I am always surprised and excited when Jeff asks me to participate in something. It’s like getting called up to the big leagues and I always want to create something of the highest quality. I want to write something that people will remember. Something that will make people laugh and cause them to forward links like crazy. Unfortunately, I usually end up writing about porn stars inserting produce into their rectums instead. Considering the fact that I am fully animated by sugar-free Red Bull at the moment, I think more of the same is the best I can hope for. Besides:
Things are weird for me right now. A month ago I was the City Administrator of a small Kansas City Suburb. I had the power to hire and fire…everyone who worked there pretty much had to do what I told them or else. I had both hands on the checkbook and enjoyed command and control of everything the municipality owned. I drank from a coffee mug given to me by the Glock Corporation as a token of their gratitude after I purchased a cache of weapons from them. I recommend buying things in the cache if you have the opportunity. Yes, I realize that cache means “concealed or hidden” and that no one really ever sold me a cache of anything, but it’s way more fun to order stuff that way. They’ll still deliver it, so go ahead and order a cache. You’ll feel like a third world dictator – only with functioning utilities.
By contrast, last night I worked from 10 pm until almost noon returning lost airline luggage to angry passengers. I no longer have any money. I have no power and the only cache I have is filled with porn. The weird thing is that it was totally voluntary. I chose to make this switch.
Like I said, things are pretty weird in my life right now – but I am getting used to it and parts of life are pretty cool, especially the things one encounters while delivering lost luggage in the middle of the night. I could write a complete book about the experiences I have had after just doing the job for a few weeks. Too bad my friend Marsha Clark has already called it. It’s probably better that way, she’s been delivering lost luggage for 30 years. If you happen to be a literary agent, email me and I’ll give you her number.
I do, however, have one simple request to make of the general public on behalf of all the lost luggage delivery drivers everywhere:
Put your fucking address on your house, asshole! Seriously, it takes like ten minutes. It is required by law in most communities and OH MY GOD YOU’RE A DICKHEAD!! Even with gps, I can’t tell exactly which house is yours, jagoff. I have spent more time walking around strange neighborhoods in the middle of the night than any person should. In the poor neighborhoods I am afraid I’ll get shot by the residents and in the rich neighborhoods I am afraid I’ll get shot by the cops. I walk briskly from house to house, trying to see if your neighbors are decent enough people to put numbers on their places so I can triangulate your fucking location. Every time I actually find one of these houses they should give me a damned orienteering merit badge, you selfish cock knob. I shuffle through your dewy grass praying that someday psychotic, sexually deviant clowns will kick in your door – giving you just enough time to call the cops before tying you up and repeatedly sodomizing you with menacingly-painted clown genitals and laughing maniacally while the cops drive in circles for hours searching for your numberless house, you lazy prick.
So anyway, when I finally do find your stupid house, you think you have the right to be a jerk about it because the airline lost your luggage. Guess what asshole? I didn’t lose your luggage. I returned it to you after completing your scavenger hunt of retardedness. You should a) tip me for bringing you your shit in the middle of the night and b) thank me for not hitting you with a sucker punch karate chop to the throat after you open the door. After all, you were the one that made me walk all over the neighborhood because you were too lazy to drive eight stupid nails. Remember this – I am the gold standard of lost luggage delivery drivers. I have an advanced degree, years of customer service experience and a clean criminal record. Very few of us can say that. So when you open the door, you might want to take a second before you step out into the light. And just for the record, if I come to your house and find you naked and sobbing from underneath psychotic, sexually deviant clowns – don’t expect me to help you.
Other than the realization that I am evidently borderline homicidal, I have also learned a thing or two about the human body. For example, driving a car for several hours straight for several days in a row does weird shit to you. Maybe I’ll get used to it after a few months, like getting one’s sea legs, but right now it is a crazy feeling. A few days ago I found myself 200 miles from home at 5:00 in the morning and I had been driving since 4:30 the afternoon before. Suddenly, the car felt like it started to go backwards. Going down a hill felt like going up. I turned on the radio and actually enjoyed the band Incubus. It was like bizarro world. I stopped and splashed some water on my face. It didn’t really do any good. I tried to get used to it and I let my mind wander. I was delirious.
I started thinking about a book I had just finished. It was Switch by Chip and Dan Heath (2010, Crown Business) – specifically the story of the Fataki campaign. Briefly, the Fataki campaign was aimed at young women in Africa (young like schoolgirls) who found themselves seduced by rich old men who provided things the girls couldn’t afford in exchange for sex and companionship. The campaign was designed to create the “creepy old man” (called Fatakis) phenomenon that exists in the United States in order to stop these women from falling prey to the AIDS-riddled African Hugh Hefners. I wondered why we didn’t take these touchy subjects head on in the United States. I quickly wrote an anti-pedophilia jingle while traveling in my floating car through rural Missouri. It went a little something like this:
Don’t stick anything in kids,
They generally dislike it and your cellmates hate it too.
Don’t stick anything in kids,
You’ll probably regret it when a biker’s fucking you.
They’ll tear your butthole out.
I thought it was pretty original until I realized that the first four lines were sung to the music of John Work’s 1907 spiritual “Go tell it on the Mountain” and the last line was from the Hokey Pokey (as in “that’s what it’s all about”). I loved it. I thought that it was simple and catchy enough that every pedophile might sing it before deciding to commit a crime and think better of it. I was going to produce it for you guys so you could hear it, but I got embarrassed and didn’t have enough time to do it properly.
I knew that this jingle was going to help kids across the country. I couldn’t forget it, so I kept singing it was I drove. Eventually, I adopted a Bozo the Clown voice with a Krusty the Clown laugh. I sang it over and over the rest of the way home. I stumbled into the door of my house and sang it to my wife. She looked down, slowly shook her head and said, “Oh my fucking God.” and walked away. I now know why a lot of single long-haul truckers are so nuts. Have a great day.
Love,
metten
metten is a long-time friend of the Surf Report, and my former partner-in-crime at mockable.org. He and I have a lot of the same “issues” and tend to bond over them. I’ve known him for years, consider him to be one of my best friends, and yet we’ve never actually met. Weird, huh? -Jeff
Why do you have to deliver the stuff in the middle of the night? That’s like rubbing salt in the wound. If you knocked on my door at 3 a.m. with luggage I would beat you with a one iron. But, I’m not particularly stable.
Otherwise a good, funny update!
They know I am coming, Chuck. I can’t release it until it’s signed for. Which makes it all the more frustrating. Can’t you fuckers at least turn on a porch light?
Dang, numero dos! And I read the update.
I’m going to be singing that song now….
Holy Crap! This sure takes us to a different level.
That’s a catchy tune, Metten.. If only Johnny Cash could have put that into his set at Fulsom.
I’ve had the airline lose my luggage but I’ve never had anyone deliver it to me in the middle of the flipping night. How can that possibly be a good idea?
I hear that train-a-comin’,
It’s rollin’ ’round the bend.
I hope it’s full of women ’cause I’m,
Tired of fuckin’ men…
Damn, Skully, I just spewed coffee. LMAO
Crap it on a cracker, I have a two year old trying to take a nap and I just read that! Thanks a lot! Do you know how many Mercer Mayer books I have to read to get that wired-up little man to give it up and go to sleep?
That song would be at the top of the itunes charts, I think. Re: Luggage– I can understand if they’re expecting you, common courtesy says to leave a light on. And common sense says to put numbers up on your house…in fact, our township fire department will voluntarily make a green reflective sign to put on your mailbox post so they can find your house in case of emergency (or luggage delivery).
What did the republicans say to the head of Microsoft?
We’re gonna kill the Jobs, Bill.
You don’t put you dick in
You don’t pull your dick out
You leave those kids alone or they’ll tear your asshole out
Oh sweet Jesus, I’m crying… LMAO.
I have to know if you wrote this with the standard pronunciation of cache or the apparently fancy newfangled way that is the little smelly good thing I put in my lingerie drawer.
Either way, I’m sure I mispronounced it. I’m good like that.
Uhh??????????
I think I’ll fly into KC and leave one of my bags on the carousel and when I get to the hotel I’ll call and report it missing. You’ll knock on my door at 3AM thinking this is as easy as it gets. Hoping too it will be answered by a gorgeous chick and her equally gorgeous naked friend. I’ll open the door and kick you in the nuts and say…”Shoulda kept your day job asshole!”….SLAM!!
I used to deliver pizzas. It always seemed the nicer the house, the harder to find the number and the smaller the tip.
Poor people can afford to fly?
Do they get the baggage fee back?
Are cardboard boxes tied with string considered luggage?
Ever considered pissing in the luggage and blaming the TSA?
Just wonderin’. And a good update!
I’ve seen this as luggage: A plastic laundry basket, which then encased a black hefty bagg with about 700 yards of duct tape holding it all together.
In my best Mahalia Jackson voice:
“Go tell it to your lawyer
Your inappropriate touching was misunderstood!
Go tell it to your lawyer
You were just polishing that little boy’s wood!”
Metten – great update. I really needed a good laugh today. Thank you for “delivering”.
My little cousin got a kick ass job at delta airlines. She’s always telling me how people cuss her out over their luggage, as if she personally got it from the belly of the plane and tossed it in a field. Stupid bastards.
I watched a show done by American Airlines (I think) for a while but I’d just get so pissed off that I couldn’t think straight. The show was set up in an airport and people acted like fucking idiots.
Everything I know about home delivery (luggage, pizza, etc) I learned from porn movies. I have a feeling that I’d be disappointed after my first day on the job.
One more thing, tip a decent tip you stingy fucks. I had some pizza delivered last night and I gave the guy a decent tip. He thanked me way too much and said that the last two people had ripped him off. I’ve never been involved in any kind of service industry where I might get tips, but that just pisses me off.
Good day. I said good day!
Jason that show was about Southwest Airlines, my brother in law was the sound guy. He no longer flies SW, ever, for any reason.
At least some of the blame for pedophilia lies with the little kids for being so damn sexy!
Stolen from some comic or another…
Saying you like kids is OK, but being specific and saying you like 12 yr olds is not.
Ha!
I heard a comic say one time, “Talking to God is fine. If God talks back to you, you’re a fucking nut.”
Along those lines: Talking to yourself is OK. Answering yourself is OK, too. Just don’t respond with “huh?”
metten – Thanks for the laugh!
I am in the shittyest mood today. Feel like I’m trying to get a cold and that always plunges my mood-o-meter right into fucking hot zone. And of course this feeling will only last until I get the full blown germ infested cold when we leave for Hilton Head next Friday.
There is simply no excuse for not tipping or not tipping enough…which, sometimes, I think is worse. Seriously, if tipping someone hurts you that much, fucking keep it. You obviously think you need it more than they do. And next time go pick up your own fucking pizza, or whatever. And if you think the delivery people don’t keep track of that shit, think again.
I always overtip for pizza delivery, probably because I feel guilty for not taking my fat ass out to pick up my own pizza. It’s such a luxury to have someone bring food to your door.
I’ve had lost luggage brought to my house before, and that was nice, too. Although I do have my address on my house, I didn’t know it was appropriate to tip the deliverer. I will remember that – thanks, Metten.
Let’s see, I show up 2 hours prior to my flight to make sure I can get through check-in. I had to pay $50 for each of our bags both ways. It’s a direct flight from Fort Lauderdale to Louisville. We arrive and an hour later we are told our bags are in Missouri.
They get delivered to our house 36 hours after we landed. Tip?
I don’t fucking think so.
I am not saying it is necessart or customary to tip the lost luggage delivery guy. I am saying 1) the lost luggage delivery guy didn’t do any of that shit to you – they don’t even work for the airline. That’s like kicking the minimum wage clerk’s ass at Wal-Mart because prices are too high. And 2) If you’re too much of a dickbag to put your goddamned numbers on your house, you should tip.
The airline should refund the bag fees if that happens.
I do have numbers on my house, some houses up the street have lighted numbers which is cool until the numbers a burnt out.
We had some guys come through to put numbers on our curbs, wouldn’t help you much.
Do the people know that you are on the way at 3 in the AM?
Yes. We pick up from the airport every two hours from 8:30 am to 12:30 am. The customer is called and they either 1) sign for it, 2) leave a signed note giving permission to leave it or 3) we leave it at a hotel front desk.
What if I was returning from Toledo where everyone knows the best house numbers are manufactured to put them on my house but unfortunately I packed them in my luggage and it got lost. Would I get slack for that?
Thanks for the great post and please hang in there.
I had a sudden change of heart about my profession many years ago. I left nursing and went to law school, muddled through hating ever moment of it, took the Bar and passed first try, and then promptly went back to nursing. You’ve got to do what you love or it will kill you eventually. Well, I would love to sit on my not-inconsiderable ass and read books all day with an occasional verbal exchange with the toddler-in-residence, but I can’t find anyone to pay me for that.
At times, that’s what the practice of law was like. Quite often, the toddler-in-residence would make more sense than a client. Or opposing counsel. Or the judge. It eventually killed me.
Sometimes I intentionally lose my luggage. That way I can abduct the luggage bringer backer and chain them to the floor in my shed.
I like to hadn feed them jelly sandwiches. Just jelly, no peanut butter.
I’ll also pull their pants down and pour used motor oil on the sub-waist orifi, when they are asleep. Then I leave oil coated vegetables and garden tools laying around. I don’t actualyl rape or sodomize their bodies, I just like them to think i have.
Eventually I’ll slip Rohypnol in their jelly, carry them out to their car, drive them out somewhere lonely (in their vehicle) and leave them their to wake up.
Menacingly-painted clown genitals. Menacingly-painted clown genitals. Menacingly-painted clown genitals.
Tearfully poignant when repeated.
I’ve decided to answer all questions with this phrase for at least the rest of today and all of tommorrow.
Thank you.
I wish I thought of that earlier. That’s how I’m going to answer everything tomorrow. “Did you book my hotel and flight?” Menacingly-painted clown genitals. Menacingly-painted clown genitals….
Sad thing is, nobody would blink an eye.
You could even go a step further for added mystery and self-enjoyment:
THEM: “Did you book my hotel and flight?”
YOU: “Pssshh… do I have menacingly-painted clown genitals?”
I think if you put it that way, you may expect at least moderate blinking.
I have numbers on my house. If I’m expecting someone, I’ll leave the porch light on. He said, self-righteously.
Off to the party store to get some clown paint.
.
Got my SIGNED copy of CrossRoads Road!
THANKS, JEFF!
I promise to do the required homework .. lol
I’m surprised (and more than a little disappointed?) that the first paragraph didn’t lead to a rousing discussion of the relative merits of various items of produce vis-a-vis anal penetration. Contrary to what one might believe in view of numerous instructions to Go Fuck Yourself, I’ve got nothing. And that’s pretty much the extend of my knowledge of French.
I think I’ll go get a mirror and admire my menacingly-painted clown genitals.
RIGHT?!?
Just wait, the Russians will hijack the site again soon and you can have your veggie surprise.
Good to see something from Metten again. Been too long.