Like most relationships, ours started off great. We both did our part, we both gave a little and we both felt fullfilled and satisfied.

Except that’s not entirely true.

On hindsight, I have to admit that I was the one doing all the taking. She just gave. Never asked for much in return, actually. I guess that’s why this outcome doesn’t come off as much of a surprise to me.

I don’t mean to brag, or be downright pornographic about this, but back then it used to take only the slightest push to get her juices flowing. It would seem that only a look was enough, and bam!, she’s there!

Then she started losing weight. Fast.

I think the sharing did it. This may be the wrong time to voice my regrets, but maybe —just maybe— I shouldn’t have given her so freely, so… candidly, to my coworkers.

Predictably, she got ever thinner, and less sensitive. I think —and I’m not proud of this— that it was then when the name calling started. I have to admit now that, even though it accomplished nothing at all, it made me feel better, I was so mad.

Today, I have finally used her up. She’s completely spent. I even tried jamming a fork’s tooth in there to see if I could get some, but it was a lost cause.

Because when it comes right down to it, it doesn’t matter how much you try to fool yourself, or squeeze it just a bit more. Sometimes you just have to face the fact that the motherfucking toothpaste is empty.

And I need to brush my teeth.

Damn.

— sergio at 04:43 PM     Comments (33)   TrackBack (0)

El cuñao¹ was one of the youngest workers in the factory. He hailed from a little town north of Jalisco, and made a point of addressing everyone else as if they were his brothers in law (which leads to the conclusion that: a) He had a hell of a lot of sisters or b) Regarded everyone else’s sisters as fair game). El cuñao may not have been older than 19 the first time I saw him. He was friendly but mostly kept to himself. Other than his place of origin, we never found out much about him.

On that Friday, Jake called el cuñao and me to the assembly area, and showed us a barebones seat frame.

- You ever seen one of these?
- Ummm… yeah. Don’t they assemble them on the other side of the factory?

What we were looking at was the frame for the best seat that was made in the factory. This was the Rolls Royce of seats. Two places, extra cushion, lumbar support, about a gajillion buttons and levers, inner wiring… you name it. It was a monster.

- I want you two to put it together.
- Ehmm… wha?
- Put it together. You can do it, right? — We exchanged insecure glances. We had never seen one of these from the inside, but you don’t just say no to the Floor Manager.
- Umm… yeah…
- Ok. I know you’ll have to put in overtime for this. We need it finished by tomorrow morning.

And with that, Jake left a sticky bourbon smell around our befuddled shrugs.

- Cuñao…
- Yeah?
- Can you really put one of these together?
- That thing over there… Is that where you seat or where you put your feet?
- Long night ahead, huh?
- Yeah, cuñao…

We worked all night on that seat, using all the tools at our disposal. There was a meager manual that we learned to hate and ultimately disposed of in a fit of rage.

At about 3am we stared at our finished masterpiece. The cushioning was flawless. The upholstery was stretched to within an inch of perfection. Only thing left to do was pull the lever to bring the back support upright (these seats are put together with the back all the way down, so that you can fit the upholstery under the two pieces). Beaming with pride, we pulled the lever.

The back of the seat sprang up as if possessed by a thousand demons and stopped midways, at a 45° angle.

Fuck.

We stood there with limp arms, our mouths agape in horrified realization: We had assembled the back of the seat under the safety metal bar that joins it to the front.

Fuck.

- Cuñao…
- Yeah?
- You think they’ll notice?
- We can always say it’s a bed-seat, right?
- Got a cig?
- Yeah, I reckon that’s the thing to do, cuñao…

We went outside and stood in the morning light, smoking and watching the snow fall. Then we went back in and removed all the upholstery (some of which was glued on), disassembled half the frame and put it back together over the metal bar. We were just finishing when the morning crew came in.

Four months later I was a journalism major living in the Distrito Federal. Two years later I found myself holding the short end of a dysfunctional relationship and realizing it was just the latest in a long chain of mistakes that had put me where I was.

I came back home, apologized profusely to my parents and re-enrolled in Engineering.

Because you rarely get a chance to start over in life, so you might as well say Fuck, take a deep breath, smoke a cigarrette and take it.

_______

¹ Cuñado — Brother in law

— sergio at 12:51 PM     Comments (9)   TrackBack (0)

So I have two Gmail invites. So I could ebay them for a quick ~20 dlls. So I go… Naaah! And instead I put them up for grabs in my site.

That’s right. They’re here. They’re brand spanking new, and they’re free for the taking… Provided you tell a funny story. Can be a joke, can be something that happened to you (or, following on the longstanding tradition of confession by proxy, could be something that happened to your cousin/friend). Personal stories get extra points, but if you tell a damn good joke you might just get it.

The duration of this contest is fuzzy, like most things in here. People I’ve already invited are not eligible (so Salamastre, Elroy and Jose: you’re out, but feel free to post amusing stories anyway).

Comment away!

UPDATE: Contest is over. Thanks a lot for the amazing entries. I had a very hard time deciding which stories took the invites, but I’ve gone with La negra’s story on the… umm… clever uses of cigar-wrappy things and Eugenio’s sneezing story. I love you guys. This was incredibly entertaining! La negra and Eugenio: You should already have the invites in your Inbox. Thanks for the laughs, everyone!

UPDATE Redux: I got more invites today, so I sent two more to Kether (for the KY Jelly story) and Shadowspark (for the kidnapping of Chubby Chicken). Congrats, and if I could I’d send these to everyone, people. Thanks a bunch!

— sergio at 10:53 AM     Comments (41)   TrackBack (0)

When I was just a little pup, I was convinced that I didn’t actually look like I thought I looked.

Deeply convinced.

I’m talking massive conspiracy of epic proportions here. Picture this: all mirrors and reflective surfaces in sync, always alert and vigilant in order to present me with an image other than that which I really had. Radios and high tech surveillance equipment working 24/7, informing people of my approach so they could put on a straight face (the otter has left the nest… the platipii are awaiting. I repeat. The platipii are awaiting…) This led me to have conversations like this:

- Sooo… Nice weather, huh?
- Yeah. Nice.
- I couldn’t help but notice that the sky does not look green at all…
- Um… Yeah. Not green.
- Like my nose.
- Huh?
- You know. My green nose.
- Huh?
- You’re in on it, right? You’re part of them! My nose! Is it green? Tell me!! Confess!! Don’t run, you bastard!!!

I’m happy to report that things have gotten somewhat better since then. I only seldom have doubts about the true color of my appendages now.

Like my yellow ears…

— sergio at 12:44 AM     Comments (6)   TrackBack (0)