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A lot of people who know me assume that I can do manly things like build decks, not because of my physically imposing presence (I have a cleft lip that appears to be the remnants of a fight that I lost) or my tattoo, but because I drive a pick-up truck. But in reality, the only manly thing that I really know how to do is drive a pick-up truck, although I have been known to mow a lawn or two in my day, if that counts. Oftentimes other pick-up truck drivers will look at my truck up and down, and then ask me questions like "What kind of truck ya' got there?" to which I will reply, "red." Then they will ask me how many "cylinders" it has, and I will pretend that someone is calling me on my cell phone.
I drive a pick-up truck because when I graduated from college, I got a job in the field of construction. At that point, my background in construction consisted of living in a house (my parent's house) that was more than likely constructed at some point, although I was never sure how. Anyway, I don't know how I got this job, or why I accepted it, but I needed a pick-up truck for it, so I could haul building materials all over the "site," like wood and nails, and sometimes Mexicans, who the company often hired to clean stuff up. It didn't take long for everyone to realize that I had no idea how to build a house, mainly because during my first week on the job, it took me 2 1/2 hours to install a doorknob, which was never "officially" installed correctly, but would eventually require a replacement door. Anyway, after that incident I ended up sweeping basement floors with my new Mexican friends, who would always ask me for a ride home. Then I quit.
Anyway, here I am years later, with the same pick-up truck, which no longer has the same manly effect because I now drive it around wearing a shirt and tie (I used to drive it while wearing work boots, and making mean faces at other cars while "Like a Rock" blared from the radio). But I still can't actually DO anything manly, which is evidenced by the fact that I had to call my dad to come over last week to fix the sink. He brought over his "bucket o' manly tools" and then went to work, while using terms like "gasket," "washer," and "can you get me some paper towels?" He tried to show me how he fixed it so I could do the same if it should become clogged again, but I wasn't really paying attention.
My wife is utterly unimpressed by my inability to fix or build anything, although I am very good at carrying heavy things up the stairs. Just this past weekend, my wife's uncle gave us some firewood, and I loaded it into the back of my pick-up truck in a very manly fashion, and when I got home I carried it all upstairs. But then I got a splinter, and my wife took it out with her tweasers. Then I quit.
I drive a pick-up truck because when I graduated from college, I got a job in the field of construction. At that point, my background in construction consisted of living in a house (my parent's house) that was more than likely constructed at some point, although I was never sure how. Anyway, I don't know how I got this job, or why I accepted it, but I needed a pick-up truck for it, so I could haul building materials all over the "site," like wood and nails, and sometimes Mexicans, who the company often hired to clean stuff up. It didn't take long for everyone to realize that I had no idea how to build a house, mainly because during my first week on the job, it took me 2 1/2 hours to install a doorknob, which was never "officially" installed correctly, but would eventually require a replacement door. Anyway, after that incident I ended up sweeping basement floors with my new Mexican friends, who would always ask me for a ride home. Then I quit.
Anyway, here I am years later, with the same pick-up truck, which no longer has the same manly effect because I now drive it around wearing a shirt and tie (I used to drive it while wearing work boots, and making mean faces at other cars while "Like a Rock" blared from the radio). But I still can't actually DO anything manly, which is evidenced by the fact that I had to call my dad to come over last week to fix the sink. He brought over his "bucket o' manly tools" and then went to work, while using terms like "gasket," "washer," and "can you get me some paper towels?" He tried to show me how he fixed it so I could do the same if it should become clogged again, but I wasn't really paying attention.
My wife is utterly unimpressed by my inability to fix or build anything, although I am very good at carrying heavy things up the stairs. Just this past weekend, my wife's uncle gave us some firewood, and I loaded it into the back of my pick-up truck in a very manly fashion, and when I got home I carried it all upstairs. But then I got a splinter, and my wife took it out with her tweasers. Then I quit.
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