As soon as I walked into the office this morning to pick up my paperwork, I told Russ "I'm sick. I want to scoot at 4:30" and sniffled to prove my point.
Okay, I wasn't sick and the sniffle came from snorting a couple of drops of water right before I went into the office, but I didn't want to work overtime on Friday.
"Yeah yeah" he says, "why is it you always get sick on Friday? Go to work and we'll see how it goes."
Can't ask for much more than that and I'll have all day to pester him.
So I went to work, but every time I went into the office or had a couple of seconds to spare, I'd remind him of how fucking miserable I was and how miserable I was gonna make him if I had to work late.
Now, he knew I wasn't sick and I knew he knew that, but what the fuck, right?
About 1:30 he got tired of the game and told me to "get the fuck out of here."
I wasted no time. I clocked out, jumped in my truck and hit the road. But seeing as I was off early I decided to go through Tracy and then to Manteca to the Bass Pro and see if they had some reloading supplies that I needed. I normally don't go that way because it's all freeway all the way home and the Fucking Bay Area People jack the freeways all up. But it's early yet and I really would like to go to Bass Pro.
So while I'm sitting at one of Tracy's 9 million stoplights gnawing on a chicken leg, I see the strangest sight I have seen in a long, long time. There on the corner are 2 Mormon missionaries ON FOOT. On foot, I swear! So I roll down the window and holler "Hey! Did somebody steal your motherfucking bicycles, or what?" They ignore me, or try to. I honked my horn and yelled "Hey, are you Mormons pretending to be Jehovah Witnesses? I bet your fucking feet hurt. How's it feel to be bothered, assholes?"
Then the light changed. I considered going around the block for another round of mindfuck, but Bass Pro was waiting and I was already getting a hard-on just thinking about it.
So I get to Bass Pro and go through my usual drill. I know what I'm looking for. I know where it's at. In and out. I'm on a budget. Don't spend your beer money. Don't propose marriage to any cuties in there. Behave. No drooling. In and out. In and out. Ready, set, go!
I get in, get upstairs to the gun section and they actually have what I need. Then I make the mistake of stopping off to look for something I don't need and see a guy standing there looking real puzzled while examining an RCBS powder trickler. I said "I've had the same one of those for 25 years, it'll last ya forever."
The shit was on. He was just getting starting reloading and started asking questions. What do I need, what would I be wasting money on, what does this do?
Fuck me running. I remember wanting to know the same shit when I first got started and having nobody to ask. Whattya gonna do, right? So I helped him like I wish somebody had helped me.
Two HOURS later, he was set. That poor fucker was down $300, I was down $70 but he was set up to load 45s and 223s. And he had the best set-up he could afford. I started to give him my cell number in case he ran into any problems but I was afraid his wife would use it track me down and throttle me.
And that's how my weekend started. No telling how it's gonna end.