Then there's this new class about self-improvement, life, and other crap. What's it called, "
Well, at least the day's over. Now I can just go home, and loaf around (
whadaya expect?). So let's see . . . I can either use the computer (granted Corran's not there yet), watch after-school television (
sarcastic "yay"), or do homework. Well, it's me, so I ain't doin' homework (
that's for sure!), and I'm pretty sure I'm not a seven year-old
Pokémon fan, so I think I'll just head down the . . . . . Corran. Damn!
So screw that, I'll just read my book. In English (you know, the subject I like) we were given this book to read:
King Rat. WW2 Pacific POW camp, stuff about ethics and cultures. It's been a pretty good read so far, and I think it has promise. I headed up to my room, piled my pillows under my torso, and tapped my lamp on (no fooling! I have a really cool lamp that turns on when you just touch the base of it! Very cool stuff indeed.).
I was just getting to a part about hiding watches when my mom yelled for me to get the phone (geez, I didn't even notice her getting home . . .). So I pick up, and I hear a voice I haven't heard for ages.
"
Good afternoon, Ernest," he started, "
and how are you this fine winter day?"
"Oh, I'm just . . . peachy," I reply.
"That's
mahhrvelous. So, uh, Ern, you doing anything right now?"
"Not really. Why?"
"If you're not doing anything, then it's absolutely imperative you come over to my place and help me clean out my garage. Peter's already here. Can you make it?" I answered slyly,
"
Well, it would conflict with my time to do nothing, but I think I can squeeze it in." He exclaimed once again,
"
Marvelous! Okay, just get here ASAP."
"Can do. See ya then."
"Bye." I clicked the rubber button on the infamous Motorola cordless and ran back to my room to get my outdoor stuff.
I guess you're wondering whom I was talking to, don't you? He's another guy I met in high school through Pete (guess you don't really know him either, do you?). His name's Riley. Go fig, huh? Well, here's the 411, then:
Riley: So what can I say? This guy's different in every aspect! He's left-handed, uses big words (but I do too, but still), argues ANYTHING that conflicts with his thoughts, comes from a European family, hates anything French, and watches too much British comedy. Either you love him or hate him, I guess.
So I grab my wallet, keys, and watch in my usual "1-2-3" manner, throw on my hiking boots (hey, if we're seriously going to clean up a garage, I'll need 'em), encase myself within my big, blue winter jacket, and head out the door. I suddenly remembered I didn't eat dinner yet. Oh well, I'm not really hungry. Maybe ol' Riley'll have some food at his place, or something. But no, I'm really not that hungry. Well . . . . . nah, I snacked a lot when I got home. But still . . . . . ah, to hell with it! I'll figure it out later.
About ten minutes later I find the infamous "dirty-garage." He was hyperbolizing nothing! It was strewn to hell and back! There were bikes, an old TV, a
Babylonish tower of those yellow, plastic box-crate things (you know what I'm talking about, right?), and . . . planks of plywood.
Riiiiight. Actually, I don't think the term "garage" is even really suitable in this case. The car does NOT go in here! There's no room for it! I call into the darkness,
"Ahoy, in there!"
"Ahoy," the darkness calls back. Instantly I see Riley's head poke out from what I guess you could call an attic to the garage. He pulls the dust-mask down from his face and tells me to get one, since it's supposedly really dusty right now (
well, obviously . . .). Pete then walks out from the backroom, looking a little cold, also wearing a dust-mask. Come to think of it, I never really told you much about Pete either, have I? Okay, here we go:
Pete: "Friends since kindergarten;" That phrase pretty much sums us up. I've known Pete longer than any one else outside of family, and I'd say is my closest friend. That stated, he's got a lot of personality: He complains, can be selfish, ALWAYS looks for ways to take advantage of others, (
and that's just the small stuff!). No, he's really a nice, outgoing kind of guy. Just that he once insulted my height, so I'm getting back at him now (
heh heh heh).
So from what I could understand, we were basically taking everything out of the garage, and putting it back in, using the "attic" as storage. Most anyone would deem that an impossible feat,
but I guess someone tore out the "q" section in our dictionaries, 'cause we don't know when to quit! At the moment, Riley was taking boxes of everything, and Pete and Rinoa (Riley's twin sister) were putting the boxes together. I was then told to take the planks of wood outside, and lean them against the side of the garage. So I finally got a task for this little job. I grabbed a dust-mask from the bag hanging on the doorknob, and picked myself a plank that towered over my head higher than a two-headed eagle (hey, I've been working on a project about Albania lately!)
After I got about as much wood as I could into the (now slightly decimated) garden, I began passing boxes up to Riley and Peter (who was now in the "attic" as well. I'm guessing it's because it seemed like a better job than shipping boxes in his eyes). As I ascended the slightly off-balance stepladder (not ladders again!), Rinoa passed me a thing of old toys. I think there was a cabbage-patch doll in this one. No, wait, it was a baby Smurf. Never mind. So I lifted this above my head, and Pete stretched his arms out from between the rafters and took it. This general pattern lasted for about two hours. Grab a box, hand it off, stack it up. Suddenly I couldn't believe it; the garage was starting to look clean! Go fig, eh?
Then I looked outside and saw a "
taserish" shock: there was a lot of stuff OUTSIDE the garage, and it was starting to rain! Damn.
There was a sudden burst of movement as we all took sudden and understood action to combat our water-problems. Geez, we always seem to be fighting the rain at Riley's place (Over the summer, this is where the infamous "tarp-barbecue" took place, if you're wondering). Well, the TV got a little wet, but I doubt anyone would be using it soon anyway. We finally closed it up and got into the house. At that point, Riley asked if we were hungry or not (the wonderful host he is). I, (the ever-gracious guest) politely declined, saying things like, "I'd hate to relieve you of your provisions," and stuff. I mean, at least that way when I do get something to eat (and yes, I'm still quite ravenous), we'd both feel good. Riley, of course, knows this trick, and responded back with,
"
What, my food's not GOOD enough for ya?" That shut me up. I ended up helping myself to some tortilla chips he pulled out.
Well, we were all feeling good about ourselves, since we had done quite a lot of work. Then Pete realized what time it was, and stepped into the other room so he could call his girlfriend (yeah, he's got a cel-phone too). Actually, I doubt he does this on purpose, but sometimes I'd swear he's just showing off that he's attached to someone. Seriously! Aaaaaanyways, I, as usual, shrugged it off, and then proceeded to tell Riley & Rinoa the joke I recently heard regarding three blondes and some tracks through a forest. That innocent mirth ended when Riley's mom got home. Not that she's a bad person, or anything. Just that he and her don't really have the most . . . pleasant social relationship between themselves. I can'' really explain it, but I equally don't want to get too involved in it. It's pretty graphic at times, I'll just say.
Today, she was explaining how she wanted us to make sure there was no asbestos in the garage to get us sick and stuff. Riley then replied in that we found none. Then his mom continued to explain how we want to make sure and all, which really got Riley, well, riled up. Until this day I had never really seen a guy swear at his mother before. It was pretty rough to watch. Riley then led her to the area so she could see for herself. When they returned, he looked really pissed. He just kinda sat down, huffed, and ran his fingers through his hair. By this time Pete had come back from his phone-call and I could tell he heard the whole thing. I just kind of turned to him and did that little "tight throat, loosen the tie" action with the collar of my shirt. You know what I'm talking about, right?
Well, after everyone was all relaxed again, Riley suddenly lights up and asks,
"Hey, who wants to watch some Red Dwarf?" We all just do the whole "sure, okay, whatever," routine, and head to the living room. It's so fascinating that this show can be SO messed up, yet you can understand completely; I could never figure that out. Oh well. So we watched about half a video of the stuff (Riley's the only guy I can think of that would have about a dozen cassettes of taped episodes of Red Dwarf, out of anything else!), Pete said he had to leave before his mom got mad at him. Ya know, I could learn a lot from that kid. But that's all, I'm happy with who I am. That's just how it is.
I stuck around for about half-an hour later, when my watch-alarm went off, which tells me to call home and check in. That way, my mom won't worry (as much, but sometimes that still doesn't help). I was told I could get a ride from someone in about 5 minutes, so Riley & I spent it discussing what I guess you could call . . . I don't know . . .
conspiracy theories? Yeah, I guess that's about as close as you can get.
The loud roar of an engine signaled to me that Dan must be here with his screaming 240SX. If I could drive, I wouldn't mind driving it (except it's standard, and I still have yet to go to driving school). So I took my leave, said "
dos vandanya" just because I could (of course, I'm not Russian, so it kinda sucked), and Riley in turn said something so long I don't even want to write it down. Had to be from
Monty Python, though.
As I entered the car, I instantly started smirking. Dan had his Shania Twain CD playing. Does this not scare you? This guy is a 195-pound, 240SX-driving, Kinesiology-majoring, wrestling-watching martial-artist, and he listens to Shania. That just scares the hell out of me. Actually, no. The REALLY scary part was when he started singing along! Remember this guy is a low tenor or a high bass or something, but as we were turning into OUR garage, he turns to me and goes,
"
Okay, so you're Brad Pitt!" and began laughing like a teenybopper.
