Standing in a half-assembled forty by forty foot tent this past week for work, preparing for The Garlic Festival in Southwest Harbor, Maine, when I encountered a man who had a moment of what could only be described as inappropriate over share.
Imagine this folks as I try to be as succinct and accurate in my depiction of what I witnessed.
Four guys were setting up two tents for a rental company and somehow, myself and my fellow maintenance co-worker Jeff,found ourselves standing around in a field miles from work watching these four guys do they work. Slowly. It was the last job of the day and all they had, so they were milking the work for all it was worth. I don't blame them, not as I stood in the sunshine far from clogged toilets, demanding teachers and the oversight of anyone with authority.
Mostly I smiled as they took break after break, knowing that as much as they slacked off, I was stilll getting paid for doing less than them and over the course of a day, I take more breaks under greater scrutiny than they could ever dream taking out of the watchful eyes of their bosses.
So in a rare burst of energy, the four were ratcheting down the posts, squaring the tent and pulling the vinyl tight. Now Jeff, he gets bored, or maybe a wicked imp inside takes control of his mouth, but whatever the case, he says stuff that most might think, but they successfully keep to themselves. Jeff was joking with the guys and one guy in particular, as he had been doing for a couple hours. He asked if they were coming back tomorrow night after the event to take the tents down and pack everything away.
“So, you 're gonna coming back tomorrow at seven, huh? They pay you extra for weekend work?”
That's all it took for the driver, by far the oldest of the four rental guys, to respond.
He immediately yelled out to everyone, “Hell no! This is what I'm doing at seven tomorrow night.” Then he dropped to the ground, an amazing feat really for a man his age, and he began to vigorously-
-Okay. This might be graphic, so I give you now the chance to stop reading. You can probably guess what I'm going to relate, so, if you want, come back tomorrow. I might have a few writing related tips or whatnot to dispense, or maybe there is a neat article that I will find that you will find interesting. I don't want to offend.
Still here? Alright.
This older gentleman, he was on the grassy field, in a family campground, wearing a white wife beater , tan corduroy pants, sporting a generous belly and he was humping the ground like it owed him money. No kidding and I wish I were lying. Then I could take a pill and maybe get my mental health situation taken care of. Better that than seeing that for real.
I mean, I don't know the guy so what do you do? He was really giving it a go, the acting out part. He just kept pumping and grinning. In the field. In the camp ground.
Then he flipped on his back because, I suppose, it was the full performance he was giving us and he wanted to show that he was virile. He was on his back pumping the sky with as much gusto as he had been giving to the lawn.
Still grinning. Still keeping it real.
And there I am, unable to look away, unable to do more than hope he would stop. No idea what to say.
I have to admit, and I do so sadly, that men can be nasty and crude. Sometimes though, I encounter levels I never suspected existed.
Such as this and may I never have the experience again.