WARNING! This blog contains adult language.
It seems like so long ago. A time where I perceived the world through the eyes of one who frankly could not give a crap about anything other than making sure everyone else was feeling as terrible as I. Why? Well because I was a teenager, and it was my sole purpose to exact my vengeance upon a world that owed me everything, including:
- Gratuitous amounts of attention
- Even more attention
What was missing from my life, was a purpose. Of course that seems obvious now – hindsight being what it is – yet at the time I felt like I knew exactly what I was doing.
The sad truth… I was nerdy, so nerdy in point a fact, that all these actions were second best. The love of my life was a crazy awesome card game “Magic: The Gathering” and though I was terrible – playing cards in combinations that if I did achieve ruthless victory was due to nothing more than absolute bewilderment on the part of my adversary – I still enjoyed feeling dominant over those whom I did best, and feeling special. Obviously to common rabble could never achieve such storied tact as I had, wielding cards of power with such epic names as: “Giant Growth.” (yeah, you and I both went there…)
The real truth… I achieved nothing during this time. I found an online massively multiplayer online role playing game, and lived an epic life there for a time being. Turns out that was as epic as it seemed at the time. I still log on from time to time, wander around at the pretty sites and the beautiful music, only to be reminded that real life was about to come crashing through via one dastardly means or another.
Wait… I’m forgetting something here… oh yes.. you! why are you here? Well I hope its out of some need to distract yourself from the grind of daily life. Because I know I might not have achieved anything as a mindless teenager, but the years afterwards demand to be shared, to reveal to the world the bitter truth behind shiny rotating lights.
I assure you this is the place you want to be, so take a seat next to the hearth, grab an ale and slap the ass of the cute barmaid… let’s begin…
There it was again, that ringing noise… or at least I thought it was a ringing noise. Wait, no that was the ringtone on my shitty cell phone, easily recognizable as the sound of a TIE fighter and X-wing trading laser shots amongst the hustle and bustle of war.
“Hello?” nope doing it wrong, that was a text, maybe I should open my eyes and actually look at the phone. Knowing that once I crack even just one eye partially open I will be awake, until the desperate need for sleep over takes me again. Careful not to awake the buxom brunette that was once a blonde, and before that nimble red-head laying next to me, I roll over and grasp my phone with the same subtle caress a desperate, overly wealthy kink grabs hold of his piece just before climax.
“Tanker sting, you awake?”
The composer of the message knew perfectly well that I would wake up to the slightest sound my phone could muster. Set to silent and with vibrate set to off I could smell the signature of incoming electrons carrying the passive yet deleterious message from an adjacent, maybe even crumbling building.
Was my witty repose. I know I know, so official. Knowing I had at least a few seconds I slip both feet from the soft, supple flannel sheets – a slick, modern slate grey available to the picky enthusiast at a selective bazaar featuring the focus of every dart player as their logo – unconsciously grabbing my phone with my right hand I wander into the walk in closet and with determined exactness grab one of no less than ten identical pairs of pants.
A sort of dead blue, the kind you see on supposed heroes that rush headlong into scenarios that anyone of sound mind and body take a more cautious approach, I grab a matching long-sleeved shirt. Emblazoned on one shoulder with stars and bars, the left chest in not so much glory read – in a font equal to a high schooler writing in cursive merely to appease a tenured instructor that stopped caring a few Irish Coffees ago – Nathan. The other breast side covered with a logo that would only make sense to the few in the industry to which it applied.
The phone vibrates, a picture of an aging Asian-American smiling through etched glasses, wrinkled, stretched, sun-kissed skin pops up on the low-resolution screen, the wide grin burns through nerve endings like only that kind of smile can, the kind that both makes you feel uncomfortable and exposed, yet oddly cared for.
Male voice through a shitty phone speaker: “Hey bud, look I know its not your on-call rotation, but we got a technical one. Gasoline tanker rolled over on the 134 where it meets the 5, I need you to get out there and sting it with me.”
NOTE: Stinging is the insane process of drilling through the shell of a gasoline tanker that has parked on its side, or at times upside down, in order to slowly and carefully pump out the remaining flammable liquid inside to an adjacent vacuum tanker. Lots can go wrong, think of it like this: Flammable vapors galore, and sources of high heat galore, all while I’m in the shit knee-deep. lots can go boom and while boom sounds fun, I prefer to keep my body in one cohesive piece.
Instantly awakened me: “Ok, I think I know where that is,
let me get dressed and I will roll into the yard and grab some equipment,
be there in an hour?
Send me what particulars you have
and I will start the paperwork when I get onsite”
Little did he know that I was already dressed and stuffing a few snacks into my pockets, as I reached for the door. This was not my first middle of the night call out, and I had everything I would need in my work truck. Hours I spent week in and week out ensuring that every little piece of my truck was in place, geared, oiled, repaired, refilled whatever method it required, it was done.
My phone vibrated again as I reached towards the unlocked driver side door of a white utility bed pick-up truck bursting with logos and lights and clearly washed and cleaned on a regular basis. The message a long string of characters that all somehow had to do with a gasoline tanker, thousands of gallons of spilled gasoline, and fire… fun…
I took my job incredibly seriously, and after all of the mistakes, hard lessons and terrifying close calls I was destined to be the best.
Wait… maybe I should start from zero hour here, you know, so that you and I can really get to know one another. Trust me, its worth it. There is love and hatred, anger and inspired conviction, gratuitous nudity, love affairs, political drama, theft, traitorous acts and besieged moments of absolute clarity…
This is the study of Nathan Allen Meisenbach, for short: Meisenology. Take a seat up front and get ready to take notes, because through me you will learn exactly what not to do in life.
Continue to Meisenology 102…