first alcohol influenced rant

This will be my first, alcohol influenced blog, I am sure that there will be more in the future. Let me tell you about one of the worst days I have had in a long time. If you read ‘They call me Sarge’ the basic introduction into this strange world I live in than you might already know some of the people that I am about to talk about.
Skywalker annoys the living shit out of me. He stopped for one reason or another, taking his meds around thanksgiving. It has now been just long enough for them to work there way outa his system. He has Borderline Personality Disorder, along with a mild case of Schizophrenia, and maybe a touch of oh Dissociative Identity Disorder. This mix, allows him to function, but only if left alone and in a very noisy environment where not much is expected of him, and yet he receives a lot of praise. If its dead silent in a work area, he will hold heated discussions with himself, arguing both points, and then arguing how he stated the subject to begin with…there is more than one person living in Skywalkers head. Let me take you back in time a bit and tell you how Skywalker came to work in my department….
Like all good stories, this one will begin, “No shit there I was” minding my own business, not really noticing the people that worked on the other side of the building far, far away from me, building huge units used to compress gasses in the oil field. There grunts (Google it) I am no longer a ‘grunt*’ in the work force, I am somewhere near…I guess you could call it a pied blue and white collar worker. I get dirty when I have to, but I normally just do technical stuff, and play with $4k each computer units. Well, I hear a lot of gossip from the Nylons (the women that work in the office’s somewhat near me, that don’t have enough personality to warrant naming) That this guy Skywalker that worked for the Wrench Turner Side* as a field hand, had gotten kicked out of the whole state of New Mexico (this takes talent). I was immediately impressed, and decided to meet him, little did I know what kinda person Skywalker was. So immediately I sat about on my task to find Skywalker in the mess of denim uniforms and Hispanics that work for us. I didn’t have to look far, the first person that I asked, the WTS Shop Forman who we will call W.R., pointed to a middle aged, 5’10” man sporting a Mohawk hair do, yet clean shaven, with grease smeared all over his body. My first impression was he was an idiot, the disheveled look he had to him, made him appear as if he had the intellect of a nematode. I will admit that I severely underestimated his intelligence, the guy is a genius, although he is so fractured its hard to tell that he is very intelligent its evident when you get him drunk and he starts to slow down his thinking to a point that he is almost, but not quite functional.
Skywalker got kicked outa New Mexico for talking shit about our company, to clients, the clients didn’t like that, and we almost lost a huge contract, oh I would like to add, he didn’t work much, he was to busy bad mouthing our multi-million dollar company to turn his damned wrench. So they set about trying to find something in the shop that Skywalker could do, can he cut metal? Not in a way that’s OSHA compliant, and expedient. Can Skywalker read blueprints? Not without first trying to argue with the drafter, to the point they quit, and somehow the blueprints ended up catching fire (no freaking shit…) and the company had to pay $10k for a whole new stack and a new set of rights to the intellectual property. *side note: We wouldn’t have had to pay much, except a copy fee, but Skywalker pissed off the last draftsman so much that they took all there shit and left.* One thing that Skywalker could do was Reverse Engineer something, fix it, then put it back together, over the period of a year he worked himself out of a job, (two SMALL units, he…wasted time arguing) Skywalker would have been more efficient, its just he cannot remember where anything is once it leaves his hands. He literally re-discovers each and every tool he has, every time he needs it there is a hunt for this tool or that. Once out of a job, and no where to go but the unemployment line, Muscles gave Skywalker to me, he was given to me on Monday and the week went down hill from there.
I put Skywalker to work re-building Barton dry flow meters, its simple, take the crap out, sand blast the box, spray paint the box, screw the crap back in, clean the glass, and BAM done. On a BAD day it takes me about 45-60 minutes to perfectly remanufacture a Barton. On Monday, Skywalker did one Barton, however by the end of the day I knew his life story, and so many random facts I had to drown them out of my mind with the application of heavy amounts of alcohol. Tuesday, I decided to help Skywalker build some Barton’s as he only had one done and needed 10 done by Friday. Tuesday was a busy day for me so I was only able to build 4 Barton’s to give him a hand up, Tuesday’s score? Sarge-4 Skywalker-0. Not quite zero, he might have had one finished but he accidentally destroyed it in the process (don’t ask, it makes me angry) How in the hell do you weld a aluminum box, to a bench you are working on without killing yourself, while sitting on the bench, is a mystery to me, and always will be.
I was mean Tuesday, I yelled a lot during the day using terms I used to use on the FNG’s (Google it) in the army. I remember in a blind rage, yelling something to the term of “What-the-hell-are-you-thinking-the-best-part-of-you-ran-down-the-crack-of-your-mothers-ass. You-have-made-a-f*ing-beliver-out-of-me, up-untill *breath* up-untill-this-point-I-didn’t-belive-in-abortion, but-i-belive-in-retro-abortion-now. You-should-have-been-dropped-on-your-head-more, it-obviously-wasn’t-enough-to-kill-you….” It went on for another 2-3 minutes, and 5-7 breaths, but it gets worse from there.
You see, each Barton is potentially $800 for the company, and each one that is destroyed is $400+ that we lost, as we will have to replace it with a used unit bought from a third party. I left work with a bunch of the Nylons, and some other office hands, to go next door to a bar and drink the thoughts of the day away, also beat my liver, who had been acting up all day mind you, back into submission. At 1830 (630pm, for some) I was called back over to the shop, because The Monkeys had loaded about 3,000lbs worth of valves, and what not’s on the very rear of a 18’ trailer, with the logic of “when we hook it to a truck it will even it out man”. I was mostly drunk by then, and so my aim was off, but I came very close when I threw the rock at one of the Hispanic monkey’s heads. Mind you I had kicked Skywalker outa my shop at around 1725 or so when I went down the street to drowned my evil thoughts. Low and behold, the lights where on in my shop, I have $4 million worth of inventory so it worries me when the lights are on and I am not there, means the security system is deactivated for starters. I sneak up the door, try the knob, good its locked, I can hear movement inside, so I insert my key quietly, and open the door REAL fast and dramatic like. I will give you one guess as to who is sitting there, at a freaking desk reading some stupid paper of some sort that was already on that desk….That’s right ladies and gentlemen, Skywalker is riding the clock for overtime. I yell some more, pounded on things, and threw him the freak out, called Muscles, and told him what I found in my shop, and WHY I am back at the office, and he was not happy either. I locked up again, and went back to drinking. How Skywalker got into my office is still a mystery to me.
This mourning I show up, and get to work early, it was 7am when I clocked in and got my first cup of a very nice, very rich exotic coffee blend they serve at work called ‘Folgers’. At least they got rid of the Dollar Store brand coffee. Right as I take my first overly warm, tongue scalding sip, that leaves me tasteless for the rest of the day, I get a phone call from Boss, who in a hangover tone in forms me that the quote for the $1.5Million project that’s not due for 2 weeks must be done today by 10am. Gee, and I thought the coffee hurt. I get to work, and wake up my sales guys in New Mexico early (6am there time) and tell them to call all there friends with shovels and cement experience, and can put together an erector set. At 8am, I called all the contractors and electronics supply people I knew in the area, and got quotes, and called them in to Boss as they came into me. It was done, I pulled it off at 10:01am, was the end of the last phone call, and all the paper work was faxed by 10:27am, I am that freaking good. Sure I went over, but hell, you try and do it. A huge pat on the back, and some more coffee, and a bullshit safety meeting, in which our 61 year old full time female safety coordinator (Bags, we shall call her), who is a failed trophy wife (made the cut, but was divorced for a 20’s something blonde, at 50 years old) and still dresses like Britney Spears, tried to get me to shut up with my sarcastic comments. The freaking safety meeting was about ‘Excuses in the Work Place’ I coulda taught that one damn it, and I voiced my opinion with vigor much to the entertainment of the Wrench Turners, and Nylons. In Classic Sarge style I totally ignored that she was talking to me, and started at her until she felt stupid/uncomfortable and walked off. Always throw your foe off guard. A variety of random shit happened after that, that was stupid, like trying to find a impossible piece a DB9 male connecter by a DB20 male connector adapter….they don’t make a DB20, someone screwed up. If you know what I am talking about, and read this, and it DOES exists, for the love of god contact me, I need one for a customer who is mentally unstable, but richer than god.
I spent about $234K of the company money on electronics today, that is always fun, god its good to spend money that’s not yours, almost makes you feel cool. The only problem is writing up the spec sheets for this crap, sorting out who it goes to, getting commitments from the customers, and convincing the Bean Counters in purchasing that YES we DO need this, and it is already sold, look I have the F’ing Purchase Order number right here in my freaking had for the company it is going to. Oh yeah and I have to write REALLY clearly as the guy that calls in the orders, (I will explain purchasing later) is literally legally blind.
There is more, and perhaps I will write about it later, but I am very drunk, and if I don’t stop now this damned thing will be 12 pages long, and no one will read the stupid thing. So at that, I bid you farewell dear reader, and thank you for letting me rant, for where it not for this blog, I feel I would be forced to spend my time, drinking my life away, in self imposed chastity without any social skills outside of work and the animal world to speak of….oh wait….

Sarge

The Dirty South...

Ok well, just as there are dog breeds right? I SWEAR there are HUMAN breeds,
People that have been bred for stupidity and other inbred traits you know? Ok now an example, say this one person’s great grandma was a total moron, and attracted a moron white trash husband. They ate possums, and grew up feeding there children road kill and squirrel gravy and shit. Their children, where already impaired right?
Because of the environment and bad genetics and each one of then ends up with a kid before age....oh, lets be conservative....15. They raise there kids even MORE stupid, I mean come on, daddy got mommy knocked up in his tricolor Ford 4x4, with the rifle rack, and southern flag in the back window and a bumper sticker ‘I spit for distance’, listening to 8 track tapes, and they still HAVE the Ford. Little JimBobs first car, is the same one he is conceived in. Then he grows up and gets into the wife beater shirts, facial stubble and older camero’s and impregnates 8 women, and has 9 children, all of whom have a craving for squirrel gravy, and possum fries or some shit. Then now....my friend you have Louisiana, Kentucky, parts of Tennessee, and Virginia.
Alabama and Mississippi are a different story.

“It isn’t called ‘The Dirty South’ because of the trash, its because of the gene pool”-Sarge

They call me Sarge

They call me Sarge, my name in fact is Eric, it wouldn't be very smart of me to actually put my last name out there, as I work in the oil industry in West Texas, that alone is probably enough information to figure out who I am. There is so much that I want to share with the world, the first thing that I would like to tell you is if in any way you find anything I say her offensive...GOOD chances are that it was meant to be offensive to the type of person that you are. I don't play nice with others and don't go expecting me to pour my heart out. This isn't a living diary, this is more of a way for me to explain certain aspects of my life, and publicly ridicule the idiots that are unfortunately involved in it, while raising up the outstanding people I come across. Now its time for your crash course into my world. I got the nick name Sarge from Boss, I will not identify him any further Boss will be enough for now. Boss is a good guy, who comes from a good family and has had to work for everything he owns, he has some trouble in his life and wages war on his liver on a nightly (sometimes noonish) basis, its part of my job description (as his bitch so to speak) to take care of him, such as pick him up off the floor when he gets to drunk, drunk drive him home and so forth. I do a awful lot for him and his family whom I genuinely care for, as such I have a room in his house, and he calls me 'Son' and when he gets drunk wants me to call him 'Dad' not having had a good family life, I am uncomfortable with this, however that is a different blog altogether. Other important people you will hear about often are Muscles (Boss's son) Cranky (a reptile enthusiast friend of mine) Skywalker (a bumbling idiot with more things wrong with him, that I can describe, he takes 5 sets of pills a day...mental case) The Whore (need I say more? its a guy people..) . There are also 'The Idiots in the Supply Room' who I will address with different degrading names as time passes. I think that sums up the possible people I rant about the most, I will introduce more characters as the drama ensues.I almost forgot, they call me Sarge, because I generally sport a military flat top, something left over from my 6 years in the army, and the fact I was a NCO in the military. Oh, and I yell at people much like the public perceives a Drill Sargent.