the other hand had at least two kids each, a rocky marriage, and mortages, insurance, hospital bills ,debtors calling at odd hours, the works , I tell you. You name it, they had to deal with it. So I stuck around and offered myself as the butt of their jokes and they seemed to get off on making fun of me seeing as how I was the youngest one there. I didn't mind too much. I know that's how guys get along. The more they make fun of you and the more you make fun of them, the closer you get--that is if you have that rapport with that guy. It's a tricky thing to establish. I almost fired Ricky the other day for making an inappropriate joke about my mother. That's the thing about jokes, and life for that matter, that it's all about timing.  The timing, at the moment, just so happened to be perfect for drinking beer. So that's what we did.

It must have been around 8 o'clock, long after our shifts were over when there was as sudden crash at the gates. They rattled and crashed together and finally squeaked as they started to move open.  We saw the lights of an automoblie shine through the top windows of the warehouse aluminum door and fade away as the car presumabely parked.   We heard the door open and shut and we all stood in silence beer in our hands waiting for the drivers next move.  The door handle to our office giggled and when it wouldn't open the person gave it a hard push to no avail. 

There was silence after that.  Silence for all of 20 seconds, 20 seconds that seemed like an eternity in silence that echoed like an explosion in our mind.

Then, we hear metal clanging. A quick pop. and the metal door started to move slowly up.  The incandescent blue light from the moonlight outside started creeping in under the slowly rising door.  There, basking in the moonlight, stood a silhouette slowly being revealed from foot to head.   Then, I noticed something.  Something that caught my eye above anything else in the shop, before the light, before the huge wheels on the car behind the person, before the tallies of Coors Light I was drinking I saw something that was so distinct and so vivid in my head that it made me forget the company I was with and what I had been doing for the last couple of months.

Shining through the light on the top of a white, plastic toe shoe, read "Casey J."

My eyes lit up, I dropped my beer, "fixed" my hair, and popped a tic-tac in my mouth and stood up. 
"Whatcha doin', Saldeevar?!" exclaimed Pug in his strange accent a mix of southern twang and Mexican.

I stood in front of the silhouette and the dust rising from the floor as the door cleared her face.
I smirked "Must we always meet through a cloud a dust and in front of your car?"

Her face finally revealed, Casey, smirked at back and said "Well, if it wasn't for the dust we wouldn't have met in the first place."

"How can I help you, Ms. Jameson?" I asked
"You can start by telling me where my father has gone and run off too"
"well,  I don't..." I started
"Don't even give me that 'I don't keep tabs on him bullshit, I know you run the books and schedules and you know very damn well where my father has run off to using the company money, Saldivar." 

Ouch. Just a last name. She means business.

"Okay, Okay. He's off in London right now meeting with the Branson's . They're flying out of Heathrow to Dubai in two days. After taking in the usual spots of London,of course."  I dutifully answered.

"Ugh. Just like him. Goes to Europe without as much as an invite. What about you, cowboy, finally got some new pants I see. How about you pack your bags and ring up the company jet. I need to find my father."

"Whoa, wait, why do you need me to come?" 
"Need you? I don't need you for anything. Other than to sign the jet over, but you're kind of witty, in a TV romantic-comedy kind of way. Plus, I need someone to be a barrier between me and my father when I get to London. " she said with a wink.

"Well, ladies" I jested as  I grabbed the tallie and chugged it, "looks like Saldeevar is headin' aut tu Lunden!" 

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