Multiple events transpired today in a well orchestrated effort to rid my body of all energy. I had to transport 12 gallons of hydraulic fluid from the shop to a truck that had broken down well past the reach of any convenient dispensing system. The bosss golf cart came in quite handy. The safety belt arrangement on the back used to hold his club bag worked to secure a five gallon bucket to where I could keep both hands on the steering wheel while negotiating tight corners without slowing down. After making 4 trips to the fluid dispensary the consensus of the shop agreed that the truck could be moved safely but before I could properly wipe down and polish the golf cart I was told to remove the PTO from another truck so that the parts requisition officer could take it with him to Phoenix and have it tested. Time was of the essence and the original technician was on a service call so I passed the cart refurbishing responsibilities off onto the shop foreman who promptly banned me from ever using it again. Nobody likes jumping into the middle of someone elses work. The original mechanic had tools in the way propping open secret hidden access portals through which enough room had been created to see, at least, mount bolt locations but they were set for his physique. All blame for any extra difficulties putting things back together goes to whoever reestablishes those portals. Being an extra large mechanic creating access in tight locations has its challenges and by the end of the job my familiarity with the Ibuprofen bottle is quite good. Such was the case this time. Being a semi, more precisely the dump truck that was used in the 80s to train the new CDL applicants, there was ample ground clearance and several truck cavities to squeeze into but just as an optimum position had been achieved the only tool in the state capable of even getting on the retention bolts laid on the floor just out of reach. 3 people walked by and noticed my cries for help but two of them didnt speak english. I tried to speak their language but somehow asking for the 9/16 chingaderra only made them hungry. Thankfully the head shop technician walked by and kicked the wrench a little closer and I could reach it with my cheekbone. After dealing with an awkward dead weight I was finally able to set the PTO on the floor much to the expense of my neck and shoulders. By now I resembled a freshly turned Zombie complete with the empty facial expression, mones and groans and exhibiting great difficulty in walking. Luckily my back compensated for any skeletal inefficiencies and reminded me that there was a God who dwells there and deliberate care should be taken not to arouse his anger. Thank-you Lord for your Love and Patience and allowing the hot bath to ease the pain and charge my soul to carry on another today.
Posted on: Wed, 03 Dec 2014 03:11:17 +0000