I had a new arrival early one morning.  Dan Carlson had given me another little helper whose pea-sized brain was begging to be destroyed.

     His name was Clifton Washington, and he was a short, bespectacled black kid with absolutely no experience.  The only tool he had was a big crescent wrench (for protection?)  He  had it stuffed in his back pocket.

     Another cub like Spence!

     “You ready to work, boy?” I asked him.

     “What you say, man?”

     “I said, are you ready to work, boy!  Are you deaf or what?”

     “Don’t call me boy.”  Clifton was way too serious of a guy.

     Spence was at my side.  “At least he didn’t call you a lady.  He always calls me a lady.”

     “Shut up, Spence!” I shouted.  Then, in a more friendly tone, to Clifton, I said, “Follow me.”

     We went over to see my good buddy John Fact.  I introduced the two gentlemen to each other, and made sure Clifton understood that John Fact would be in charge. 

     John Fact was loving it.  Now he had someone of his very own to order around!

     When I got back to where I had been “working” (yeah, right), I discovered Dan “the prick” Carlson waiting for me.  Had he discovered my coffee thefts?

     “Travis,” Dan called amiably to me.  “How ya doing?”

     I was immediately suspicious.  “What’s up, Dan?” I inquired.

     “Well…” Dan started, then began again.  “Well… can I ask you something, Travis?”

     “Go ahead.”  I tried to appear interested.  My good hound dog Spence was staring at Dan with wide eyes.  I imagined a big tongue lolling out of his mouth, almost to the floor.  I controlled my laughter.

     Dan cleared his throat.  “What would you do, Travis, if, say, you went to a jazz bar and met this nice lady, and you were both dressed real nice, right?  And you started talking and dancing and drinking with this lady, and pretty soon you wind up at her place.  But guess what?  Her boyfriend’s hiding under the bed, and they want to have a menage a trois!  What would you do, Travis?  Huh?  Huh?”

     “I’d shoot that motherfucker, Dan. What would you do, Spence?”

     “I’d shoot him twice,” Spence allowed. He was such a good boy.

     “Well I didn’t shoot him–I shook his hand and apologized for the misunderstanding,” Dan trembled.

     “Well a real Texan would stab him or shoot him or blow up his car or burn his house down. Or maybe run him over. Now your ‘nice lady’ has a stomach full of his little swimmers, and not yours. How fucked up is that, Dan?”

     “It wasn’t little swimmers, we had crab and lobster. But at least I didn’t get fucked in the ass. Only my ex-wife gets to do that to me, every fucking payday.” Was Dan human? Me and Spence exchanged puzzled glances.

     “Let’s go, Spence-a-roni,” this whole conversation was making me dizzy. I needed a hit of the hydroponic ganja I always kept at the ready. Maybe four.

     John Fact and Clifton Washington got along just fine.  John was a good talker, and Clifton was a good listener.

     “You know,” John said, “I was on this job one time…”

     “Oh, yeah?”  Clifton caught on quick.

     John Fact was fixing to really get into it.

     “Yeah!  I was working with this weird guy, man, he was a crazy motherfucker.  Name was Bill Carlile, but he called himself “Gone-a-While” Carlile.  He was a gomer.  Shit!”

     The moniker “Gone-a-While” Carlile got a laugh from Clifton (what the hell, he was getting paid for this).

     “Anyway,” John went on, “me and Carlile were working on this building putting up light fixtures outside, right next to the street, when this carload of gay guys comes cruising by.  Carlile spots these cats, and starts whistlin’ and wavin’ and blowin’ kisses at ’em!  I couldn’t believe it!”

     John rolled his eyes and made them real big, to illustrate his disbelief.  Clifton was amused.

     “And these guys pull over and stop!  They thought they were about to have a goddamned free lunch!”

     Clifton shook his head in wonder.

     “They took off when they saw how mad I was.  That fucking Carlile looked disappointed, though.  What a worm!”

     John paused to catch his breath, and also to adjust slightly the Classic Pose he had struck.

     “And another time,” John continued, “we were working on this scaffold about thirty feet in the air, and the president of the damn company comes walking under us.  Carlile fucking drops his hammer, and it missed that big daddy’s head by about an inch!  That big boss looks up to see what the hell’s going on, and Carlile yells out, “I’ve always wanted a job where people look up to me!”  I never seen such shit!  That sonofabitch fired me just for being around Carlile!”

     “That sho’ is some shit,” Clifton sympathized.

     “Well…” John stretched.  “We’d better get to work.  Can you read a tape measure, Clifton?”

     Clifton allowed as to how he could read most anything, and they commenced with their duties.

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