Don't Let Your Meatloaf, or Where's the Beef?? pt 2
Oct. 15, 2009 7:44 pm
Updated: Oct. 19, 2009 12:10 pm
After he repaired my tractor, I learned that Randyman aka 'The Axe Murderer' had been summoned via the local feedstore...again! Their excuse for this was:
"It wasn't at your house, it wasn't a delivery, and he fixes heavy equipment."
So, I offered them my next problem...how was I supposed to pay him? Tractor mechanics aren't cheap!! Their response was,
"A homemade meal will probably settle accounts".
...At MY HOUSE??? I had visions of homicide detectives taking DNA samples out of my backyard. Clearly, the feed store people did not take our safety issues seriously
Upon checking finances, I had to warn my boys, 13 and 15, that we may be having a "possible killer" for dinner. Armed with a well-placed broom, cast iron fry pans and forks, I made meatloaf to pay the Axe-murderer for fixing my tractor. After a somewhat uneventful payoff session he was pelted with random questions ("Do you hunt?" "Do you kill things...like say...women and small children?"),
to which he grunted out single syllable answers. No violence was committed by either side, with the exception of a food fight, initiated by my oldest son, who was angry because he thought I pushed the whipping cream off of his hot gingerbread. (clearly the public education system doesn't teach them that whipping cream melts). We figured that the speed and severity of the attack would be a strong deterrent to our dinner guest, should he try to start anything, and we all felt safer.
The next evening, my truck broke down...and later that week, the tractor...again! (How does a tractor get acorns in its gas tank?) To this day, he denies charges of sabotage, but we still find it suspicious that after years of faithful service, every mechanical piece of equipment I owned began having regular breakdowns the very week we met the HandyRandyman...who was becoming a regular fixture at the house, with his tools.
He drove a massive, horrible old truck with 8 or 10 layers of paint, stricken with some grisly metal eating disease that left holes in the doors and hood, a large flatbed with tools that would accomplish everything from fixing a toilet to building a space shuttle. It had rows of lights down both sides and across the top and at night looked something like a traveling brothel. To my dismay, the first time (and about the only time) I got inside of it, I found the passenger door did NOT open from the inside (fueling more suspicions regarding his possible pastimes with an axe.) The turn signals played Elvis Presley's "Love me Tender" in little chimes when they were activated. Thus, the truck was dubbed "Elvis".
Elvis also had large dual wheels on the back, not good for traction, which failed to deliver Randyman to his pathetic, burned-out, singlewide mobile home, in the back of a pasture, with no running water, electricity or phone, which we summarily referred to as "The Refrigerator"...(I'm sure it was every baglady's dream palace ) during a large snowstorm.
We re-evaluated our assessment of him and he was downgraded from "Axe-murderer" to "Possibly Harmless but Intellectually Challenged Big Guy", much like 'Lenny', of Steinbeck fame. Therefore, due to our mechanical challenges, a freakish week-long blizzard and Elvis' inability to navigate its way thru the orchard to the Refrigerator, Randyman was eventually allowed to rent space on our couch for a week...
to be cont...again.