Wednesday, January 24, 2018

Git along little doggie...

Ramblings Post #343
First, you make a plan. Then, well, then after that it's a free-for-all. There are many ways to get things done and sometimes the way you planned, or even the way you expected doesn't come to fruition. You have to improvise. Make things up. Take a shot down field and see what the hell happens. Oh the things you learn when you get older...

It's been a minute down here at the Ranch and during the interim, dear Shotgun Annie saddled up and rode off. Well, not as much saddled up and rode off all voluntary like, it was much more that they posted up an hombre by the gates and when she left one night aforementioned hombre implied it would probably be better if she just a kept on a riding the way she was a riding when she woke up the next day. One of them new-fangled "this isn't a good fit situation" explanations.

She told us she blindsided by the whole thing when she rode by the next day to get the few belongings she'd left behind. Come to found out later that she'd been warned two or three times before they decided to part company with her. She apparently chose to interpret their warnings incorrectly. We actually had a after-hours office event a few days after she got asked mosey on and the new trail boss actually apologized to us for letting her go.

She didn't really have to. We're all professionals people. We all know wrong when we see it. And Shotgun Annie was a piece of work.

I talked to some other hands on some other ranches  I know since and when she rides onto wherever she's going to, she's back to her old ways: constant complaints about needing more work while taking every opportunity to slide out early from the jobs she does get. If I didn't know exactly how precarious her situation really is it would be funny. As it is I"m scared I'm going to run into her in a few years after she's made one misstep to many. That does not promise to be a pretty sight.

On the job...

Which leaves me with the apparently allergic to socks cowpoke, one Pecos Slim. So much to unpack here.

He has a complete lack of interest in anything other than sports. When I say a complete lack of interests, he asked me THE DAY BEFORE the Alabama election if I'd heard anything about Roy Moore. He said he'd just read about the election being close and was curious about what the big deal was. Pecos Slim is from Alabama. He also has no idea what net neutrality is or why it would affect him. He wears headphones all day in the office, and he admitted to me that he loves listening to prank phone calls and needs them to get through the day. He's the first person I've met with bonafide catchphrases. He also irritatingly, comes to work sick - sniffling, coughing and wheezing through a few workdays at least once a month despite the trail boss's insistence that we don't do that.

But I'm not saying anything. Live it and let live I say. But...

...there is a question I'm dying to ask him, but I know that I'll ask it in too snarky a tone not to start an argument. AND that he's hilariously thin skinned isn't going to help. What I want to know is: How does one get to be a grown ass man and not know how to chew with their mouth closed? The sound of him smacking his lips while he chews is loud and slightly nauseating. It's a sound resembling one that might be heard in a horror movie after a disemboweling, only constant. This situation is exacerbated by the fact that he eats all day long - breakfast at his "hitch up", a constant snacking (hearing him eat walnuts is like listening a someone's back being cracked) and then lunch at his desk (he works out during his actual lunch) followed by more snacking. Apples, popcorn, chips, chocolate, etc. Hearing him chew gum is unsettingly like the sound of an old man attempting to suck a lemon continuously for five minutes. The ranch hand on the other side of me, who is at least six feet away to eight feet from Pecos, tells me he too can hear the man chewing at his desk, so it's not just me being overly sensitive. He can't even drink quietly, loudly slurping his hot drinks and theatrically throwing his head all the way back to finish off bottled water. Several times a day.

Fantasized remedies barnyard pest include staring at him every time he chews until he realizes, recording him and playing it back when he's not chewing and other things that involves cacti, anvils and an account at ACME Products. He is wearing headphones though, so I might need to be a more definite indication of my displeasure. It is said the familiarity breeds contempt, but I don't know if contempt is even the proper term here.

And then he stopped talking to me. About a week ago now.

Apparently I sound frustrated when I answer his questions about our process and he did not like that.  Now he agreed that I've answered every question he ever asked, every time in the past 7 months we've been at the new spot, but now he just doesn't like my tone. One of the hands who sits near us said he'd never heard me frustrated when answering questions, so I'm kind of at a loss. But meanwhile, Slim has stopped talking to me entirely.

I hope he thinks it's punishment and that I deserve a good long bit of this silent treatment. Serve me right. *Snicker*

No barkeep, I am not laughing. I have a jaw spasm. Now give me a cold one.

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